The allies, Sir Ron D'Ordye (Mike N), Mike W (Over Knight) and Rupert (Knight Gown) seeing that their future lay not in assisting the two antagonists but in allying themselves with each other combined their troops into an almighty army albeit in a disparate fashion.
The battle commenced with the two commanders dueling with each other, which was more akin to a W.I. craft fair.
In preparation for the forthcoming event and strutting up and down like a peacock on a fashion shoot Sir Spicious drew a yellow j-cloth and a tin of Silvo and bedazzled Sir Loin with an impressive display of Breastplate polishing ensuring that he looked his best for the forthcoming contest.
From his bascinet Sir Spicious pulled out a pile of newspapers, some chicken wire, a bag of flour and a bucket of water. Tearing up the newspapers and mixing them with the flour and water Sir Spicious began to fashion a Lance, Sword and shield in preparation for the fight ahead leaving his opponent stunned and bewildered.
Not to be out done, from the inside his armour Sir Loin drew a roll of 16 gauge steel, a welding torch some tin snips and a selection of paints and in an unprecedented move created the most stunning great helm topped with a white swan, cygnets and reeds.
For a moment sir Spicious faltered, taken aback by Sir Loins creativity. Unnerved sir Spicious consulted his “Flashmans guide to dueling”. Brandishing a brillo pad and a bucket of water Sir Spicious returned and began to scrub away at Sir Loins helm rendering it into little more than a 2nd rate brushed steel cooking pot. Sir Spicious threw down his bucket and with hands on hips looked Sir Loin in the eye daring him to do his worst.
Outraged by this underhand move Sir Loin produced a tin of florescent green spray paint from his chain mail underpants and turned the once shining breastplate of sir Spicious into a mural worthy of the best street artist. Looking down at this abomination Sir Spicious smacked Sir Loin (In a rather girly fashion it has to be said) on the cheek calling him a “son of a bitch”. Sir Loin’s bottom lip quivered as tears welled up making rust spots, like skid marks on a lavatory pan, appear on his cuirass.
The gloves now came off and after half an hour of faffing about with buckles and straps both commanders managed to throw down a gauntlet. In a frenzy of slapping and scratching Sir Loin drew first blood when a fingernail caught Sir Spicious on the top of his nose. Sir Spicious squealed like a stuck pig as a small drop of blood began to slowly seep from the tiny cut. However, it was too much for Sir Loin and on seeing this he passed out crashing to the ground in a great cloud of dust as his 400lb frame hit the floor. (Yeah, I know you think 400lb sounds a little bit over the top but don’t forget he was wearing armour at the time and that must have weighed at least 25lb!).
Not believing his luck Sir Spicious forgot the blood and like a ballerina encased in steel doing a rather poor rendition of Swan Lake pirouetted and leapt into the air with joy coming down like a meteorite on steroids.
With his right foot placed proudly on Sir Loins chest like a great white hunter after a kill Sir Spicious soaked up the applause from his men clasping his hands together and holding them aloft in victory. However, he then realised that he could still feel a warm trickle and looking cross-eyed down his nose he saw a thick red and glutinous dribble of blood. Like a puppet whose strings had been cut Sir Spicious hit the ground leaving an indentation the size of a mammoth’s bottom. (Yeah, okay, but don’t forget the armour. Huh, anyone would think I was poking fun at their weight!)
In the mean time Sir Loin had come to and not being able to stand because of the weight of his armour (There, you see!), both he and Sir Spicious were rolled away like a couple of beer barrels coming off a brewery dray.
After being rolled into the holding pavilion Sir Spicious looked longingly at the well stocked table, his mouth drooling and slavering as he smelt the tasty treats. He was a genial host and liked to look after his captives, but there was dual purpose in his thinking. It was a terrible decision but an easy one to make, whether to leave the tent and go and fight with his men or join Sir Loin in an orgy of Chinese and Beer. I’ll leave you to guess which one he chose!
As the commanders stuffed their faces with enough food to make the African famine relief programme look like a dinner for one real men were outside fighting for their lives. Being impatient for their commanders to finish their feeding frenzy Sir Ostrasize and Sir Lance a boil decided to start without them.
The action commenced in the middle of the field and after being shot at for some considerable amount of time Sir Ostrasize launched his Knights pell-mell into the serried ranks of Sir Lance’s archers. After a brief scuffle the archers broke allowing the Knights to exploit the centre.
On the left flank Sir Lance launched his own Knights at the enemy’s archers but with the opposite effect. Being a cunning fox Sir Ostrasize moved his feudal levies and city militia from behind his archers letting the Knights smash themselves against a wall of spears. It was a tough fight but numbers began to tell and with the Knights feeling the pinch they decided that discretion was the better part of valour and pretended to withdraw tiptoeing back in a routing fashion!
On the far left an insufficient number of Welsh light cavalry were sent forth to exploit an open flank but were resoundingly shot to pieces by a unit of mercenary Longbowmen under Sir Ostrasize’s command.
