Probably time for a second tea, Wednesday 10th April, 1906. Slice the longboat's mast!
Seeing the horrifying effect his deadly discs have on human flesh,
Mr Wellington decides to cut off the escape route of the fleeing villainous Vikings by trying the discs out on wooden boat. He reaches into his trouser pocket for another stone discus. He rubs it against his crotch in the manner of a legendary cricketer. He leans back as he takes aim. He swings! He releases! His highly polished projectile shoots through the air towards the longboat’s mast!
A resounding splosh carries back to Wellington’s disappointed ears.
Call for the crew of the airship to assist us in saving Wellington while looking for a rock to put through their ship with my walking bat stick, hopefully putting a hole in it and disabling, because a comrade in trouble is more important than a way off the island. Especially when the way off is beached.
Mr Smith, close to the wreckage of the airship, notices that
von Fersen has not entirely managed to find a solution to the imminent kidnapping of
Mr McGeenyton; he also notices the great number of Vikings who seem to be rather keen on implementing this aforementioned kidnapping. He lets out a great cry! He calls for assistance!
“I say! Come on chaps! It would be terribly kind of you if one could have some assistance?” From over the horizon fully half a dozen riflemen swarm, until recently proud defenders of the downed British airship. They look armed to the teeth! They
are armed to the teeth!
Having solved one aspect of the problem and rather turned the tables on the now dangerously underpowered Viking horde, he decides to solve the more pressing one: he intends to make the Vikings’ escape with McGeenyton impossible!
He searches about the rocky beach: for what? One can only guess at the inner workings of such a mind!
He paces once! He paces twice! He crouches down. He stands back up!
Mr Smith cradles a sharp looking rock lovingly in his hands!
Spinning the rock into the air, the fearless American swings his walking
bat stick with a ferocious movement of the hips and shoulders. The sharp looking rock speeds through the sky like the reincarnation of
Odin’s wrath!
It flies straight! It flies true! It…
Oh. Gosh. Blast!Wound Acquired! Mr McGeenyton: Heavy Bleeding! The running Vikings are scattered; several limbs appear to fly through the air – in a motion very similar to an arc, the experienced observer might note; more than one body seems to hit the ground! The rock impacts forcefully upon the Viking ship! The longboat is dislodged! It starts to float on the water’s edge!
"Bloody hell! If you get me back to my companions, I'll teach you to make tea if you LET ME BLOODY GO!”
Not one to plea for something as trifling as his own life when the fate of the British Empire hangs in the balance,
Mr McGeenyton instead decides that gentle reasoning is surely the path to take. As the burly Viking carries him off towards the Viking longboat and a lifetime of enforced tea-brewing, he feels that it would be perfectly understandable should he object to his current predicament.
"Bloody hell! If you get me back to my companions, I'll teach you to make tea if you LET ME BLOODY G-ARGH! I say! Bloody well stop that!” Alas! A rather sharp looking rock appears out of nowhere! Three of the Vikings are struck down dead, their internal organs severed and torn. Many arteries appear to have been opened! At least another pair of Vikings are struck! One loses an arm! Another loses a leg! A tendon flies across McGeenyton’s field of vision!
The rather sharp looking rock hits McGeenyton in the face before flying off in the direction of the longboat.
The burly Viking carrying the brave Englishman realises that his autonomous band have picked the wrong fight. He unceremoniously dumps McGeenyton upon the floor! He flees!
Filled with purpose and determination in light of this threat to his nursing Moder Svea, eradicate these useless kanaljer, with revolver, and rifle, and umblade, or dictionary if it is what it takes!
Briefly speechless before the brazen effrontery of these uncouth duel-refusing Norwegians,
Sir August von Fersen storms into action!
"GASP! I knew it! Anarchists! Communists! Bolsjeviks on our very door step! Rude ones at that! For King and Country, I must do my duty as a gentleman and loyalist royalist of any measure must do, and rid my fair North of your very presence!"The knighted Swede kneels some fifty feet from the fleeing Vikings, and rustles about in his cavernous jacket pockets.
He reaches in; he pulls out the letter A!
In a flash, a leather bound deluxe volume of Norwegian-Swedish dictionary flies through the air! A red mist explodes: a Viking falls to the floor! His head rolls down the stony beach!
Von Fersen leaps up; he rushes forward three paces; he stoops to pull out the letter B!
Like a deathly bat a second leather bound deluxe volume bursts through the morning sky: a Norwegian Viking's spleen explodes! A neighbouring Viking faints before the grisly sight!
Quickly approaching the remaining ten raiders, von Fersen shuffles forward and once more drops to his murderous knee; he fumbles about his finely crafted silk lined dinner jacket; the letter C shatters the dawn light! Three unfortunate Vikings are spliced in twain! Several square feet of stony beach are painted red!
