Wednesday, March 14, 2012


- The Bouttreax Incident, Part 2: Shit Gets Crazy -

Take heed and bear witness to the truths that lie herein - for they are the last legacy of that Thrice Cursed Minstrel.


The warm, pink liquid, the nectar of my Potioncube, melted into my veins: And so the madness began. I blinked for a few moments, my eyes blurred and swam... I blinked again, curiously affected by the lamps in the room... and soon realised that the nightscapes through the windows were visible to me, as clear as day! This potion did not poison me, thank Three, but granted me with vision to see in the night! Fantastic! I declared this boon, and described the Lord's land by way of proof. The crowd seemed curious or skeptical... I excitedly ran from window to window, enjoying this new magic, as challenges and amazement rang out behind me. Inspired by my courage, The Lord's Squire, full of wine and youth, eager to prove his valour, tumbled the prism and drank from it's gift. He too stood blinking for a moment before a cry of joy burst from him! “Huzzah”, came the cry and he soon joined me at the window, where we drunkely highlighted owls and the rodents they hunted. Murmurs filled the room, which soon turned to arguments and challenges. The name 'William' was heard more often than any other... Brilliant!

Lord William sat, with a curious look on his face... Presumably the man was threatened by the risk, but unwilling to allow himself to be upstaged by his young and reckless squire. He looked deep in thought... Some moments passed... And “FINE!” he said, “DAMN YOU ALL! FINE!” he stood quickly, finishing his drink.

“You cretins... I had better not regret this!” he grumbled, rolling the cube prismly across the table. It crushed glasses and unsettled desserts, but soon stopped, revealing a simple glass potion-vial. He walked confidently over to the potion that sat atop, uncorked it and swallowed the pink liquid. All watched as he coughed quietly and then looked quizzically in my direction... He flexed slightly and grinned at me..

Sir William, Lord of Castle Bouttreaux, Knight of Wessex. This somber gentleman, mad with angst and vexation, robbed of his youthful vigour and filled with a wonderfully wholesome wine, did grasp the nearest chair (unceremoniously unseating the shocked fellow using it) and flung it hard against the wall, shattering the piece. “I FEEL YOUNG AGAIN!!” he roared! He stoutly kicked the dining table, upending it and several guests besides, and wielding his chair leg as a fine Feierlander battlecane! Obviously possessed by the eager spirit of some Knight Errant, and most certainly filled with strength of a Malgarr Hearthguard, he set about shouting in manly rage and dismantling any non-human in the room! O, dear reader it was wonderful! Chunks of chair and ripped paintings lay strewn across the room in mere seconds, such was the Strength of William!

The guests were either outraged, uproariously entertained, or helping. Poor, unseasoned Chezmerelda fled the room, ostensibly to pray. Lady Susan seemed intrigued by her husband's impressive and uncharacteristic display of masculinity. Several of the men were taken by the occasion, snapping and crushing things alongside their lord... William roared again, words this time, and summoned one of the Wizard's Danish Men-At-Arms. The Castle Chaplain was inspired by this display and gleefully drank a potion from the cube. He let his own drunken cry and lifted a chair, only to realise that, instead of manly strength, the concoction had left his entire body covered in a hardy and flexible wood. He paused for a moment, confused and obviously disappointed by this development... he laughed, shrugged, and hefted his chair out a nearby window. The glass shattered just as someone else was struck by a bowl of Coleslaw.

Once food had been identified as legal riot currency, some spicey pigeon quickly and forcefully found it's way into one of the heretofore outraged ladies' bodices, the latter, furious, promptly throwing a fistful of custard at the offender. From this moment forth, there was neither sane nor sensible soul in the holding. The rough and muscular Dane, Olaf (or Arnoulf?), soon appeared in the room's doorway, where he was instantly borne to the floor and pummelled by a maniacal Sir William. This proved a catalyst of sorts, for it turns out this warrior was something of a Berserker! So he bit Sir Williams hand broke the poor Lord's nose with his forehead. Sir William let fly a fearsome roar, and beat the man harder, their tussle spilling them both, bloody and brilliant, out the door and into the courtyard. A large crowd grew and cheered, watching as this primal display grew bloodier and more hilarious. Smiling quietly to myself, I poured another glass and trotted after the chaos.

