PREVIOUSLY...ON SONG OF ICE AND FAIL

Spoiler

+

"All hail the new king of England, Paulus of House Paulus, and his wife, Cheryl Cole!" Paulus: I need a council to help me with my goal to unite the British Isles. Duke Boc of Lancaster, you will be my chancellor, Earl Henry of Kent, my spymaster, Earl Jeffrey, my treasurer, and Duke Curtis of York my general. Boc, Henry, Jeffrey: Happy to serve your grace! Curtis: (: In Scotland... "Hallo, I am Vernon, the mad king of Scotland. I am going to murder one of my own Duke's so I can marry his wife...because she is hawt!" In Ireland... Malion: Oh my god all my family are dead and I am a Duke...but I am also a fag! Oh no! Leos: I am a drunkenee Irish loord and i amw ant to unit Irelannd. I am glo kill everyon stand in tmy way. In Iceland... Tensions were getting higher between two snowmen...cool. Mercator is the lazy one, Ari the pissed off entitled one etc. Ethiopia... Hupu: I might be stupid but I am universally loved. But there are some nasty sand people to the north who probably want to invade my lands! Englaaand.... Paulus: My my, I bet Scotland will rebel against their crazy king in about a year. Henry, go build a spy network so we can gain info on our enemies! Ethiopia.... This Norwegian Princess looks fun! I am going to marry her! King Bryce of Norway: Lol sure you can have my ho Hupu! Hupu: Scotland... Vernon: Oh my god my brothers Dyland and Wikey are plotting against me! I must arrest them both! Natalie: I really hate this guy for killing my husband, but if he loses his throne I am no longer a Queen...QUITE A DILEMMA! Wikey was arrested like an idiot...dylan escaped and rode South to England. England... Curtis: I am starting a faction to become king of england...because hey, why not? Hey DR, I want to marry you, I am going places B) DR: Sorry lol, I am going to marry Hupu instead. Curtis: :| Ireland... Leos; OH MY Godood, I am going to warr, to reclaim mys kingdosm! LEETts be Off. Malion: So, Leos is going to war with his neighbors...it will be me soon enough...and one of my own subjects looks to claim independence....I better marry a little English princess! Paul: Sure whatever, I have loads of the bastards. Iceland... Bryce: How would you guys like to be my subject! I am cool and powerful! Mercator: Sure that sounds- Ari: NO FUCKING WAY PISS OFF Bryce: I'll invade later :lol: Scotland... Vernon: I think maybe I will kill you! Wikey: :pissed: Vernon: Perhaps later! England... Boc, Curtis: Oh boy, I am going to marry a Danish princess King NInefingers of Denmark: Fine whatever. Curtis: I might ask Boc to support my claim to the throne :) Ireland... Leos: I'll kiil you alll assholees. *Stabs prominent enemy and wins the battle* Distant Irish lord 1: Hey, you are so awesome, marry my daughter Kendra plz! Distant Irish lord 2: No no! Marry my daughter Sophia instead! Leos: If only I could marry both! But I have wars to fight, sorry k bye! Malion: Oh my, my lords are rebelling :( Better call Paul. Scotland... Vernon: MY BROTHER DYLAN HAS LOYALISTS EVERYWHERE, AND NOW THEY REBEL! Natalie: Yeah...and King Paulus is invading too lol. It's ok though, I will hire lots of mercenaries! England... Paulus: How goes the war preparations? Curtis: The army will take time to assemble, but King Vernon is helpless B) Henry: Wrong! Curtis: :angry: Henry: Yeah...the mad king hired like...10,000 mercenaries. Paul: You have done well Henry, you are now the Duke of Kent. Henry: :smug: Denmark... Ninefingers: Oh look, Paul is invading Scotland, leaving my rightful throne up for grabs...but I cbf. Norway... Bryce: Ima going to marry a Hungarian whore! Hungarian king: Okee dokee. Bryce; Oh no, Bryce is trying to get allies so he can invade me. I am going to marry a Hungarian princess too. Hungarian king: Sure Ethiopia... Hupu: Here my lovely wife, you can have lots of land and titles... DR: TY! Ireland... Shitty count: I surrender Leos! Leos: Good lol England... Cheryl: Hallo husband Paulus the king! Paulus: I hate you *Secretly plots to have her killed* Jeffrey: That sounds nasty! Paulus: If you agree to help I will make you a Duke. Jeffrey: HOORAY I AM IN! Curtis: Hey Boc, you want in on my plan to take the throne for myself? Boc: Um no? Curtis; Go on...Paulus is a dick. Boc: ...Ok Ireland... Malion: Golly, Paul is late...and the enemy is at the gates... *Battle miraculously turns itself around* Malion: (Insert fantastic speech) Iceland... Ari: I am rebelling, you are not fit to rule! Mercator: FFS, now I have to DO something. Ethiopia... DR: Hupu, lets declare war on our neighbors, they are weak. Hupu: But...that would be naughty! DR: Pleaseeeeee Hupu: Ok :love: England... Dylan: Hey Robert, will you help me out? Robert: Their is a prince...I want an alliance with you if you become king. Dylan: Ok...fine. Robert: Right...now I need to get rid of my new inept lord Jeffrey! Westminster.... Jeffrey: Oh my god Curtis, Boc, are you guys in a secret club? Curtis: yes lol, you should join! Jeffrey: OK! Scotland... Natalie: Golly, mercenaries might not be enough to keep Vernon on the throne...*Goes to join rebels* Ireland... Malion: Another awesome victory...great work men! Malions general: KING MALION! KIING MALIONNNN! England... Almost the whole realm: We support your plot to kill your wife Paul! Paulus: Omg At the banquet... Henry: Hey Cheryl, look over there! *Slips poison into her wine* Drunk Jeffrey: OH LOOORD *knocks over wine* Jeff: Oh dear was that the one with the poison in? Cheryl: :o :crazy: :pissed: Paul: :$

And now, the start of season 2!

1067

In Scotland the combined rebel forces were assembling on the fields of Atholl, the county belonging to the imprisoned Earl Wikey, brother of the mad king. The rebel army had grown substantially since Natalie brought the strength of the highlands to join them. The Queen had solidified a position of leadership among the rebels rather quickly, thanks to her quick wits and calm demeanour.

When she first arrived the old leaders had questioned her loyalties.
"Why would you leave the comfort of the King's court to join us, my lady?" One had asked her. Natalie had anticipated such questions and had her reply ready.
"The court was anything but comfortable ser. I suffered the mad kings tyranny first hand!"
That was a lie of course. Natalie had been firmly in control of the situation before she left.
"What about that vast army of sell swords you hired for his grace?"
Natalie smiled. "The crown will not be able to pay them for much longer..."
That was no lie. Mercenaries were famously fickle. They would win your wars for you and carry out all manner of evil deeds, but only so long as they were getting paid...if the money stopped coming in...well, one of two things would happen. They would go back home, or they would start taking their payment by force. If Vernon didn't have the sense to dismiss them before it came to that (which was highly likely), his fate could well be sealed.

For the rebel leaders this was proof enough of her loyalty. They had little choice in the matter anyway. She had brought an army three times the size of their own to join the fight. With their combined strength they numbered just under 2000 men. The plan had originally been to wait the mercenaries out instead of engaging them in battle. 2000 men was a lot, but they were no match for 10,000 mercenaries.

Unfortunately, the mercenaries had other ideas. They sprung an ambush on the fields of Atholl.



The mad king was sat alone, singing a song with nonsensical lyrics in a high pitched voice. A timid courtier dared to interrupt him. When Vernon saw him he broke off and crossed his eyes.
"What do you want?!" he said, pointing accusingly. "Do you plot treason?"
The courtier bowed his head. "N...no your Grace! I am only here to serve!"
Vernon took a deep breath and flared his nostrils. "Goooood!" he screamed. "Because I don't like treason. Treason is very naughty!"
"Y...y...yes your grace!"
"Do you like backgammon?" Vernon asked.
The courtier looked at him, confused. "I...yes, I love it your grace!"
Vernon stared at him in disbelief. "I hate backgammon!"
"Oh my, backgammon?" The courtier laughed nervously. "I thought you said chess! I hate backgammon too!"
Vernon nodded approvingly. "You have passed my test. What do you want?"
"Well...well your grace, as you know, your brother Wikey rots in the dungeons."
"What of it?" Vernon said, examining his nails.
"Um...he said he needs food your grace...and water."
"Why?" Vernon narrowed his eyes. "Does he plot to use them to escape?"
"No...I just don't think he wants to die."
"Why would he die?"
The shifted uncomfortably, lost for words. Vernon sighed impatiently. "I will go see him MYSELF!" he said, standing abruptly.

Vernon lit a candle and went to the dungeons. When he was descending the staircase to the darkest depths he heard his treasonous brothers voice echo out faintly. "Whose there?"
Vernon strode up to the bars and held the candle up.



"You...what do you want?" Wikey murmured.
Vernon looked at him darkly. "I want to know what you intend to do with food and water! Are you hatching a plot?!"
Wikey lifted a weak hand up and facepalmed. "I was thinking of eating and drinking," he moaned.
Vernon came closer to the bars and stared at Wikey suspiciously. "Is that so?"
"Yes..." Wikey closed his eyes.
Vernon considered this. "I will make you a deal...help me fight my enemies and I will give you food and water."
Wikey frowned. "How am I going to fight your enemies for you from his cell?"
"YOU WILL FIGURE IT OUT!" Vernon said, starting to walk away.
"Wait!" Wikey called after him. "Let me make a counter offer!"
Vernon stopped.
"How about...how about you release me. Then I will fight your enemies for you!"
Vernon turned around. "You would do that for me?"
Wikey nodded. "Sure....whatever..."



Far away in the ancient city of Rome the new Pope was pacing around in his study.



Roth was the head of the Christian church, above kings in terms of power. And already, so early into his reign, he had a dilemma. A rather unexpected letter had arrived from King Paulus of England.



A divorce? What madness was this? The pope could never consent to such folly. His initial reaction to the letter was to immediately reject the proposal. But when the circumstances were revealed to him, how Paulus had opted for murder before this appeal, the Pope was left wondering what to do.

If he didn't allow Paulus a divorce, he would surely be condemning the Queen to her death. If he did allow the divorce it would set a precedent for breaking the rules of the church.