As
von Fersen jumps to his feet and bellows his terrifying warcry, the fatal fourth letter of the alphabet screams through the morning air, howling like a banshee vomiting a flurry of phonemes. A Norwegian leg flies to the left! A liver spins off to the right! A false right rib smashes into a nearby rock! Another two blood-soaked corpses drop to the floor!
"Kanaljerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!"Von Fersen decides enough is enough; he draws his revolver, blasting away as he closes with the last four standing Viking marauders, strolling with the speed of one furiously wronged. With a deafening thunderclap a hole appears in one: he is propelled backwards a dozen feet before crumpling to the ground! The blood-crazed Swede throws the gun to the floor as he draws his umbrella, flicking out the blade and catching one of the three remaining enemy by surprise as he charges up to the impolite bounders. A sharp edge flickers! An artery opens! A hand rises to a violently butchered throat! A body falls!
But two Vikings remain! One raises his axe above his head; the axe swings viciously down! Von Fersen sidesteps – there is a flash of umbrella, a spray of gore, a bruising of fat, a tearing of skin! The umbrella moves forth. The umbrella moves back! A lung is impaled upon it! The Viking vomits!
The burliest Viking of them all gnaws his shield. His hair is blonde; his eyes are blue: his axe-pommel is speeding rudely towards von Fersen's noble nose!
Von Fersen ducks! Von Fersen sways! Von Fersen drops his umbrella and uses the finest, noblest, most manly weapon known to human civilisation: his hand forms a fist! His fist forms a blur! Von Fersen punches the warlord in the side of the head!
The severed part flies off in an arc!
... ... ... ... ... ...
Von Fersen pauses to take a puff on his pipe. About him lay strewn more than a dozen bloodstreaked corpses. Politeness has triumphed! He notices a speck of dust on his left cuff. He flicks it away in disgust.
Current Gentlemen
Player: areyoua
Name: Winston Smith, American
BioStatus: On the rocky island. Mostly dressed.
Inventory: A Walking
Bat Stick Capable of Serious Bodily Harm, an Umbrella, a Fine German Sword,
Masterwork Top Hat,
Mysterious Ancient Bagpipes, French-English Dictionary, Smashing Coat (extra warm).
Wounds: [HP:100/100] |
Broken Rib! |
Heavy BleedingSkills: We Carry Large Sticks,
Knowledge of the English Gentleman,
Walking Bat Stick Deflection,
A little more expertise in the art of walking bat stick deflection,
Baseball Cricket Fatality!,
We Never Lost a War! (yet),
Fallible Pedant!,
Fatally Bad Doctor!,
Not a Zoologist!Gentlemanliness: 9.Caddishness: 4.
Player: _DivideByZero_
Name: William Wellington, Gentleman
BioStatus: Somewhere off the Scandinavian coast.
Inventory: Two Fine Dueling Pistols, Stone Throwing Discs.
Wounds: [HP:100/100] |
Fractured Left Arm!Skills: A Quite Talented Salesman,
Natural Born Top Hat Wearer,
Top Hat Black Belt,
Airship Pilotage,
Top Hat Acquisition,
Extraordinarily Convincing.
Gentlemanliness: 11.
Caddishness: 0.
Player: Geen
Name: Henry McGeenyton, Gentleman
BioStatus: Being carried away by Vikings.
Inventory: Monocle, Double Barreled Walking Stick With Tartan Trim, Grappling Hook Wristwatch, Tin of Loose Tea Leaves.
Wounds: [HP:93/100] |
Light Bleeding! | Fractured Left Lower Leg! | Heavy Bleeding!
Skills: Graceful combat, Monocles, Refined Accent, Particularly Calm, Tedious Oratory!
Gentlemanliness: 13.
Caddishness: 2. Player: scriver
Name: Sir August von Fersen, Noble Young Swede
BioStatus: Wading through a sea of blood somewhere off the glorious Scandinavian coast.
Inventory: Umbrella-Sword, Copy of Gentleman Hunter’s Weekly, Fine Hunting Rifle,
Masterwork Gold Eye Patch, Finely Crafted Pipe, a Magnum Revolver, Exquisitely Crafted Letter of Apology, Forster's Norwegian-Swedish Dictionary (24/24).
Wounds: [HP:100/100] |
Left Eye Blown Clean Off |
Light Bleeding!
Skills: Enthusiastic Hunter,
Well-Versed with Pipes,
Tremendous Orator,
Masterful Pipe Holding,
Fleetfooted Tenacity of the Swedish Elk,
It Runs in the Family,
Knowledge of the Elk,
a Modicum of Knowledge in the Area of Medicine, Published Poet,
Dangerous Misfires.
Gentlemanliness: 16.
Caddishness: 2.
No notes today that I can think of. There were some, until I wrote the last section. The gentlemen are now, except for butlers and riflemen, alone on the island.
Author
Topic: Roll to Be a Gentleman Spy - Chapter Three Part Twenty One. (Read 74845 times)