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[Yoink]

Best. Death. Ever.

I love that brave Sir Keardwall died saving Sir Feyman the unfairly suspicious, too! Well, at least he lives on via his Holy Spleen.

Edit: Also, in my current time/location I find myself sadly unable to let loose the great belly laughter that I feel building up reading that update... Thus, I shall re-read it tomorrow with the proper reactions to the goings-on! Thanks for being a bloody hilarious GM, La!

[Zako]

A fantastic end to a fantastic character... And I told you something bad would happen! I totally called it!

[freeformschooler]

I must say, reading over it once again, that was a masterpiece. Keardwall was the best character and that was the best death.

[lawastooshort]

Forty seventh turn!
 
England; the Dark Ages; Wednesday; the Gorge of Eternal Peril.

From the far side of the abyss, Sir Beadocáf hears Sir Feyman shout into the deep and fatal chasm as he wonders how to keep both the Holy Exterior Spleen of Keardwall and his own hand well-preserved.

"FORGIVE ME, O KEARDWALL! I shall see to it that your legacy lives on-on-on-on-on!”

The last syllable echoes across the chasm walls, disappearing into the misty depths as Keardwall did before it. Beadocáf joins the lament.

"Do not worry, Expired Sire Keardwall! I shall take thine conservated remains to the -" He pauses for a moment, then turns his face up to Heaven instead, "- Archbishop of Canterbury, where it shallt be placed amongst the most holy relics of God's Chosen Few - for truly thou hasth dunne ye Duty To the Lord, and he hast called you home to Him. Ah, indeed, morte magis metuenda senectus. I swear it will be so! It shallt be recorded into mine Holy Quaerentus Acta, so that I do not forget it when this Quest for the Lord's Grail is over."

And so saying, Sir Beadocáf stuffs his hand into one pocket of his surcoat, and the Holy Exterior Spleen of Keardwall into the other, and sets to considering the choices available to him in the task of rejoining his companions.

…   …   …   …   …   …

“Now pull me up, Ethlehed,” shouts Sir Feyman, dangling from the shattered bridge on the far side of the gorge, “It should have been I that died, not he!"

"Do not fret!” comes the reply, and Ethlehed leans down on his stomach, edging across the cliff edge, “All that matters now is that we survive and complete our quest! Take my hand Feyma- oh blast, wait, you can’t let go, can you. Hmm.”

Ethlehed reaches down with his right hand, gripping the remnants of the bridge tightly with his left, edging ever closer to Sir Feyman’s one remaining arm.

“Surely God will have a place by his side for the most honourable Sir Keardnnnnggah!"

The last syllable is lost in a grunt of heroic and manly effort: Ethlehed grabs hold of Feyman’s wrist and pulls him up! He drags him over the side of the chasm! Sir Feyman is saved!

Title Acquired: Sir Ethlehed the Curious, Knower of Names, Taker of the Bridge of Doom, Rescuer of Sir Feyman!

…   …   …   …   …   …

Sir Ethlehed the Curious, Knower of Names, Taker of the Bridge of Doom, Rescuer of Sir Feyman, lies panting on the ground, face down, blue with the effort of dragging up a brave and manly knight in full plate armour. At length, he pushes himself up and turns to face away from the Gorge of Eternal Peril, only to see a police car pull up. The two cops drag a bedraggled looking knight out of the back seat and march him towards Ethlehed and Feyman

“Bloody hell,” mutters Ethlehed, “I forgot about them…”

The cops approach.

“So,” says one, turning to the arrested knight, “Sir Uriel, are these your accomplices? Come on man, own up you little blighter! It will be easier for you in the long run! Ten years in the clink or twenty eh, it’s up to you!”

“Sirs! Comrades! Fellow Knights of the Round Table!” cries the newcomer, Sir Uriel Ultim The Entirely Lacking in Depth Perception, “Flee for your lives! These fiends have inflicted upon me unspeakable horrors! They hast taken away my sword! They have addressed me uncouthly! They have taken my spectacles! I will hold them off. You must complete your quest! Run away!”