Roth was struggling to make a decision. But he didn't have time to mull it over any longer. Indecision looked weak. And the head of the Catholic faith could not afford to look weak. After giving the matter much thought, Roth settled on a decision. Giving his blessing would harm the church more in the long run. He had to stick to the rules of the church. If Paulus was not going to respect those rules, the blood would be on his hands, not Roth's.

He rejected the proposal.

In Ireland the duke of Connacht was doing a pub crawl of the local taverns of his newly conquered province of Breifne.



Leos was celebrating. Despite his promise not to marry until there were no more wars to fight, he had gotten drunk and proposed to Sophia, who had immediately accepted. He was officially on his stag night, and he had invited all his subjects along to party with him.



Unfortunately for Leos, two of his vassals were bishops, and bishops were rather boring. Seeing their liege lord drink and whore in local taverns was not helping their opinion of him either.



But Leos hoped to be rid of them soon. Bishops weren't so good at fighting, so as far as he was concerned, they were good for nothing. His other two vassals were alright. Leos enjoyed their company.

Leos had only seen his beloved bride to be in portraits so far, but he was looking forward to the marriage, and even more so to the bedding. He had hung her portrait on the wall in his chambers.



Upon showing his servants, they had thought it odd.
"Why does she look so much like a key, my lord?" one had asked.
"Well," Leos said, "Because she is the key......to my heart!"
Everyone had laughed nervously heartily at that.

Back in Scotland, Wikey was feasting on a great amount of food in Vernon's hall. He was enjoying his freedom, which had been surprisingly easy to acquire. Vernon had always been easy to fool though.

A courtier walked in whilst Wikey was eating.
"A letter for you, lord Wikey."
Wikey smiled. "Oh boy I wonder what this is!"
He opened it. It was a letter from himself! How weird!



Wikey feigned surprise. "Hm...I accept!"
Wikey stood up and skipped across the hall and out the castle, before jumping on a horse and heading for home.

As soon as he got back to Atholl he happened upon a devastated battlefield.



His brothers mercenaries had made short work of the rebel army. Wikey smiled and made his way through their camp. He showed the kings seal to anybody who challenged him.
"My brother saw sense and released me!" Wikey explained to anyone curious enough to ask.
They let him into his castle.

As soon as he got in he went to the battlements and shouted down to the mercenaries below.
"Hey assholes, I am totally rebelling! My brother can go fuck himself!"
The mercenaries exchanged confused glances. Some smirked. One of them stepped forward. "Men! Lay siege to this castle!" Wikey looked down in bewilderment as the mercenaries began assembling siege equipment.
"Why did I do that?" he murmured.

In Westminster, Paulus was sat in his great hall alone. Few had visited him since the botched assassination attempt of his wife. Any time he passed the lords and ladies of his castle, they quickly bowed, mumbled "Your grace" and ran off.

Cheryl herself had confined herself to a separate part of the castle. Paulus had not seen her or his children for weeks. He hoped to take the diplomatic route out of this marriage. It was the only option remaining to him now.

He had sent a desperate letter to the new pope requesting a divorce. The old one would never have consented, but nobody knew this one. Perhaps he would allow it. But there had been no reply yet. Paulus wondered if there would be. Maybe he would be excommunicated from the church. That would be a disaster. As if his subjects didn't hate him enough as it was. He thought back to the feast. Everyone's expressions of shock and anger. He had exposed his terrible plot to the entire court. Half the lords of the realm were involved, but they were never going to admit it now that the common folk knew about it.

It was his idea, and he had to face the consequences. But Paulus remebered one face amongst the crowd. One was smiling...Duke Curtis. Why had he been smiling?
"Your grace," Chancellor Boc was at the foot of the door. He looked out of breath.
"Duke Boc...what is your business with-"
"The Queen is dead your grace."
Paul froze. "Dead? What sort of sick joke is this?!"
"No joke, your grace," Boc said. "She was found in the grounds moments ago."
"Show me," the king demanded, feeling lightheaded.
Sure enough, Cheryl was outside on the grounds, lying in a pool of her own blood. A few nervous courtiers were stood over her.
"Get out of here," the king yelled when he saw them.



Paul strode to Cheryls side. She was covered in stab wounds. He groaned. "This is a disaster! Everybody will think I was behind this!"
"Your grace!" A voice behind him shouted. Paul turned...



To face Jeffrey, who was beaming at him. "Your grace, I hope this makes up for my blunder at the feast!"
Paul narrowed his eyes. "Excuse me?"
"I killed the queen! To make up for botching the assassination!"
Boc facepalmed. Paul went red with anger. "Guards! GUARDS!"
Several mean looking knights answered his call. Paul pointed a shaking finger at Duke Jeffrey.
"Get rid of this fool immediately! Lock him in the dungeons!"
Jeffreys smile faded as the guards seized him by the arms. He looked at Paul, confused. "But...but I did this for you!"
Paulus put his head in his hands as Jeffrey was dragged out of sight.



"Why did I ever raise him so high?" Paul murmured.
Boc shook his head. "Nobody could have seen this coming, your grace."
"Oh...I suspect somebody did..." And with that the king walked away.

To be continued.

Season 2 Part 2

Summer 1067

Curtis lay basking in the sun. The villages of Yorkshire were quiet and peaceful, and made for a nice retreat from the chaos of court. He was sitting by the side of a river on soft green grass.



Curtis had left Westminster shortly after the infamous feast which saw King Paulus try to poison the Queen, Cheryl Cole. The conspiracy was exposed by poor foolish Jeffrey, with a little help from Curtis. All it had taken was an especially strong flagon of ale to cause absolute mayhem. The news of the assassination attempt spread quick, and all the lords involved were now denouncing the king to save face. The common folk despised him. Curtis was sure more would soon flock to his own banner. His number of supporters had been growing steadily.

"Me lord," a deep voice called out from behind.
Curtis turned to face a short stout Yorkshire man. "What do you want, peasant?"
The man was taken aback for a moment. "Well...me lord. I got a letter for ya, from Westminster sir!"
Curtis raised his eyebrows at that. "And how on earth did you get a hold of this letter, might I ask?"
"Well me lord...this...hooded gent give it to me ya see. And he told me to pass it on to ya."
Curtis smiled. "Well I suppose you should pass it on to me then!"
The man narrowed his eyes. "Surely...surely my lord can find it in is hart to compensate a lowly peasant like meself for delivering this."
Curtis laughed and stared at the man, who began fumbling awkwardly. "On second thoughts sir...it was no trouble," he said, handing the letter over quickly. "No trouble at all! It was an honour to have served you."
Curtis sighed and pulled a piece of silver from his pocket. He chucked it at the fool. "That will be all."
The man nodded slowly, before turning away and stumbling off. Curtis pulled out a crossbow. "You forgot something!" he called. The fool turned around and just had time to register the iron bolt heading straight for his head. "Oh dear!" he shouted, just before it hit him in the eye. Curtis shook his head and studied the letter. An update from his spies no doubt.

He studied the seal. It was blue and bore a resemblance to this: :|

Which meant it was from Boc. Curtis opened the letter.



A letter intended for Paulus.

Another letter was attached to this one, explaining. Boc wrote that he had managed to intercept this letter, and that soon it would look as if the Pope had completely ignored the kings request for divorce.

Chancellor Boc hoped to take advantage of this fabricated slight against the King to further damage his relationship with the church. Boc also wrote that Jeffrey had killed the Queen as she walked the gardens of Westminster, and was asking if Curtis had anything to do with it. Curtis laughed out loud at that. He hadn't.

Chancellor Boc was proving his worth. He was proposing exactly what Curtis would have proposed. He was learning! Jeffrey had been fun, but that game seemed to be coming to an end. What a great parting gift he had given Curtis though. At least now he could use Jeff's inevitable downfall as a way to make good on his promise to Earl Robert of Northampton, who wished to be the Duke of Oxford.

The thing with the pope was very interesting. If it wasn't handled properly, it could become a very bad situation for Paulus. And Curtis had no intention of it been handled properly. The pope not even meriting Paulus with a reply would make him furious. Curtis wrote back to Boc, to approve of his plan.

In Ireland meanwhile, Malion was standing at the shores of Ormond, with his ragged army stood behind him. On the beach, ships were coming ashore, with more soldiers than Malion had ever seen jumping out and wading up onto the sand. These were the English reinforcements Mal had requested so long ago when the war had seemed lost. He was a different person back then, though it was only a few months ago. Their commander came to greet Mal, a smirk on his face.
"Where is this shit herder you need taken care of?"
Malion had expected such an attitude. The English seemed to have an inherent belief that the Irish lords were only lords in name, and were really nothing but a disorganized band of savages.
"You needn't have come," Malion said coldly. "The war is done."
The commander scowled. "Last I heard you were crying for help in your keep."
Some of his men stirred angrily behind him. "Fuck this English bastard," one of them muttered.
Malion kept his cool. "Things change...but since you are here I suppose you might as well finish this for us. My men are tired, and we don't care for glory. Go take my castle back."
"You presume to command me," The commander said incredulously.
"I am betrothed to your lieges daughter, yes I presume to command you. Now go!"
The commander scowled at him but obeyed, stomping off to order his men together. Later that day they assaulted the castle of Osmond, as Malion and his men went home.



It wasn't long until Malion received the official surrender of his rebellious subject.



In Iceland, Mercator was in trouble. The battle to retain his shitty throne was going badly. For days the snowmen had been fighting a guerrilla war against each other in the miserable cold countryside. Mercator had been too lazy to assign proper leadership himself, and this, along with a smaller army, was proving to be undoing. Mercator was sat gorging himself on food in his lonely keep, writing a letter.

Recently, Mercator had wed the sister of the king of Navarra, in an effort to gain an ally. He was writing to his new Spanish brother in law to try and make good on this new alliance.



"My lord!" A panic stricken servant rushed in.
"OH MY GOD WHAT IS THE MATTER ARE WE OUT OF BEEF?" Mercator shouted, jumping up.
"No...no my lord! It is your army...they are...they are running."
"Running where?"
"Everywhere...they are retreating. Ari is approaching with his army!"



Mercator stood motionless. After a long silence he said. "This will not do...bring me..." Mercator stopped, lost in deep thought.
"Yes?" the servant said expectantly.
"Bring me roast potatoes," Mercator yelled. "I cannot think straight on an empty stomach."
It looked like Mercator's in-laws were his last chance.