Everyone who wasn't engaged in their own mischief was enjoying the wrestling, which had gotten completely out of hand... there is blood and drink flying everywhere.. at one point this Berserker was ramming the lord's face into the cobblestones as Sir William struck repeatedly at his Danish Saddlebags. Both were grinning uncontrollably, Olaf between winces and William through a rictus of blood and sweat. Utter madness. The wooden-chaplain had started an impromptu betting ring. He met my gaze through the crowd and smiled broadly. I took the opportunity to be insulted. No, dear reader, there was no reason for this save pure joy. I throw my shirt aside and charge through the gentlefolk! Coins and tickets burst into the air as I wrestle the Timberly Fellow to the ground, smiling and smushing his face with cold mashed potato.

At some point in our little match, several of the menagerie toward the back of the crowd spontaneously fall asleep... No-one cares, obviously. It was uh... rather grand though. One of them fell so hard that she shattered her nose on the pavement. Hah! Such fun. Whilst distracted by this I.. uhh... I don't precisely know what happened, dear reader. Suffice to say, I ended up wrestling the Lord William himself. Both of us were covered in blood, food and laughter. The old man was incredibly strong (potion? Note to self – investigate) but my training with the People's Peace Corps of Feierland County (PPCFC), and my time wrestling with Ronian Crocodilliers put me in good stead.

I cracked half a dozen eggs on the good lord's face, and whilst reaching for some more I saw the lustful Dane brutalising the poor chaplain. Brutalising, I say, and I promise you the word is not an exaggeration. I strongly feel that his wooden countenance was the only thing that let him keep his eyes that night. Noble and loveable reader: The cheers were deafening.

May I say here, that if the cheers were defeaning, the screams they turned into were positively unbearable... for as I stuffed a housecat into William's mouth, some unholy and Smokey Demon casually tore the arms off of That Diabolical Minstrel of Story Stealing Morality! Hah! Wonderful! A hilarious and suitably stressful demise for that despicable knave. Bloody and covered in potato, I roll off Sir William, springing to my feet. The Horror-Thing is eviscerating the guests. Details are sketchy, for I was afflicted by alcohol and adrenaline both, and for this vagueness I must apologise... But the Demon's victims.. well.. there is not much to bury, I am sorry to say. Apparently this creature was called 'Satan', or so I gathered from several of the guests (Fleeing and screaming his terrible name as they were). Without jest, It was a horrible and cruel beast... Relishing in the blood it shed and the lives it ended. It was, quite simply, violent.

Naturally, drunken and unclothed as I was, I rushed into the beast and boxed it. It's claws were rending at my flesh and soul, and it gave as good as it took... I stuck him with a right as he ripped at my face... I slipped a reaching talon and landed a short uppercut to it's fiendish chin... The battle raged! Our struggle trashed much of the courtyard, and I paid for each stumble with a slicing claw or firey breath. In the end though, my accurate handwork and skillful movement proved too much for this Satan-beast.

The demon forced a clinch, rending my shoulder with it's teeth... Undeterred, I ripped hook after hook into it's failing body.. My shoulder ached, but after these crushing blows, Satan crumbled... the smokey shambler dropped to it's knees, crippled by pain and groaning a filthy, inhuman groan. I drove a bloody knee into The Despicable Beast's face, and so ended The Thing. It slowly dissipated, filling the courtyard with repugnant smoke and leaving nought but a pile of sulphurous ash. Victory!!!

I cheered triumphantly, but none cheered with me, for they were all dead or fleeing. Olaf was apparently and gleefully tieing the Chaplain to the ceiling. I stood, arms raised, but a little sad that something so unbearable as this 'Satan' character could spoil such fun... Without warning, I was grasped from my back and dishonourably suplex'd to the ground by a seemingly rejuvenated Sir William! That squirrelly rogue! Three curses on his devious tactics!! Our struggle resumed! Blows were struck and positions changed to and fro... but, much as I wish otherwise, I honestly could not tell you who won, dear reader! The drink has gotten the best of me this day, for all I remember was waking up to a delicious breakfast of Eggs and fruit. Oh Adia!

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