“Bugger that!” answers Ethlehed, “One for all and all that. Take this, foul usurpers!” he continues, kicking the cops in the shins one after the other, “Come, goode Sirs, let us flee together whilst they are bent double in Holy Pain!”

“Hang on…” interrupts Feyman, fully recovered from his frightful brush with Eternal Peril, “What about Beadocáf? We can’t just leave him there?”

“Ah. Yes. Beadocáf. Bloody hell,” mutters Ethlehed, “I forgot about him… BEADOCAF!” he shouts, in his most fearsome and loud voice, “Beadocáf! You must cross the Gorge! Beadocáf! You must JUMP!”

“Bloody hell Ethlehed, that’s a marvelous idea,” concurs Feyman, before also raising his voice to shout, “Come on man, jump! Beadocáf! ‘Tis but a flea’s hop from side to side! Oh blast. Ethlehed, the cops are getting back up. We must run away! Beadocáf! We shall meet again! I swear it!”

…   …   …   …   …   …

“Jump?!” wonders Beadocáf, incredulous and stranded, “From my side to thine? I’m wearing full plate armour for Godde’s Sake! I’m not really terribly athletic in any case. Hmm. Perhaps if I had not eaten that last boar I could have managed it. Oh good Lord, what is that commotion? My companions sound as if they are in mortal danger! I must join them!”

Beadocáf paces up and down for several minutes along the cliff edge, deep in thought and calculation.

…   ….   …   …   …   …

The three knights flee, running as fast as their armour permits them across the savage mountainside, stumbling across head-sized rocks and sinking into ankle-deep mudpools as they try to outpace the two cops behind. The mist closes in, and Ethlehed pushes ahead. He runs head first into an imposing figure, suddenly looming from the mist! An imposing and particularly rotund figure!

Ethlehed staggers backwards for a second.

“Oh. I say. How the blazes did you get here? What a mightily heroic act, Sir Beadocáf!”

“Oh. Well,” mumbles Beadocáf, sheepishly, “I er… I was pacing up and down, hoping for the Lord’s Courage so as to be able to take the mighty leap across yon Devil’s Chasm, and all of a sudden I found I’d paced quite far, and then, suddenly before me did appear a milestone, which read ‘Bridge. Five minutes’, with an arrow, so I er… Well. You see. Here I am. Apparently the Lake of L'Homard isn’t very far in this direction. I see you are in considerable haste to get ther- Ah. Who are these fellows?”

“Come on chaps,” shouts the first police officer, panting up to the talking knights, “You’re under arrest. Come quietly please.”

…   …   …   …   …   …

Spoiler: freeformschooler; Sir Feyman the Judging, Slayer of the Black Knight, Soiler of Underwear and Fiendish Smasher of the Killer Rabbit of Caerbannog (click to show/hide)

Name: Sir Feyman the Judging, Slayer of the Black Knight, Soiler of Underwear and Fiendish Smasher of the Killer Rabbit of Caerbannog.
Bio: Sir Feyman gladly accepts his role in any quests, but is always suspicious of the motives of his fellow questers. He likes to play music, but doesn't have the opportunity very often. He fights with swords, but doesn't get too attached to his equipment.
Retinue Members: Crannock the Minstrel.
Lost Members: Naughty Melga the Possible Witch.
Deceased Retinue Members: Maine the shy Minstrel. He usually followed Feyman around, blindly agreeing with him, even though he taught Feyman many things, including how to play music; Eric the Lutist, who bravely followed Sir Feyman for over an hour, only to be sliced in twain by the Black Beast of Aaaaarrrrrrggghhh
Chivalry: 4.
Duels Won: 1/2.
Arms: 1/2.
Wounds Acquired: Smashed nose, smashed face.
Minstrels: 1/3.