In Norway, Bryce sat atop his lofty throne, looking down at all his stupid coward subjects.
"Your grace, I beg you, don't make any hasty decisions."
Bryce looked at his general impatiently. "Why did I appoint you general?"
"For my tactical knowledge and battle prowess, your grace."
"Wrong answer!" Bryce said. "I appointed you to lead my soldiers into battle against my enemies, not baby sit me. I know what I am doing!"
"Your grace, I fear you do not! We cannot hope to win! What with all the trouble brewing here at home!"
That was at least true, Bryce had to admit. Dangerous factions had developed across Norway since Bryce came into his throne. Most of his norse lords were old and timid, and didn't take kindly to the bold new king. Bryce smiled at his general darkly. "What is the matter...are you scared? Should I start calling you general scaredy cat?"
The general went red. "I fear for the realm...not myself, your grace."
"It is not your job to fear for the realm," Bryce said. "That is my job...and I fear for the realm if we don't press my claims. Our enemies will see me as weak if we do not go to war."
"If it must be so," the general said sadly.
"It must." Bryce said bluntly. "Send the declaration. No one can say this won't be done honourably."





Bryce was young, ambitious, and utterly without fear. And he was going to war with the older, content and cautious Ninefingers of Denmark.

In Ethiopia, DR was sleeping restlessly.



She was dreaming of home. She was at the head of a huge army of brown people, Hupu by her side. They were storming Bryce's castle, who was squirming in fear on the throne.
"My ho? You dare betray me?" He shouted pitifully.
"Your throne belongs to me.." DR replied coldly, as Bryce wept.

Before she could clamp Bryce in chains she woke up.
"Damn it, I was enjoying that," She muttered.
Hupu's armies were still making the long trek across the desert to meet their neighbors in battle. Things were moving slowly, but DR knew that was probably for the best. She was finding it hard to adjust to rule in this foreign land. A woman ruler was rare enough in the West, but in the far east it was unheard of. She wasn't exactly hated by her subjects, but she was far from loved.





Her husband Hupu on the other hand...



Was loved by all. The only problems Hupu's subjects had with him were either unavoidable (him being an imbecile and a foreigner) or were caused by DR herself. She had encouraged the change in succession law and started the war which was putting a toll on the realm's levies.

The cynic in DR said that Hupu was loved so much due to how easy he was to manipulate. But in truth there was something appealing about the kings easy going contentment with life. He wanted for nothing, whereas DR was cursed with a burning ambition. She wished she could be more like her husband. She could live an easy life. But she could never sit back and let her homeland be ruled by Bryce. He had to go down!

In Northampton, Dylan was stood before Earl Robert.



His experience in Northampton thus far had been a humbling one. Back in Scotland, before the war, Dylan would have been above Robert. But here in Northampton he was an exiled prince looking for shelter. His fortunes rested on the outcome of the war back home. The rebels had to depose his brother Vernon. If they did he would go home a king.
"Prince Dylan," Robert began. "Since you are taking refuge in my halls, I figured I might as well make use of you."
"My lord?" Dylan asked curiously. He never usually liked what proposals Robert made. He was a shrewd man, and not one to miss an opportunity. He had learnt as much when he had to bargain for refuge in the city.
Robert continued. "It has come to my attention that before the war, you once served on your brothers council."
"Yes...I was my brothers treasurer for a time."
Robert raised his eyebrows. "I see...were you good at your job?"
"I was ok," Dylan replied bluntly. He knew where this was going.
"Ok is better than what I have now. You will report for first council meeting tomorrow afternoon. That will be all."
Dylan hated the way Robert talked to him. He was a prince...he deserved more respect. But he said thanks and took his leave anyway.

Henry was in his halls smoking a hookah.



The new Duke of Kent had done little else since arriving at his new post for the first time after the chaotic feast at Westminster. The herbal remedy he was smoking helped clear his head and think things through. Right now, he was reflecting on his role in the realm-wide conspiracy to kill poor Cheryl Cole.
"I was like...the right hand man," Henry said to himself. "The assassin....not cool man...not cool."
He took a long drag from the hookah.
"Oh boy...this shit is good." Henry thought back to the feast. He had put the poison in Cheryl's cup. If Jeffrey hadn't come and ruined everything Henry would now be a killer...
"Thank you ma brotha Jeffrey," Henry murmured. There was a knock at the door. Henry stumbled to his feet clumsily, and hid the hookah away under his bed.
"Oh man...uh...come in."
A small old man walked in. Henry's servant. He sniffed the air uncertainly, but shrugged it off. "A message for you my lord, and a gift," he said, handing Henry a sealed letter and a small pouch.
"Wow...uh, thanks."
The old man limped outside and Henry took a closer look at the letter. It was from Duke Curtis of York. Henry was surprised. He emptied the pouch, and a pile of golden coins fell to the floor.
"Sweet!" Henry said. He moved back to the letter, and opened it.



Henry glared.
"This money...this is...blood money!" He gathered the coins and threw them out the window, and then returned to the letter.
Henry was overcome with anger. "This realm is filled with lies and treachery...I will not stand for it any longer! I am going to make a stand against the evil empire!"
He went back to grab the hookah from under his bed. "But first...a little more dope."
He lit up.

Back in Iceland, Mercator was sobbing whilst eating a great big cheese cake. His brother in law had declined to come and save him from Ari.
"Summon my "wife"," he ordered.
His timid Spanish bride appeared after a short while. Mercator poured a glass of wine for himself and downed it quickly, as she watched.
"My husband," she began.
"What is the point in marriage?" Mercator asked abruptly.
"I...I don't understand," she said nervously.
"The point in marriage is to gain friends! Friends who will come and help you when you need it!"
His wife bowed her head. "Oh...you are talking about my brother."
"Yes," Mercator said impetuously. "Your brother won't come to my aid. Why the hell not?!"
"Well...husband-"
"Do not call me husband!" Mercator said. "I am your lord! The rightful lord of Iceland!"
"Sorry...my lord...it is simply that my brother doesn't like you."
Mercator stared at her in disbelief. "What did I ever do to him?"
"Nothing...he just doesn't care for you or your war."
Mercator slammed a fat fist on the table. "But he made an agreement! We are allies! He cannot deny me in my hour of need!"
His wife sighed. "Marriage does not guarantee faithful allies, my lord."
Mercator buried his head in his hands. "There must be something he cares for...gold perhaps?"
"Gold he has aplenty. You have nothing to offer him."
Mercator looked at her darkly. "What about you?"
She was taken aback. "Wh...what do mean by that?"
"If your brother doesn't care for me, he should at least care for you. Guards!"
Two mean looking men appeared at the door. Mercator pointed a shaking hand at his wife. "Take her and lock her in the dungeons!"
They complied. His wife looked at him in astonishment. "You crazy bastard!" she shouted as they dragged her away.



Mercator smiled. "We will see what her brother thinks of that! He will have to come help me now!"

Back in Norway the army was amassing.



Bryce had raised the levies of all his lords. It would take time for them to get organised, but once they were, he was confident of a swift victory against Ninefingers. He was an old man, and past his time.

But Ninefingers had other ideas. He had anticipated war for a while now, and had made plans to get his army organised long before it became a reality.



His army stood armed and ready.

In Westminster, Paulus was visiting the dungeons. Since ordering Jeffrey's arrest, he had not visited the fool. Paulus had been fuelled by rage when he gave the order to arrest Jeff, but now he was feeling guilty. He had tried ignoring the problem for the past few weeks, but he knew that was not the way a king should behave. He had to face this problem head on. It wasn't going away. He approached Jeffrey's cell.

"Jeffrey," Paulus said sternly. Jeffrey came to the bars of his cell eagerly.
"Your grace! So good to see you! Can you let me out now?"
Paulus sighed. This was going to be difficult. "No Jeff I cannot."
Jeff began sobbing. "But...but why? I am super sorry! I really am!"
Paul bowed his head. "Jeff, I am sorry but...you committed treason when you killed my wife."
Jeffrey grew wide eyed. "But...I did it for you! I only wanted to serve!"
Paulus shook his head. "Half the realm hates me because of you Jeff. Everything you have done in the name of service has brought the realm closer to chaos!"
Jeff sank to his knees. "I didn't mean it!"
"I know Jeff...I know. Do you know the penalty for treason Jeff?"
Jeff looked up, hopeful. "Detention?" he asked vaguely.
"No Jeff," Paul said. "The penalty is death."
"Oh," Jeff said quietly. "Whose?"
"Oh for fuck sake! Your death you idiot!"
Jeff wailed. "Oh no! Oh god no! Please Paul! I am your frieeeend!"
"I am your king, not your friend Jeff. Look, here is the warrant."



Jeff read it hastily and ran to the corner, spewing up. He was crying out incoherently.
"Pull yourself together," Paulus said. Jeff didn't seem to hear him.
"JEFF!"
Jeffrey turned around. "Yes?"
"Do you want to live?" The king asked.
Jeffrey rushed up to the bars. "Oh god yes!" he pleaded. "I will be your faithful servant forever and always. I will never-"
"No," Paulus cut him off abruptly. "You will not be my faithful servant Jeff."
"I don't understand?" Jeff said, wiping his eyes.
"No you don't. That is why you find yourself in this predicament."
"What do you want me to do? I will do anything!"
Paulus leaned in closer. "I want you to go back to Oxford Jeffrey, and speak of all the awful things I did to you."
"What things?" Jeffrey asked, confused.
"You are about to find out. Guards...open his cell."
Two jailers moved to open his cell. Jeff walked to the exit, but they blocked his way.
"I am sorry Jeffrey, this is going to hurt."
Jeffrey frowned and opened his mouth to speak, just as a baton clipped him across the head. Paul winced when it connected. He couldn't stand to watch. So he turned around and walked away.

To be continued...

Season 2 Part 3

Late August 1067

The sun beat down on the gardens of Westminster. King Paulus of England was amidst the biggest gathering he had arranged since he had tried to kill his late wife Cheryl.

The king had decided enough was enough. He couldn't hide from what he had done any longer. He had to move on.
"Do you, Paulus, take this young maiden as your lady wife?" The priest asked.
"I do," Paulus replied.
This wedding had been arranged very quickly. Paulus knew it was necessary to stamp out the memory of Cheryl as soon as possible. For his new wife he had chosen a lowly common girl, with a talent for singing. The king hoped she would not trouble him.
"And do you, young maiden, take King Paulus to be your husband?" The priest continued, not mentioning the girls name to prolong the suspense!
"I do..................