Spoiler: Sir Beadocáf Aethlearne the Rotund, Sacred Feller of the Tallest Tree on the Hillock of Fate (click to show/hide)

Name: Sir Beadocáf Aethlearne the Rotund, Sacred Feller of the Tallest Tree on the Hillock of Fate.
Bio: A large man, both tall and wide, with long reddish hair and beard. As the shape of his body might give away, Beadocáf enjoys a good meal. And a good drink. And anything feast-related, really. Despite this affection, Beadocáf is also a rather pious man, spending a lot of his money on building churches on his land, and prefers to spare his fighting skills for when God calls upon them. His colours are red and gold, and his crest is an eagle carrying a cross. His weapon of choice is a long-shafted, knobbed mace, inscribed with the words Nutu Dei. Sometimes also called the Boar, or possible the Bore, Beadocáf is never quite sure which one people mean by it.
Lost Members: Godewine of Norwhyiche, an old friend and monk scholar who was witnessing his quest for chronicling purposes but fell to the temptations of spanking. Hagley the Squire, who joined Beadocáf to learn how to become a knight, but was instead flattened by the very man he sought to emulate.
Wounds Right hand bitten off by a rabbit.
Retinue Members: None.
Chivalry: 1.
Inventory: The Holy Crossbow of Beersheba, Renowned Slayer of the Green Dragon

Spoiler: Errol; Sir Ethlehed the Curious, Knower of Names, Taker of the Bridge of Doom, Rescuer of Sir Feyman (click to show/hide)

Name: Sir Ethlehed the Curious, Knower of Names, Taker of the Bridge of Doom, Rescuer of Sir Feyman.
Bio: It is said that curiosity killed the cat. Sir Ethlehed would remark that he is no cat and therefore perfectly safe. In fact, through absolutely dumb luck he has managed to survive everything his insatiable curiosity has brought him into, often at the cost of comically maimed retinue members. He is interested in absolutely everything and will frequently conduct experiments to satiate his curiosity. Again often at the expense of retinue. He wields a vaguely weapon-like contraption that has so far managed to elude a good description and could go horribly wrong at any moment. He also wields a sword, but it is rusty and blunt from years of neglect.
He is the kind of guy who compulsively pulls a lever to see what happens. He is also inexplicably lucky.
Lost Retinue Member: John the Snarker. A former fool who lost all of his humour while in Ethlehed's service. Crushed to death during Sir Ethlehed’s rescue from the Beast of Caerbannog.
Chivalry: 1.
Wound Acquired: Smashed nose

Spoiler: Ultimuh; Sir Uriel Ultim The Entirely Lacking in Depth Perception (click to show/hide)

Name:
Sir Uriel Ultim The Entirely Lacking in Depth Perception
Bio:
A knight to be reckoned with. He has an imaginary trusty steed which isn't as trusted as it should be,
a shiny armor which often gets soiled in combat,
a great shield wich is dent bent and sligtly curled,
a sparkling balde which is often ridiculed for it's sparkles.
Oh Did I mention Sir Uriel Was entirely lacking in depth perception?
Retinue Member:
Goofus Ridiculus, a Jester whom was originally hired to keep Uriel The Entirely Lacking in Depth Perception in good mood with witty jokes and humor.
Too bad he only know horribly bad puns, and he just can't get rid of this guy no matter what he have tried.
Chivalry: 1.

[Errol]

Sir Ethlehed looks at his fellow knights. He nods. Then he points behind the cops and appears to succumb to nameless horror, shrieking a bit for dramatic effect.
If the cops turn around, he shall charge at them mightily!

[Ultimuh]

No we must run!
Shouts Sir Uriel as he attempts to grab Sir Ethlehed before he does anything rash.

[Theodolus]

But you're already with them. You just escaped the cops with them...

[Ultimuh]

Changed it, how on earth did I manage to skip all that? 
Perhaps my minds was subconsciously blocking it out?

[freeformschooler]

"Hold it right there, policemen! You've got it all wrong!" Feyman lifting his head back and pointed his sword at the cops. "This sword was forged in the smoldering heart of an angelic dragon. Do you have a fancy sword? I don't think so. Therefore, you're under arrest!"

Feyman then backed up a step. "There is an alternate solution, however, which requires less red parchment. Leave Sir Uriel with us and return to your homes, never to so much as glance this way again!"