"Adele said. :o
"You may now kiss the bride," the priest said, smiling at Paulus. The two stood there awkwardly for a moment before Paulus moved close and pecked her on the cheek. "Lovely wife," he said, completely unconvincingly, "Some of your songs are ok."
"Um...thanks!" Adele murmured.
"Time for some wine, I think," Paulus said, rushing off. As the party wore on and Paulus got drunk, chancellor Boc came over to congratulate him. "May you and Adele share many happy years together your grace!"
"Piss on that," Paulus said miserably.
"Your grace?" Boc asked, surprised.
Paulus looked at his chancellor sternly. "Boc...you are my friend aren't you?"
"I am here to serve, your grace," Boc said curtly.
Paulus paused. "Good. I would speak with you alone." The king turned abruptly and headed toward a secluded clearing by the woods of the grounds. He turned to see Boc following uncertainly. He eventually stopped by the forest edge and turned.
"Boc...you are my chancellor. That makes you my go to guy for advice...and I need it now more than ever."
"What is the matter?" Boc asked.
"Ok...here goes. Before Jeff went and killed Cheryl, I was in the midst of a new plan to get rid of her. A safer one."
Boc nodded. "You sent a letter to the pope requesting divorce."
"Yes," Paul said. "I hoped this new pope would be more lenient then the old one."
"It was worth a go," Boc said. "If you don't mind me asking, where are you going with this?"
Paul laughed bitterly. "Well Boc...Pope Roth didn't even bother replying. He is probably more zealous than his predecessor."
Boc still looked confused.
Paul sighed. "If Roth didn't even warrant my request for divorce with a reply, what do you think he is going to do when news reaches him that my lovely wife was killed in my own castle?"
"Ah," Boc said. "I see the problem now."
"Yes...I fear this new zealous ruler of the church will look to make an example of me."
"You fear Roth will excommunicate you?"
"It is a strong possibility. If he does, my enemies will mount up and this marriage to Adele will shatter any stability I have recovered."
Boc thought for a moment. "Well...the way I see it, you have three options."
"Go on," Paulus urged.
"First option. Do nothing and hope this will all blow over."
Paulus laughed. "Absolutely not. I am not going to bury my head in the sand."
Boc nodded. "Ok. Option two. You can repent your sins and beg for forgiveness."
"No," Paulus spat. "I am not going to give this new pope the satisfaction of seeing me beg."
Boc shrugged. "That only leaves option three...you render the pope's authority as irrelevant."
Paulus raised his eyebrows. "How would I do that?"
"There are multiple claimants to the papacy, your grace."
Paulus grew wide eyed. An anti pope. Of course! He smiled. "Do we have any such claimants here in England?"
Boc grinned. "Yes we certainly do, your grace. Quite a few. But there is one in particular I might recommend..."

Later, Boc showed the king a list of claimants to the papacy, and a list of candidates he could choose as anti pope. One in particular caught the King's eye.



A prince-bishop named Kristoff. Paulus grabbed some ink and a quill, and wrote a letter inviting the bishop to court. If pope Roth intended to excommunicate him from the church, this was his best way to counter it.

Meanwhile in Scotland, the rebels were regrouping by the bay of Loch Tay. They had been retreating from the mercenaries for weeks. They were tired, and morale was low. Natalie was resting by the riverside with a personal guard and the other rebel leaders.
"When will your mercenaries abandon the chase?" one of them asked Natalie miserably.
Natalie looked at him. "The king will run out of money to pay them with any day now. Then it is him who must worry."
"You said that yesterday," another one piped in. "And the day before that, and the day before that too!"
He wasn't wrong. "Vernon definitely has no money left...I ran the kingdom at one point remember. I know full well what state the treasury was in before I left."
"Then why are they still coming?" one of them asked impatiently.
"I...I don't know," Natalie admitted. She was baffled. Mercenaries didn't fight for honour or glory. They fought for money, and money alone. And Vernon had none left, according to her notes, which were never wrong.
"This woman has led us to our death," an angry commander piped up, pointing at her accusingly.
"Now is not the time to lose faith!" Natalie said sternly.
"This is all your fault! You hired those bastard mercenaries in the first place. I should-
"Attack! We are under attack!" Voices were crying out in the distance. Natalie turned to see a young soldier waving at them frantically from further inland. An instant later he was burning, a flaming arrow protruding from his chest.
"They have found us!" someone cried out. Natalie found herself paralyzed with fear. "This doesn't make sense," she murmured, as chaos unfolded around her. Hundreds of mercenaries were descending on them, and within minutes they were surrounded. The bravest among them fought to the death in vain, but most surrendered quickly. Natalie remained sat on the ground, shaking. She couldn't believe what was happening. After a while a man clad in steel approached her. The mercenary captain, no doubt.
"Why?" She asked miserably.
"Just doing our job!" the captain replied bluntly.
"But...who is paying you?"
The captain shrugged. "You have me there. We bled the mad king dry ages ago. I suppose you have been waiting for us to pack up and go home?"
Natalie's confusion turned to rage. "Why are you still fighting for him?!"
The captain laughed. "Well...an unstable realm is more profitable to us in the long run."
Natalie shook her head. She understood now. The mad king was a sell-swords wet dream. The longer he remained in power, the more wars there would be to fight, and hence the more gold there would be to earn.
"Mercenaries shouldn't play at politics," Natalie said, glaring at the mercenary captain.
"Neither should women," the captain replied coldly. He patted her head. "Why don't you go back to femsnet!"
Natalie stared at him with disdain. "You will rue this day."
"Whatever," the captain said, laughing. "Men, let's take these rebels back to their king."



In Iceland, Mercator was sat eating chicken and sobbing. He had recently imprisoned his own wife in an effort to force his brother in law to come to his aid, and he had received a swift reply.



Oh wait...that was the reply he was expecting. This is the reply he actually received...



Mercator tore a piece of chicken off the bone with his teeth. It tasted of tears and grief. His brother in law had not fallen for his ploy. He had no other cards left to play. Ari was outside his walls. It seemed his life of luxury was over...what choice did he have?

He went to the walls of his castle, taking another leg of chicken with him. Up on the battlements, he could see the ragged band of Norse men Ari had surrounded his castle with. He shouted down to them.
"Hey you pieces of shit!" Mercator called out, eating more chicken. Some of the besiegers turned to look at him.
"I surrender!" Mercator shouted. "I fucking surrender! Are you happy now?"
There was no response for few moments, and then he appeared.
"I would like that in writing please," Ari said gleefully.
Mercator scowled at him. "You have won Ari. Don't rub it in!"
"In writing," Ari said sternly. "I have all the time in the world...but I imagine you will run out of food soon."
Food. Mercator needed food, and lots of it. The thought of losing it was too much to bear. "Oh god, you cruel bastard. Fine...FINE!"
Ari smiled smugly.



The war in Iceland was over.



Would Ari prove more capable than his fellow snowman?

In Ireland, war had begun again. Though this time it was not Leos on the warpath. It was Malion!

The homosexual artist had inspired men to follow his lead with his poetic speeches and a humble nature. And now he was inspiring them to unite all of Southern Ireland.



The war was his commanders idea.
"Leos will do everything to destroy you the moment he sees you as a threat," he had said.
"Maybe he can be reasoned with," Malion had foolishly suggested. He knew full well when he said it that a man like Leos could not be reasoned with.
"Your grace, Leos is a violent drunkard, and you are probably the only real obstacle he sees in his way to becoming king of Ireland."
"What do you propose?" Malion had asked.
"I propose you expand quickly. Make Leos think twice about attacking you. Uniting Southern Ireland will bring you a larger army, and more resources."
A real power struggle was beginning to develop in Ireland, with only two real contenders. How would Leos react to the building momentum of Malions campaign?

In Edinburgh, Vernon was doing a jig in his castle. The rebel leaders stood before him.
"Honourable King Vernon," the mercenary captain said, me and my men are going home, but I do not doubt you will be seeing me again."
"Thank you Captain Russ!" Vernon said gleefully. "I appreciate your assistance in capturing these traitors."
Captain Russ raised his eyebrows. "Of course...your own role was crucial, King Vernon," he said wryly.
With that, Russ walked out of the castle, his men following behind him. Natalie watched him go, a sick feeling in her stomach. She looked beside her. The other leaders were there, along with the kings brother Wikey.
"Now...just what should I do with these traitorous scum?" Vernon said aloud. "Maybe...maybe I should pardon them?"
A few looked up eagerly at that, but not Natalie and Wikey. They knew Vernon too well.
"Actually, no, what am I thinking? Treason is the worst crime of all!"
"Get on with it asshole!" Wikey yelled.
Vernon looked at him incredulously. He pointed a finger at his brother, his hand shaking violently.
"OFF...OFF WITH HIS HEAD!" Vernon bellowed.
In an instant two steel clad guards were behind Wikey, wrestling him to the ground. Another guard brought a chopping block and lay it before the poor mime, before looking up to Vernon for confirmation.
"Get on with it!" Vernon cried.
Natalie watched uncomfortably as Wikey struggled with the knights. She wanted to tell him not to struggle, that it would only hurt more, but the words stuck in her throat. She watched as one of the guards drew a long sword and lofted it above his head. Vernon's eyes glistened.
"Fuck you brother!" Wikey shouted, as the sword swung down and connected with his neck.

Wikey spluttered. His struggling had prevented a clean cut. He was still alive. Natalie whimpered. The executioner raised his sword again and brought it crashing down. This time Wikey's head rolled off.



Vernon cackled. Natalie felt a tear fall across her cheek. She was terrified.
"Well," Vernon said nonchalantly, "What other stuff do I need to do today?"
"Magnificence," a servant called to Vernon, "There are wedding arrangements to be made."
Vernon licked his lips. "Marriage? Whose marriage?"
"Yours, your grace! To a little girl called Gertrude."
Natalie didn't understand. Vernon was already married to her.
"Gertrude eh?" Vernon said. "What is the point in this marriage?"
"I don't know," the courtier said.
Vernon nodded thoughtfully. "Fine whatever, show me what to sign!"
The courtier handed the king a scroll.