[scriver]

"Ah, my companion is correcte, no doubt! Indeed, because in this glorious Systeme of Governemente, granted us by the Divine Will of Our Lord God, we of sanguinius nobilis, have a right to exploit the poor workers, while hanging on to Holy Imperialist Dogma, so to say, perpetuate the economic and social differences in our society which is the basis of all that is Just and Right in the world. Why, if not for our Sacrosanct Privileges, the world might degrade into some vile, anarcho-syndicalist commune!" Beadocáf goes into lengths of explaining the workings of the Lord's Chosen Feudalism, stopping only to deliver well-put quotes in mangled Latin.

"And that, you see, is why we live in this most Blessed of self-perpetuating Dictatorships, the violence inherent in the system keeping the working class repressed and content. Because, really, that is what it is all about!" He pauses, then gives the police-men a sly look, and says with utmost disdain: "Why, you are not communists, are you?"

((Sorry for taking so long again))

[lawastooshort]

Forty eighth turn!
 
England; the Dark Ages; Wednesday; near the Gorge of Eternal Peril.

Sir Uriel sees Ethlehed fidgeting about with his sword hilt, as if making to draw his sword and commit some kind of rash atrocity. He bursts into action!

”No, we must run!” he cries, as he dashes over to the surprised knight, tackling him to the ground before grabbing him up and hoisting him over his shoulder. “Ethlehed, we must live to find the Grail! Run away!”

“Oi! Stop right there son!” shouts the lead police constable, barging past Sirs Feyman and Beadocáf, “That’s kidnap that is! Come back you blighter! Leave the poor knight in peace! Oi!”

Enraged by the uncivilised voices of the chasing constables, Uriel only runs faster. He sprints away carrying Sir Ethlehed like a large armour plated sack of potatoes! The cops start to lose ground! Alas, for Sir Uriel misjudges his step, and trips upon a tuft of grass protruding from the marshy ground. He falls into a puddle! His face is drowned in mud! He drops Sir Ethlehed!

“Bloody hell Uriel,” exclaims Ethlehed, brushing himself off as he gets to his feet, “What the bloody hell was that? Oh shit, the cops! Right. I see.”

Sir Ethlehed looks down at his fellow knight. He nods in silent knightly understanding, and then he swiftly points behind the fast approaching police officers and appears to succumb to nameless terror, shrieking a bit for dramatic effect as he falls to the ground in apparent fear. He falls backwards onto Sir Uriel! He rolls off! He falls into a puddle! His face is drowned in mud!

…   …   …   …   …   …

Stricken with sudden apprehension and wondering what could so terrify such a brave and manly knight, the two police constables quickly halt and turn around, only to see Sir Feyman bearing down upon them fast, sword drawn and angry frown hard at work.

“Hold it right there, policemen! You've got it all wrong!" says Feyman, lifting his head back and pointing his sword at the cops. "This sword was forged in the smoldering heart of an angelic dragon. Do you have a fancy sword? I don't think so. You’ve just got a fancy stick. Therefore, you're under arrest! Aha!”

Feyman backs up a step and lowers his sword in a conciliatory manner.

"There is an alternate solution, however, which requires much less red parchment. Leave Sir Uriel with us and return to your homes, never to so much as glance this way again!"

The two police officers realise they have come face to face with their social superiors. Their faces are beginning to show their doubt when they are cruelly assailed by Feyman’s brave brother in arms!

"Ah, my companion is correcte, no doubt! Indeed, because in this glorious Systeme of Governemente, granted us by the Divine Will of Our Lord God, we of sanguinius nobilis have a right, nay, a duty to exploit the poor workers, while hanging on to Holy Imperialist Dogma, so to say,  and to perpetuate the economic and social differences in our society which is the basis of all that is Just and Right in the world. Why, if not for our Sacrosanct Privileges, the world might degrade into some vile, anarcho-syndicalist commune! We’d all be blasted mud harvesters!"

Beadocáf goes at length into explaining the workings of the Lord's Chosen Feudalism as the unfortunate pair look on, stopping only to deliver well-put quotes in mangled Latin.

…   …   …   …   …   …

England; the Dark Ages; Thursday; slightly further from the Gorge of Eternal Peril.

"… and that, you see, is why we live in this most Blessed of self-perpetuating Dictatorships, the violence inherent in the system keeping the working class repressed and content. Because, really, that is what it is all about!"