"Cool! Sounds good," Vernon said after pretending to read it. Natalie knew he was pretending because Vernon didn't know how to read. Natalie watched in confusion as the king signed it. "Well that seems to be everything!"
The court started to disband, as two guards seized Natalie by the arms, along with the remaining leaders. Natalie looked down to the floor, and noticed Wikey's head resting by her feet, the mimes lifeless eyes starting up at her.
"Oh my!" Vernon shouted. Natalie looked to see him starting directly at her. "I almost forgot! There is another traitor to deal with!"
Natalie whimpered. "Please! No!"
"You have being very naughty, Natalie," Vernon said, as the guards beside her forced her to her knees.
"You helped my enemies!" Vernon bellowed, as she heard the sword being unsheathed again.
"I was spying on them," Natalie murmured.
Vernon stamped his feet. "LIAR! LIAR! PANTS ON FIRE!"
The guards pushed her head on to the wooden stump. Time slowed down.
"OFF WITH HER HEAD!" Vernon yelled excitedly.
Natalie felt like crying, but mostly she was tired. She closed her eyes. Seconds later her world went black.



To be continued...

How could Vernon let such insolence go unpunished. Both Wikey and Natalie had to die :(

Mal @ 5/5/2013 20:43

Do you control the actions of each character or just a select few?

I try to let the characters do their own thing but intervene when I think its beneficial. Any time I do intervene I try to make decisions I would expect these characters to make.

Mal @ 5/5/2013 21:40

I wish I had more time I'd make some videos with heds adapting the stories

You should totally do this.

Season 2 Part 4

September 1067

Queen DR sat by Hupu's side. She had finally persuaded him to let her into the war council. For the first time ever, she had struggled to manipulate her husband, reason been that Hupu associated "war councils" with danger. It took DR several hours to explain that war wasn't actually fought in a war council, it was simply discussed.

The King's councilors didn't much like her presence, but DR was quickly finding out that this was a common attitude among the men of the court. The more power she gained, the more they despised her.
"This is no place for a woman, your grace," one of them insisted to Hupu when she first took her seat. That almost made DR laugh. She had pushed for the war in the first place. If this wasn't her place, it wasn't anybody's. Before them lay a table with a map of the Kingdom, and the neighbour they were invading.

Hupu's combined army numbered 1259 men.



It was first thought that the enemy would provide no challenge, but that had changed. The enemy forces were almost evenly matched in terms of numbers.



The war would be decided by the upcoming battle. And both forces were almost evenly matched. It could go either way.
"I do not like these odds," DR muttered. "I would rather be assured of victory. We need more men."
"This is the way of war," one of the councilors said. "It is always unpredictable."
DR studied the map. "Perhaps I can bring in some outside assistance."
"Your half brother?" the councilor asked.
DR nodded. "Bryce is young, foolish, and brave. He won't be able to resist a call to arms."
"Then I suggest you write to him, my lady."
The council ended at that, and DR made straight for her study to find some parchment. Along the way a servant interrupted her. "A letter for you, your grace." He handed her a folded piece of paper, with the royal seal of Norway on it. Odd.
"Thank you," DR said, not looking up from the letter. This was curious. Bryce had already written to her. She opened it and read.



"That stupid brave bastard!" she yelled, scrunching up the letter. With Bryce preoccupied back home, he wouldn't be able to come help her now. The war would be decided by Hupu's armies alone.

In Denmark, Bryce was leading a small scouting party. They had made the short sea trip across the oresund in longboats, landing roughly 40 miles North of Copenhagen. Since then they had been marching steadily towards the Danish capital. Their goal was to assess the enemy. Bryce was riding at the head of the party, his general by his side. "It is warmer here. I cannot wait to take my crown."
The general shook his head. "Your grace, we shouldn't underestimate King Ninefingers."
"I am not underestimating him," Bryce snapped. "What do you think this scouting mission is for? We are checking the situation out before charging in with our whole army."
The general frowned. "Then why are you talking as if this war is already won?"
Bryce smiled. "Belief goes a long way. And besides, how much of a fight can Niney put up? He has had years to press his own claims on England, but he never has. Why do you think that is?"
"Men grow tired of war," the general replied.
"Perhaps," Bryce said. "Or maybe he just doesn't have as great an army as he used to."
"I hope you are right your grace," the general said. "Otherwise defeat will come quickly."
"Riders returning!" A voice rang out in front of them. Everyone tensed up. A minute later a small party of cavalry rode up before Bryce.
"Your Grace," their leader said.
Bryce grinned at them. "What news do you bring?"
"We spotted the enemy camp outside of Copenhagen your grace. By my estimation there were about 2000."
The general groaned. Bryce turned to him. "Come on, that is not so bad!"
"Your grace, that is more than we have raised. And they have already banded together."
"Yes," Bryce said. "It is a wonder that Ninefingers hasn't brought the fight to us already!"
The general narrowed his eyes. "I don't understand, your grace."
"Don't you see general. Ninefingers intends to stay on the defensive. He wants us to meet him in battle here."
"You may be right, your grace," the general said, nodding. "It is understandable if he doesn't want to be drawn away from his own lands."
Bryce grinned. "That is why we must make sure he is."
For the first time ever, the general smiled at Bryce in approval. "Forgive me for saying this your grace, but up until this point I thought you were bloody mad."
"I ain't just a pretty face," Bryce said. "It is time to go home. We have to figure out a way to draw this old king out of his comfort zone."

Days later, the scouting troupe were back on the other side of the oresund and heading for home.



It was a bleak and stormy night in Northampton. Dylan was sat over piles of papers, tired and weary. Since Earl Robert had named him Treasurer, he had suffered many sleepless nights. It was hard work. Half the time he wasn't even sure what he was doing. But Earl Robert had told him he was doing a great job, and since compliments from the lord of Northampton were rare, he figured he must be doing something right.
"Prince Dylan." Dylan looked up from his papers, startled. One of Robert's courtiers stood before him.
"I am sorry to disturb you at this late hour, but Earl Robert has requested your presence."
Dylan shifted uncomfortably. "What could Earl Robert possibly want with me at this hour?"
"It is not my place to say," The courtier said, bowing. "If you would follow me, prince."
Dylan stood up and followed uncertainly. When he reached Roberts study, the courtier left him. Dylan knocked on the door.
"Enter," Roberts voice called out from the other side. Dylan pushed the door open and stepped inside.
"Sorry to call for you at this hour," Robert said. "Please...sit down."
Dylan sat. "What can I do for you?"
Robert grimaced. "An hour ago I received a letter. News from Scotland."
"What news?" Dylan asked eagerly.
Robert sighed. "The rebellion is over. Your brother has won.
Dylan froze. He had not been expecting that. "No...how can that be?"
"His mercenaries decided to stick with him after the money stopped coming in."
Dylan put his head in his hands.
Robert continued. "It seems their captain wants to see Vernon's reign continue."
"But...why?" Dylan asked.
"Money," I suppose. "The mad king is good for business."
Dylan shook his head in dismay. "I cannot believe this."
"There is more," Robert said solemnly.
"More?" Dylan asked. He wasn't sure how it could get any worse.
"Vernon saw fit to set an example to the rebel leaders. Your brother Wikey is dead. Executed in the throne room, I hear."
Dylan frowned. "Wikey was half mad himself. He had no love for me. What was he doing fighting for my cause?"
"He wasn't. He was fighting for his own claim to the throne. Apparently he announced his intentions from the battlements of his keep, in front of the entire mercenary army."
"The bloody fool," Dylan groaned. "Everything is ruined."
"Look on the bright side," Robert said.
"What fucking bright side?" Dylan muttered, his anger flaring.
Robert held his arms out. "Well, you are the treasurer for an ambitious English lord for one."
"What is that compared to a kingdom?" Dylan cursed.
Robert stood up and walked towards a table and grabbed a silver flagon. He filled two cups of wine and passed one to Dylan.
"Would you rather your head was on a spike on the walls of Edinburgh?"
"I would rather Vernon's was," Dylan said bitterly.
"Eventually it will be. It is inevitable. A king as terrible as him cannot last forever."
Dylan shook his head. "But the next rebellion will not be in my name...it will be fought out of desperation to end my brothers tyranny. The lineage of the crown will not matter at all."
Robert nodded. "You are correct. It is a shame your rebels were not successful. It has forced me to change my plans."
"Plans?" Dylan said, confused.
"Your throne is not lost, my prince. Trust me on that. I have recently become friendly with a certain individual who would see me become the new Duke of Oxford. In return I promised him my swords to his cause."
"Who are you talking about?"
Robert took a sip of win."Duke Curtis of York. Alongside him and our other allies, we intend to build this kingdom anew. You were supposed to help us do that when you came into your throne. But no matter. We will still have need of a loyal Scottish king when we are finished here in England."
"You intend to depose Paulus!" Dylan gasped.
"That is right. My opportunities under him are few and far between. And besides, it was an insult to name Jeffrey Duke of Oxford over me. How can such a fool as him bear such a proud title."
"So what can I do?" Dylan asked.
"Well for the moment carry on as you are," Robert said bluntly. "Keep serving as my treasurer and be patient. I have to take Oxford from Jeffrey first. From there Curtis must secure a few more powerful lords to his cause. And then we will be ready."

In Ireland, Leos was brooding over a map of his lands.



He had a pint of cider in hand, and one of his generals sat beside him. "Look at this bullshit," he muttered. "That Southern fag Malion is on his way to becoming more powerful than me. And here I am sat on my arse getting pissed."
"My lord, we cannot-"
"And that is another thing!" Leos said miserably. "I hear his men call him king now! Nobody calls me king!"
"I am sorry, my lord," the general said. "We can start calling you king if you wish."
"No, fuck that!" Leos slammed his pint on the table. "I want to earn the title."
He stood up, swaying slightly. "General, we need to raise the soldiers. We need to get back to war!"
"Your churchmen say otherwise, my lord."
He was right. Since restoring his duchy to its old strength, Leos had been bogged down waiting for his levies to reinforce, only to realize that his churchmen were dissuading the common folk from flocking to his banner. He had an uneasy relationship with them.



Leos clenched his fists. "My fucking churchmen. Oh how they hate me. They don't like anybody to have fun!"
They didn't approve of Leos's alcohol and whore fueled life style, nor did they approve of his new wife, Sophia, who was of low birth.
"We believe they have a ringleader," the general announced. "One named Thomas Becket."
Leos nodded. "Of course. He is the worst of them all. But what can I do? Stripping him of his lands would be seen as tyrannical."
"There are other ways, my lord." The general had a dark look in his eyes.
Leos knew what he was getting at. "I...that would be despicable. Cowardly."
"It would be safer," The general insisted. "He is just one man. One defenseless churchman."
Leos bowed his head, considering. After a long moment he looked up. "Will somebody rid me of this tiresome priest?"
The general nodded and walked out without another word.