He pauses, then gives the policemen a sly look, and says with utmost disdain: "Why, you are not communists, are you? I once met a communist. Terrible fellow. Smelt like a Belgian. You’re not Belgians, are you?"

But the glassy-eyed policemen respondeth not! Beadocáf pokes one accusingly in the chest.

He topples over.

They have been struck down by terrible boredom!

Title Acquired: Sir Beadocáf Aethlearne the Merciless, Rotund Feller of the Tallest Tree on the Holy Hillock of Fate!

…   …   …   …   …   …

Feyman and Beadocáf help their mud stained questing companions out of their puddle and to their feet, and Sir Beadocáf reminds them of their direction. They set off, accompanied by the learned Beadocaf’s mumblings on the etymology of Englishe Place Names.

“So, you see, in fact, Lac de L’Homard, in English, we’d translate it as ‘the Sea of Fate’. From the Greek of course. Wonderful language you know. Wonderful people too, in fact. Well, they were. They smell of waffles now. Can’t abide waffles. But of course, that’s another word we got from the Greeks, although of course the waffle itself is more of an English invention, from the time of Saint Barnacle, who was ship-wrecked on the northern coast of Bournemouth, back in 763. A Tuesday, I believe. Of course, statistically, a great deal of shipwrecks occur on Tuesdays. More so than any other day in fact. Anyway, Barnacle, he was a tremendous historian you know, one of the first to chronicle the struggles of Saint Gespid the Burnt, whose writings I terrifically enjoyed when I was a lad, I have to say…”

…   …   …   …   …   …

England; the Dark Ages; Thursday; the Sea of Fate.

Suddenly the four knights appear at the edge of a vast lake. They look across the water, only to see an unending expanse disappearing into the ever present mist. How can they cross to Castle L’Homard? Must they swim to the Grail?

No!

For suddenly the air is filled with ethereal music, as if a choir of hidden angels bless the holy questers, and out of the mist appears a wonderful barge silently and slowly drifting towards them. They gaze in wonder.  The mysterious boat comes to where they are standing bewitched at the water’s edge. As they are about to step in, a ragged figure looks up at them with his watery blank eyes.

“Oh, bloody hell,” points out Sir Feyman, “Not him again.”

“He who would cross the Sea of Fate,” pounces the soothsayer,
“Must answer me these questions twenty-eight!”

He stares blindly and expectantly at the heroic foursome.

…   …   …   …   …   …

Spoiler: freeformschooler; Sir Feyman the Judging, Slayer of the Black Knight, Soiler of Underwear and Fiendish Smasher of the Killer Rabbit of Caerbannog (click to show/hide)

Name: Sir Feyman the Judging, Slayer of the Black Knight, Soiler of Underwear and Fiendish Smasher of the Killer Rabbit of Caerbannog.
Bio: Sir Feyman gladly accepts his role in any quests, but is always suspicious of the motives of his fellow questers. He likes to play music, but doesn't have the opportunity very often. He fights with swords, but doesn't get too attached to his equipment.
Retinue Members: Crannock the Minstrel.
Lost Members: Naughty Melga the Possible Witch.
Deceased Retinue Members: Maine the shy Minstrel. He usually followed Feyman around, blindly agreeing with him, even though he taught Feyman many things, including how to play music; Eric the Lutist, who bravely followed Sir Feyman for over an hour, only to be sliced in twain by the Black Beast of Aaaaarrrrrrggghhh
Chivalry: 4.
Duels Won: 1/2.
Arms: 1/2.
Wounds Acquired: Smashed nose, smashed face.
Minstrels: 1/3.