The next morning, Leos woke to receive the bad news.



Leos groaned. "How could they fuck this up?" He shouted. "He is a fucking priest! What did he do? Bore them to death with sermons?"

The churchman Thomas Becket didn't take it well when he discovered that his liege had tried to kill him. His opinion of Leos was lowered further.



Back in Northampton, the sun was rising. Robert was looking down at an unopened letter with Duke Curtis's seal. When he learnt about Jeffrey's release from the dungeons of Westminster, he had written to Curtis immediately, to request his assistance.



And now Curtis had sent his reply. He opened it nervously. It was surprisingly blunt. "Sure. Have fun!" was all it said, with a (: next to it. Robert nodded.



Robert was not one for waiting around. He had enough support to press his claim, and his men were ready to take down the inept Jeffrey. Robert couldn't imagine the king would mind, not after all the pain the fool had caused him. He would make a better subject...at least until Curtis called him to war.

By mid-day, his army was in Oxford, laying siege to the town.



Jeffrey was stood watching the chaos below from the safety of one of the watchtowers.
"Oh men oh men oh men!" he shouted, his hands on his head. "What is going on?"
A grim looking servant walked to his side. "My lord, Earl Robert of Northampton has besieged the town. He wants your seat for himself."
Jeffrey looked at him, puzzled. "Which seat? Tell him he can have it!"
His servant sighed. "No my lord, not an actual seat...he wants to be the Duke of Oxford."
"Oh men, is he stupid or something? I am the Duke of Oxford! There cannot be two! Somebody go tell him!"
"Oh my god," The servant shouted, losing his patience. "My lord, let me send a letter to the king to plead for his assistance."
"Ok, whatever!" Jeffrey said, running around in a circle and yelling "OH men oh men oh men oh!"

In Ethiopia, the sun was blazing down on the scorched African plains. Two armies were engulfed in battle.



Hupu's army was finally engaged in the battle for their neighbours territory. It was going to be close...

To be continued...

Season 2 Part 5

November 1067

King Paulus sat on the throne, his wife Adele beside him. He had called court so everyone could bear witness to the new law he was about to pass. Chancellor Boc, Pope Kristoff, and Spymaster Henry were sat nearby. Henry had until recently been at his new post in Kent, but he had made the trip up to Westminster on the kings demand. He was visibly stoned. There were two vacant seats next to him, were General Curtis and Treasurer Jeffrey should have been sitting. But Curtis was far away in York, and Jeffrey was trapped in Oxford. Earl Robert of Northampton lay siege to the town to press the claim he had managed to forge on Jeffrey's seat. That was why everyone was here.

Paulus stood to address the court. "Attention everybody! I have gathered you all today to bear witness to a new law."
Everybody looked at each other curiously. Paulus continued. "Yesterday I received the news that Earl Robert of Northampton lay siege to Oxford, with the intention of usurping Duke Jeffrey. At a time when we are at war, infighting cannot be tolerated. In fact, infighting cannot be tolerated full stop. The current laws of the crown allow such folly. I have seen fit to change this. I hereby declare that High crown authority be put into effect immediately."



"This is a wise move, your grace," Boc said. "It is foolish for your subjects to fight one another. After all, we are not truly a united realm whilst such wars are permitted."
"Indeed," Paulus said.
"But what of Robert's war?" Boc asked. "Since he rebelled against his liege when the law allowed it, the crown cannot stop it."
Paulus nodded. "You are right. I intend to solve the situation diplomatically. Earl Robert will not be pleased, but I will insist he back down."
"Forgive me, your grace, but Jeffrey has proven time and time again how incompetent he is. Perhaps it would be best to let Robert usurp him. From what I have heard he would be a good deal better."
"No," Paulus said bluntly. "As much as I despise Jeffrey the crown cannot support the cause of rebels." Paulus left the matter at that and turned back to face the court. "Court is dismissed."
Boc shrugged. Everybody began filing out. Henry stood up awkwardly. "Oh man, I came all this way for that?"
"It was much appreciated Henry," Paulus said.
As his council began heading out, he called to Kristoff. "Stay back a moment. I need to have a word with you."
"Of course," Kristoff said. "What can I do for you, your grace?"
Paulus looked to the doors and waited until everyone had left. "I need you to sign something," Paulus said, handing the anti pope a folded piece of paper. Kristoff read it.



Kristoff smiled approvingly. "I wondered how you were going to make Robert back down. Wise move, your grace."
"So you will sign it?" Paulus asked.
"Of course your grace. I owe you for pressing my claim against Pope Roth. Had you not I would have spent my life as a prince bishop. This position gives me the power to make real changes in the church...one day I know you will take me to Rome with an army. Then the whole of Christendom will recognize my claim."
Paulus patted him on the back. "That day will come. Trust me." Then he left Kristoff in the court. He had a letter to send.

Far north in Scotland, after long months of gathering together and marching, the English army had finally arrived in full force.



They were capturing small settlements and castles across the sparse county of Cumberland.

The mad king had hardly any men to summon to fight this new enemy. The rebellion had ravaged his army, and aside from that, all his subjects detested him, and were not willing to part with many men when he called the banners. The force he could summon was nowhere near the amount required to mount a serious defence of the kingdom.



Vernon had no other options though. He had spent all the money of the realm on Russ and his mercenaries, and they had been dismissed. All that stood between him and the vast English army was a few hundred men.

Vernon had called a war council in an effort to inspire a solution. Unfortunately, they were not very helpful.



"This will not do!" Vernon yelled, slamming a fist on the table. "The smelly English are invading! They mean to enslave us!"
"Your grace," one of the councillors stammered, "We have no soldiers left to defend the realm with. The rebellion ruined us, and the mercenaries have gone home."
"I will not tolerate your feeble excuses!" Vernon bellowed. "There is always a solution!"
The councillor held his arms out. "Such as, your grace?"
"Such as dragons!" Vernon yelled excitedly. "Dragons! Why didn't we think of it before!"
"Dragons? Your grace, dragons do not exist!"
Vernon grew wide eyed at that. "What...what did you just say?"
The councillor looked at Vernon fearfully. "Your grace...they...they don't. Everybody knows."
"Oh...my...god..." Vernon pointed at the councillor. "Guards...arrest him at once! And whilst you are at it, arrest all these other idiots!"
There was a sudden uproar as the council tried to escape the grasp of the guards. After a short struggle, all were in chains but the court chaplain, who jumped out of the window. Vernon looked out and saw him limping away, holding his leg. "You better run fast!"
The chaplain turned to face him as he staggered away. "I will end your tyranny, mad king!"

(lol image fail)

The guards escorted the councillors out of the room. They would be heading for the dungeons. Vernon took a look at his council room.



"That is better," Vernon said. "No more meddlesome fools to interrupt my thoughts. Now...what should I do about the English invaders?"
He paused a long moment. "Hm...maybe I should play the lute."
And with that, Vernon walked off.

The next day, his court chaplain returned to his seat in Aberdeen and called in the assistance of mercenaries. Captain Russ was not long in answering the call.



"I knew keeping Vernon on the throne was a good idea," Russ said. We are making a killing off of this guy.
"Best not turn the tables on me like you did Natalie," the court chaplain warned him.
Russ grinned. "Relax father! I am a godly man!"

He wasn't...

In Ethiopia, the battle was over....


























The final result....





























Victory!

Hupu's army had routed the enemy, and surrender was not long to follow this decisive battle.





Back at court, the celebrations were starting. Hupu was drinking a great amount of alcohol. His faithful queen, DR, was restraining herself though. The victory was sweet, but it would mean nothing unless she could persuade her husband to let her share the spoils.
"My brave husband," DR said, kissing him on the cheek. "Many songs will be sang about this war you won today."
"Oh boy," Hupu said. "That kiss wad fun. Can I have another?"
"A king commands," DR said, obeying. "Now we must talk about these newly conquered lands."
Hupu looked confused. "I do not understand!"
DR smiled patiently. She had grown used to how slow Hupu was. "Well husband, you have to share the spoils of war with your loyal subjects. That is how you keep them loyal!"
"I know that!" Hupu said, clearly lying.
"And who better to share the spoils of war with than your lady wife?" DR said, smiling the sweetest smile she could muster.
"Maybe baby!" Hupu said playfully.
That was Hupu's way of beginning negotiations. DR had grown used to that too. It was no big deal though. A kiss here and there didn't hurt. "I will give you another kiss if you agree," DR said.
Hupu thought about that. "I...I want something more than a kiss this time."
DR frowned. "Oh...I see...well." She considered it a moment. Could she do it? It had to happen eventually anyway. Besides, how bad could it be? She smiled at Hupu. "Well...of course Husband! Whatever you want!"

*Insert gratuitous game of thrones sex scene here*

The next morning, Hupu grinned at her. "Oh boy. You can have whatever you want!"
"Good!" DR said. "Just sign this husband!" She handed him the grants for all the lands to the East. After Hupu willingly signed it, she had secured herself a position as the second most powerful lord of the kingdom, second only to Hupu himself.



She also saw fit to grant control of some of the newly acquired castles and cities to her own subjects, in order to better her relationship with them. Needless to say, it worked a treat.



With this new found power, in time, she would be able to call to arms just over 1000 soldiers. Almost enough to go back home with. Almost. DR knew it wouldn't be long now. Her half brother Bryce would come to rue the day he forced her into marriage.

In Ireland, Malion was at the head of a mounted troupe of cavalry, mowing down retreating peasants. It was a great victory, a battle that only a year earlier he would have written a poem about. He never dreamt he would ever find himself in a real battle. Though the real thing proved to be quite different from the poems and songs. In real battle there was no glory. No honor. Only death. Here he was, slaughtering terrified peasants, yet in years to come songs would be sung about this day. It was all bullshit.
"Stop!" Malion cried out. His men immediately stopped attacking. The peasants used the opportunity to escape.
"Your grace?" his commander asked, puzzled.
"Leave them be," Malion said. "The battle is won."
"Your grace, they may regroup and-"
"I am not going to condone any more butchery," Malion snapped. "The battle is won...the enemy lords have been defeated. That is all that matters."

That battle of Desmond was over.



Surrender was quick to follow. Malion now controlled all of Southern Ireland.