Spoiler: Sir Beadocáf Aethlearne the Merciless, Rotund Feller of the Tallest Tree on the Holy Hillock of Fate (click to show/hide)

Name: Sir Beadocáf Aethlearne the Merciless, Rotund Feller of the Tallest Tree on the Holy Hillock of Fate.
Bio: A large man, both tall and wide, with long reddish hair and beard. As the shape of his body might give away, Beadocáf enjoys a good meal. And a good drink. And anything feast-related, really. Despite this affection, Beadocáf is also a rather pious man, spending a lot of his money on building churches on his land, and prefers to spare his fighting skills for when God calls upon them. His colours are red and gold, and his crest is an eagle carrying a cross. His weapon of choice is a long-shafted, knobbed mace, inscribed with the words Nutu Dei. Sometimes also called the Boar, or possible the Bore, Beadocáf is never quite sure which one people mean by it.
Lost Members: Godewine of Norwhyiche, an old friend and monk scholar who was witnessing his quest for chronicling purposes but fell to the temptations of spanking. Hagley the Squire, who joined Beadocáf to learn how to become a knight, but was instead flattened by the very man he sought to emulate.
Wounds Right hand bitten off by a rabbit.
Retinue Members: None.
Chivalry: 1.
Inventory: The Holy Crossbow of Beersheba, Renowned Slayer of the Green Dragon

Spoiler: Errol; Sir Ethlehed the Curious, Knower of Names, Taker of the Bridge of Doom, Rescuer of Sir Feyman (click to show/hide)

Name: Sir Ethlehed the Curious, Knower of Names, Taker of the Bridge of Doom, Rescuer of Sir Feyman.
Bio: It is said that curiosity killed the cat. Sir Ethlehed would remark that he is no cat and therefore perfectly safe. In fact, through absolutely dumb luck he has managed to survive everything his insatiable curiosity has brought him into, often at the cost of comically maimed retinue members. He is interested in absolutely everything and will frequently conduct experiments to satiate his curiosity. Again often at the expense of retinue. He wields a vaguely weapon-like contraption that has so far managed to elude a good description and could go horribly wrong at any moment. He also wields a sword, but it is rusty and blunt from years of neglect.
He is the kind of guy who compulsively pulls a lever to see what happens. He is also inexplicably lucky.
Lost Retinue Member: John the Snarker. A former fool who lost all of his humour while in Ethlehed's service. Crushed to death during Sir Ethlehed’s rescue from the Beast of Caerbannog.
Chivalry: 1.
Wound Acquired: Smashed nose

Spoiler: Ultimuh; Sir Uriel Ultim The Entirely Lacking in Depth Perception (click to show/hide)

Name:
Sir Uriel Ultim The Entirely Lacking in Depth Perception
Bio:
A knight to be reckoned with. He has an imaginary trusty steed which isn't as trusted as it should be,
a shiny armor which often gets soiled in combat,
a great shield wich is dent bent and sligtly curled,
a sparkling balde which is often ridiculed for it's sparkles.
Oh Did I mention Sir Uriel Was entirely lacking in depth perception?
Retinue Member:
Goofus Ridiculus, a Jester whom was originally hired to keep Uriel The Entirely Lacking in Depth Perception in good mood with witty jokes and humor.
Too bad he only know horribly bad puns, and he just can't get rid of this guy no matter what he have tried.
Chivalry: 1.

[freeformschooler]

"How could he have survived!? How!?" Sir Feyman throws down his sword in anger and looks up at the question-asker. "Fine. FINE! I will answer your bloody two thousand forty eight questions!"

[Errol]

Sir Ethlehed stares at the old soothsayer in utter bafflement. But then, he is struck by a most excellent idea!
Gag the geezer and be done with it. Then, tie him up for weaponization at a later point.

Those who would attack a Holy Knight/
Must first answer these questions eight!

[lawastooshort]

Not so much a bump as a public shaming!

Although Ultimuh hasn't been online for three days, so I'll let him off.

But scriver! You're certainly not the messiah! Oh no!

Tomorrow I shall carry out autoing. Do any waitlisters want to suggest what Sir Beadocaf should do? It's hard to say whether this will improve or harm his chances of survival.

[scriver]

Sorry again, la, I went off my medication this weekend so I've been in a low place the last days.

"Heathen!" Beadocáf shouts at the man as he starts wading out in the water towards the boat, swinging his Mighty Steelen Fist of God above his head. "Witch! I demand you give us your boat at once, or I shall hold you personally responsible for the deaths of two Good Sirs Knight and Champions of King Arthur, to who's death your words led them! And also give you a forceful Baptism of Reinforced Interrogation until you repent thine sinful pagan ways! Like I did many your kind in Estonia and Finland during God's Holy Crusades!"