To the North in Connacht lay Leos's lands. He was the last true opponent to a unified kingdom, and Malion knew he wouldn't be beaten as easily as the others.
"What now, your grace?" His commander stood by his side, observing the battlefield. "Today cements your position as the most powerful man in Ireland. Perhaps it is time to march on Leos."
Malion shook his head. "No...not yet. I am tired of fighting. We must rest a while."
Aside from the physical demands, the horrors of war had started to wear on his conscience. He couldn't bear all the killing.

Back in England, Jeffrey was stood in a watchtower on the walls of Oxford, looking down at the besieging army below. They were trying a strange new tactic, which seemed to involve packing everything up and going home.
"What are they doing?" Jeffrey asked his servant.
The servant looked at him. "Um...my lord, they have surrendered. Don't you remember? The declaration is here." The servant handed a piece of parchment to him.



"Wow," Jeffrey said. "We really showed them?"
"Um...yes...we certainly did, my lord."
Jeffrey spotted Earl Robert somewhere among the vast army that had hours ago stood poised to assault the city. He looked very pissed off.

And he was. Robert was looking around at his army as they disbanded. "So near, and yet so far," he mumbled. He couldn't believe the king had decided to defend Jeffrey. After all the trouble the fool had caused. It didn't make any sense.

But Kristoff, the kings pet, had threatened excommunication. If he hadn't backed down, he would have found himself rotting in the dungeons of Westminster. And that is if he was lucky. Heresy was a serious charge, and more often than not it was punishable by death. Robert wondered why Boc and Curtis had plotted to get Paulus to appoint the anitpope Kristoff in the first place. It gave him more power, when the aim was to diminish it. He made a note of asking them the next time he saw them.

Meanwhile in Westminster, Paulus was writing a letter to Jeffrey.



It was blunt and to the point. But Jeffrey had a short attention span, and he didn't understand big words. The king knew to keep it as simple as possible. He had decided to name Jeffrey court jester to disassociate himself from the fool. He didn't want his enemies figuring out his plans. Soon he expected that Jeffrey would be approached by somebody. Somebody who was plotting to steal the throne. Or somebody on their behalf. When they did, Paulus had instructed Jeffrey to tell him. He had learnt not to trust the fool to do this alone, however, and had sent along a spy in the guise of a servant. The spy would make sure Jeffrey reported whatever he learnt. For too long, Paulus had tried to stay out of the mind games and plots of the court. He had maybe ignored it, pretended it wasn't there. But those days were over. He was taking charge of the situation now.

There was a soft rap at the door to his study. It was Chancellor Boc. "Your grace, I bring good news."
"Let me guess...Robert backed down."
"Yes, your grace. It seems you made him an offer he could not refuse."
Paulus smiled wryly. "Yes. I did indeed."
"There is more!" Boc said. "The army has begun the invasion of Scotland. Reports indicate that the county of Cumberland has been secured."



Paulus had almost forgotten about the war with Scotland. "It is about time," he said. Pretty soon Paulus hoped he could depose the mad king and come one step closer to uniting the British Isles. Boc was still lingering.
"Is there more?" Paulus said. "That was good enough for one day."
"Well, your grace...I didn't want to bring this up now, but I must ask your permission to leave court."
"I see. Might I ask why?"
Boc cleared his throat. "Well, I feel that I must go home for a while, to tend to my own lands. My subjects can grow lazy when I am not around."
Paulus shrugged. "Fair enough, Boc. If I have need of you I will send a letter. You may leave now if you wish."
Boc looked surprised. "Um...are you sure you don't want me to stay a little longer?"
Paulus shook his head.
"Well...thank you, your grace. I will leave at once!"
Later on, Paulus watched Boc leave with an entourage of knights from the battlements of the castle.

Boc had been sincere when he told the king he was going back to Lancaster. But he hadn't mentioned he would be stopping for a chat with Duke Jeffrey of Oxford along the way.

To be continued...

Season 2 Finale!

December 1067

King Ninefingers army was camped on the outskirts of Copenhagen.



He was holding counsel with his general.
"Your grace, the enemy scouting party has headed back to Norway. It was believed that King Bryce himself was among them."
Ninefingers shook his head. "He came that far into our territory with a small scouting party? One wrong move and this war would have been over. This young Norwegian king is bold but foolish. We should take note of that."
"Might I make a suggestion, your grace."
"Yes, "Ninefingers said. "That is your job."
"I believe we should take the attack to Bryce. His army is still mobilizing whereas we are ready to strike now."
"No," Ninefingers said bluntly. "We don't know their country. It is wild and unpredictable. We will stay here...let them come to us."
His general shrugged. "As you say, your grace."

Back in England, Jeffrey was sat in his study in Oxford. There were many books in there. Books on Latin, books on the roman empire, books by Plato, books about King Arthur...all sorts. But Jeffrey couldn't read any of them. It was a skill he had never learnt.
"My lord," his servant called, appearing at the door.
Jeffrey looked up quizzically. "Oh men, what is it?"
"You have a visitor."
"Cool! Send him in!"
The servant bowed. "As you command."
His visitor appeared moments later, smiling reassuringly.



"Hey Jeffrey!" Boc said.
"Hey Boc, it has been a while!"
Boc laughed. "It certainly has...why, the last time I saw you was before the king arrested you for killing his wife!"
Jeff grimaced. "Oh men, was it that long ago? Yes...well I was very naughty Boc."
"Don't be silly!" Boc said reassuringly. "It was not your fault at all!"
"Really?" Jeffrey asked.
"Really!" Boc said, taking a seat. "So Jeffrey, how are you these days?"
"Oh you know...same old! Although recently, one of my earls came down with an army, demanding a seat from me!"
"Well that is terrible!"
"I know right! I said to my servants 'hey we have plenty of seats, just go get one from the dining area, I don't mind' but they were having none of it."
There was an awkward silence. "So," Boc said eventually, "Let's discuss more important matters!"
"Such as?" Jeffrey asked curiously.
"Jeffrey...do you remember the secret club?"
Jeffrey didn't. "Um...no Boc, I can't say I do."
"Oh really?" Boc said. "Surely you haven't forgotten about it? It was such fun."
"Hm...secret club?" he pondered.
"It was started in Westminster!" Boc said. "You must remember!"
Jeffrey smiled with sudden realisation. "Oh my god! Yes!"
Boc smiled. "You remember?"
Jeffrey nodded. "Those were fun times Boc. But what about it?"
"Well Jeffrey, I have good news! The club is still around. And we want you back in!"
"Seriously?" Jeffrey said, beaming.
"Seriously!" Boc stood. "We will talk more soon, I must go and talk to Earl Robert now. He is in the club too! And when he knows you are, you won't have to worry about him coming and demanding seats from you anymore!" Boc gave Jeffrey a thumbs up and headed for the door to the study. He opened it to come face to face with Jeffrey's servant, who bowed courteously. Boc nodded at him and left.
"Bye Boc!" Jeffrey called after him.
The servant closed the door and faced Jeffrey. "My lord," he said sternly.
"Yes?"
"You must send word to the King at once and inform him of Duke Boc and Lord Robert's treason."
Jeff gaped at him. "Treason?!"
"The king ordered you to let him know the moment anybody approached you about a secret pact...Boc just did."
"Oh men," Jeffrey cried. "Oh men oh men oh men! I must write to the king at once." He pondered that a moment. "Although...I cannot write!"
The servant sighed. "Get me some parchment, and I will write for you."
Boc was soon going to find himself in trouble!

In Ireland, Leos was having problems.

The attempted assassination of his troublesome priest had damaged his reputation, and now Thomas Becket was drumming up opposition to Leos amongst the common folk.
"This is absurd!" Leos said, slamming his fist against a wall. "This bastard priest is turning my own people against me!"
"You did try to kill him my lord," his general murmured. Leos went red with rage and turned to face him. "What the fuck did you just say?"
The general fumbled nervously. "My lord, I only meant-"
"It was your fucking idea!" Leos yelled, charging at his general and knocking him to the ground. He began battering him. "You screwed this up!" Leos shouted, smashing the generals head against the floor. "This was your fucking fault!"
He stood up panting, kicked the general in the face, and left him knocked out. He wiped his brow and turned to a trio of nervous looking captains who had watched the whole thing. Leos pointed to one at random. "You...you are my new general."
Then he gestured to the bloody heap on the ground. "That is what happens if you screw up...now fuck off."
The new general and the other captains complied quickly. When they left, Leos buried his head in his hands. "All this trouble over one priest...shit. What have I done?"
He was running out of options. If he let this fester, soon his realm would be torn apart yet again. Assassination had failed, and the cost had been immense. It had left a black stain on his honour, which he personally did not care about but all his subjects did. He couldn't risk trying assassination again. He didn't have the money for it anyway. That only left imprisonment. He could imprison Becket, but that would be viewed as an act of tyranny. But at this point what did he have to lose? The assassination was public knowledge.

Leos walked out into the courtyard of his castle. He called for attention. Everybody immediately fell silent and looked his way.
"That priest is going to tear the fucking kingdom apart. The kingdom we are working so hard to rebuild. I want him arrested immediately!"



A large party left that day to carry out the order...

In Westminster, Paulus was reading a letter from Jeffrey. It was confirmation of Paulus's worst fears. According to the letter, Boc had approached Jeffrey to invite him into an alliance with himself and Earl Robert.
"I trusted him," Paulus muttered. "And this is how he repays my trust...By plotting against me."
He scrunched the letter up and went searching for Kristoff. He found his anti pope praying in the chambers the king had allocated to him. Paulus knocked on the door. Kristoff turned, surprised to see him. "Your grace?"
"Sorry to interrupt your praying." Paulus murmured.
"Not at all, your grace," Kristoff replied. "My prayers can wait. What can I do for you?"
"I need your help with something," the king said, passing Kristoff a note.
Kristoff took it and read...



"Wow," he said when finished. "Boc always seemed so pleasant."
"I know," Paulus muttered. "He never gave me a reason to mistrust him."
"There is no need to worry your grace. He will answer for his sins."
"It is his treasons I want him to answer for, Paulus said bitterly.
"In time, your grace. That will follow."

By the end of the day, Boc was excommunicated from the church...



Paulus sighed. "I am going to need to find a new chancellor." But the king knew that even though Boc was a traitor, finding a replacement for him would be difficult.



In Iceland, King Ari sat shivering in his fancy new castle. Since usurping the throne of Iceland (which was less a throne and more an old wooden chair) from Mercator the Idle, he had done very little...in truth there was very little to do, other than have snow ball fights. King Ari had expected much and more from leadership. Where were the matters of state to discuss? The diplomacy to conduct? The intrigue of court?

So far being king of the snowmen was no different from being an ordinary snowman. Ari couldn't help wondering if that is why his predecessor had lasted so long on the throne. There didn't appear to be any need of a ruler. The only regular attendants at court were an old woman and a scraggy cat named Tuppence. And they were content just to sit and stare at Ari as he shifted on the throne uncomfortably for hours on end. Just the other day, he had tried to liven things up a bit by trying to ransom Mercator back to his closest living family.



And they refused! His own family didn't think Mercator was worth a measly 10 gold! So now Ari had a useless prisoner laying in his dungeons. He couldn't ransom him, so he was left with one of three choices:

1: Release him

2: Execute him

3: Let him rot

Ari could release him, but there would be no fun in that. And he wasn't going to execute him, no way. He wasn't Vernon. Which only left him with option number 3. It looked like Mercator was going to be spending the foreseeable future in the dungeons. All in all, Ari was finding ruling to be really shit so far. He yearned for real power. But where could he turn to find it?

Back in England, Boc was two days ride from Oxford with his entourage, and was now on his way back home to Lancaster. He had not lied to the king when he said he needed to tend to his own lands, but the main purpose of his journey had been to invite Jeffrey back to Curtis's cause. The Curtis faction would benefit from having the power of Oxford behind it, and Jeffrey had proved useful in the past. Boc wasn't sure when Curtis was planning to make a move against the king. They had gathered a significant amount of support, but they weren't ready yet. Curtis wanted absolute assurance of victory.
"Halt!" A voice cried out from behind him. Boc turned around in time to see a column of knights heading up the road behind his own. He was surprised to spot Jeffrey amongst them.
"What brings you all this way?" Boc asked uncertainly, as Jeffrey rode up beside him. "Westminster is the other way Jeff!"
"Oh men Boc...I don't know how to say this!"
Boc frowned. "How to say what, Jeff?"
"Well...you are kind of...under arrest."
Boc raised his eyebrows. "You are kidding me right..."
Jeffrey shook his head solemnly. Jeffrey's servant beside him took up speaking for him. He was grinning smugly. Boc doubted he was simply a servant.
"No joke, my lord. You have been charged with heresy. The great pope Kristoff has excommunicated you at the kings behest."
"Heresy?" Boc stammered.
"Yes, heresy. Though that is not your real crime. Your real crime is treason. Plotting to depose the king."
Boc shook his head. He couldn't believe the king had finally found out.
The servant continued. "Yes Boc. We know all about your plan to put yourself on the throne."
Boc paused at that. He almost laughed, but checked himself. This was a really bad situation, but if they didn't know about Curtis, it might be best he went quietly. If Curtis was still safe there might be a way out of this for him. So he went along with it. "These are serious charges. What is to be done with me?"
"You are to be brought to Westminster and locked in the dungeons, until such a time that his grace has decided what to do with you."
Boc shrugged. "Fine...the sooner we get to Westminster the sooner I can prove my innocence."
"Save it traitor," the servant said, as he put Boc in chains.



Perhaps the king was not so easy to fool as first thought. This was unexpected.

Several days later in Northampton, Robert was sat in his keep, lost in thought. He was holding the monthly council meeting for the city, alongside Dylan and the other councillors, but his head was elsewhere. Since Oxford had been denied to him by Paulus's intervention, he had been in low spirits. After all that hard work he was pushed down by the king to allow an incompetent fool to remain in power. It made no sense. It would make sense if the King knew that Robert was backing Duke Curtis to depose him, but if the king knew that he would be in a dungeon...or worse. So it seemed to Robert that Paulus simply preferred to surround himself with utter fools.
"My lord," a courtier entered the room, interrupting him from his gloomy thoughts. "Sorry to interrupt my lord, but a letter just arrived for you."
Robert sighed. "Let's have a look," he said, as the courtier handed him a rolled up piece of parchment. Robert noted the seal. It was his great liege lord Jeffrey's. He smiled wryly. He didn't know the fool could write. He opened it.



Robert stared at it in silence for a long time. Had he really just read that?
"What is it?" Dylan asked, reminding Robert that he wasn't alone.
"Bad news..." he muttered.
"You have gone pale," Dylan said. "Let me see." The prince snatched the letter out of Roberts hands and read. He cursed when he was finished. And rightly so. If Robert was going down, Dylan was going down with him. Robert had willingly harboured the exile prince when no one else would. And even that was when he had a chance of usurping the throne of Scotland from his batshit insane brother Vernon..
"They won't even let me be an earl," Robert said dully. "It seems they mean to utterly ruin me."
Dylan looked at him angrily. "Are you just going to sit there and take this?"
Robert shrugged. "What choice do I have? Jeffrey can call upon all the strength of Oxford if I refuse."
"But...if you surrender...you are nothing..."
"Yes well...I aimed high and I lost. And when you lose this game, you lose all."
Dylan looked disgusted with him. "What happened to the man who I first met when I arrived here? The man who had big plans for the future?"
"He lost," Robert said calmly. "I tried to take Oxford, the king took offence at the infighting in the realm, and this is my punishment."
The rest of the council was looking on awkwardly.
Dylan was red with anger now. "If you surrender, you are condemning me to death! I have nowhere else to go!"
"There is always somewhere," Robert said, rubbing his eyes.
"I searched the whole kingdom until I came across this place," Dylan stressed. "There is nowhere else for me."
"I am sorry Dylan, it is-"
"My lord!" The courtier was back. He looked exasperated. "My lord...more news...riders have just returned from the field. They say they spotted a party heading for Westminster. Duke Jeffrey was heading it, followed by Duke Boc...who was...he was in chains my lord. He has been imprisoned."
Robert shot Dylan a knowing look. "Everybody leave us at once," he demanded. The room emptied in seconds.
Now Dylan had gone pale. "He...he knows. Paulus knows! What if he knows about me too?"
"Calm down," Robert said, sighing with relief. "This might just be the best news of the day."
"How can you say that?" Dylan asked incredulously.
"The king has arrested Boc...and it just so happens he is trying to get rid of me too...he is making a move against the faction, but he might not know everything. We must act fast if we are to stand a chance."
Dylan looked up, clearly not understanding, but with a flicker of hope on his face. "What must we do?"
Robert smiled. "We need to write to Curtis...immediately. We may not be out the game just yet."

In Ireland, Leos was watching the soldiers he had sent out to arrest Thomas Becket returning to his castle. He searched and searched but could not see the church man amidst their ranks anywhere.
"If they have failed to arrest him, I have half a mind to kill them all," he muttered to himself.

Sure enough, as they entered his hall, he could see by the fearful look on their faces that they had failed. When they explained, the situation was revealed to be a whole lot worse...



"He is a fucking priest!" Leos yelled. "One priest...how can you fail to arrest him!"
Not one of them had an explanation. "Christ! I guess I am going to have to sort this out myself. Bring me my armour!"
Within the hour, Leos was on horseback, heading to deal with this churchman himself. He was going to beat this priest into submission, and make him accept imprisonment.

In Westminster, Paulus was sat on the throne, Jeff stood before him. It had been a week since Boc's arrest. The king was trying to figure out the details of the conspiracy against him, but is was difficult given how frustratingly stupid Jeffrey was.
"So, let's go over this again," Paulus said. "Chancellor Boc approached you and asked you to conspire against me with him and Robert in a bid to steal the throne? Correct?"
"No," Jeffrey said.
Paulus facepalmed. "Jeffrey...you did well escorting Boc here, but I need answers!"
Jeffrey thought long and hard, and finally said "I don't understand."
"For fuck sake Jeff." Paulus was losing his patience. "Tell me what happened again...exactly what happened. From the beginning."
"Ok," Jeff said. "Well, I was sitting in my study, wishing I could read books, and then there was a knock at the door. And then I said 'come in', and then-"
"Jeffrey stop! Stop! There is no need for so much detail. Just start from when Boc entered the room."
"Oh men, ok." Jeffrey started again. "Well, Boc said he wanted me to join the secret club again, because-"
"Wait...what?" Paulus couldn't believe what he was hearing. "What do you mean again? You were in this club before?"
Jeffrey nodded uncertainly.
"Jeffrey...you never cease to amaze me."
"Thank you, your grace! Yes...I was in the secret club before. I was very much looking forward to being in it again."
Paulus looked at Jeffrey in astonishment. "The amount of treasons you have unwittingly committed would probably account for every lords and ladies in the realm ten times over Jeff. Tell me about the first time you were in the secret club. How did that come to be?"
"Well, I was exploring a random part of the castle here, and I just happened to walk in on them talking to each other in secret!"
"Them being Boc and Robert?" Paulus asked. "That doesn't make sense Jeffrey. Robert has never visited court."
"No no," Jeff said. "Them being Boc and Curtis."
Paulus gasped. "Shit."
"I know right," Jeffrey said. "So they totally had this club going, and I-"
Paulus stood abruptly, cutting Jeff off. He felt light-headed. Boc didn't want his throne...somebody else did. That was when a courtier entered from the halls.
"Your grace," he said amiably, passing a letter into his hands. "From Duke Curtis of York."
Paulus opened it wearily.



Curtis must have been warned about Boc's imprisonment very quickly to have been so prepared for this. Jeffrey was stood over his shoulder, looking as confused as ever.
"Jeffrey...if you had any wits about you at all, you could have prevented this."
Jeffrey looked at him, clueless. "Prevented what?"
Paulus sighed. "Never mind...I will not be blackmailed."

Another week passed, and the war began.



The realm was divided...



Curtis had rallied much of the North, whilst the south remained mostly loyal to Paulus.

Shortly after the start of the war, the English army was immediately called out of Scotland.



There was a more pressing matter to deal with right now.

To be continued...

General Bear Brigade @ 15/5/2013 6:29

where was I? :(

Busy!

Anyway, I need character suggestions for season 3 guys. I am sure there are some I have not included yet.

Grim for one.

All good suggestions!

Though, who is Andy and who the fuck is BoopleNogDalp?

Oh yeah! I remember now!

As much as I would love to introduce some of these new characters, some are from so long ago and I can't access the old sites for pics.

I need pics for as many of the following as possible:

MOS
Budd
Andy
Bella
Helios
Grimapple
FF0
Kiwi
Patrick
Shawn
Oyster Boy
Kiwi

Tyvm Boc!