In another attempt to turn the left flank Sir Lance sent forth his crack unit of dismounted men at arms toward another unit of men at arms, a worthy foe. But again even after a brazen display of swordsmanship these men at arms had to withdraw in a routing fashion.
Who now could save the army of Sir Spicious after the incompetent dithering of Sir Lance a boil? Standing behind what had been Sir Lance’s archers were an uninspiring collection of men who were having a really good day. They had only come along for the ride and were so confident that they wouldn’t get involved that they had even set up a fair, which included a ducking stool and a Ferris wheel. As the archers came crashing through the hot dog stand and overturned the candyfloss stall in their panic the peasants couldn’t quite understand what was going on until they looked in the direction of the routing archers. Standing before them was a sight to put fear into even the hardiest of men let alone a motley collection of farm hands.
In their panic they began to run, some diving into the ducking pond whilst others headed for the heady heights and relative safety of the top most chair on the Ferris wheel. One man and one man alone saved them from obliteration Beelzebub chuckles, a former guard slinger. Beelzebub had been put out to pasture because of a minor injury he’d sustained during the battle of Worral towers. Being a hardy bunch all Guard Slingers shrugged off wounds and this one had gone completely unnoticed and Beelzebub had carried on with his daily routine as if nothing had happened. Even though he protested defiantly against being ejected from the Honourable Regiment of Guard Slingers his piers thought that loosing both arms would slightly impair his ability to hurl stones in the accurate fashion that they were renowned for and as such the regiments honour and integrity could not be compromised. Begrudgingly he accepted his fate and went back to his daytime job of a juggler. Rallying the peasants behind the Toffee apple stall Beelzebub gave them a rousing speech, “Fuck me lads, we’re for it now”.
Out of the mist the riders came (or was it the smoke from the burning Ferris wheel?) their horses appearing to breath fire from their flared nostrils as the Knights lowered their visors in anticipation of the carnage that was to come. On they came, shields raised and pennons fluttering on their lances as they were levelled for the kill.
Following Beelzebubs example the peasants stood their ground, some nervously chewing toffee apples as the ground rumbled beneath them, whilst others nervously passed toffee apples as the ground rumbled beneath them. With a clash of steel the two sides met, the peasants being hurled back as the Knights penetrated their baggy ranks. Swords fell and were raised again as the Knights hacked at their opponents unprotected flesh.
Biting furiously Beelzebub lead by example showing his fellow peasants what could be achieved with just one gnarled tooth and a set of diseased gums. Inspired by his actions the peasants took heart and stood their ground to the annoyance of the nobility.
The allies couldn’t believe their luck when they’d recruited the Honourable Regiment of Guard Slingers into their ranks and in the distance the slingers could see Knights being tossed into the air like rag dolls being hit by a car. Realising that this was the work of their old comrade Beelzebub, as one the Slingers gave an almighty “Huzzar” as they advanced onto the flank of their enemy. A hail of stones, old tins, and some very mature rolled up socks flew through the air towards their intended target, a unit of lowly feudal archers. However, the Guard Slingers had no need to hurl anything because the archers broke ranks in just seeing who their antagonists were through fear of having to face them any longer.
The Allies had taken their time engaging the enemy due to a poor command structure in which more orders had been lost than were sent to their own men. Resembling a bit of a damp squib the allies flank attack had about as much effect on the two main commands as a trifle being thrown against a brick wall. The only unit to do any significant damage was a unit of Teutonic Knights whose German efficiency allowed them to engage a unit of Longbowmen who were chopped to dog meat in the process. Even so the mere fact that a unit of peasants on their left flank were holding their own against a unit of Knights perturbed them from going any further because in front of them was just such a unit, fresh and itching for a fight, or was it from fleas? To show how bad things had become in the allied ranks even the Guard slingers had lost heart and evaded in the face of the enemy being caught in the back and paying the price for their cowardliness. The rest of the allied army had been taking it easy and hadn’t moved since the battle commenced having enough spare time to set up camp and forming a collective which made them enough money from passing trade that they were able to retire from military affairs shortly after the battle finished.
So there it ended with Sir Lances Peasants holding their own against a unit of Knights, the only unit left standing in the once grand army of Sir Spicious. For being such an incompetent commander Sir Lance was spanked to within an inch of his life by the “Bi-sexual black stockinged Nymphomaniac Nuns wearing six inch high-heels wielding medieval hand guns”. Rumour has it that he lost the battle on purpose just so that he could experience this sexual depravity!
As for Sir Loin and Sir Spicious, well they were found later on that day comatosed in the pavilion bloated beyond recognition. Their flesh was seen to ooze through their chainmail like lard being forced through a sieve. The only way they could be identified was through a tin of Stella that was found protruding from an orifice, though they weren’t sure which one.
Realising that this must be Sir Spicious the keeper of his chamber was summoned to undress him. Hesitantly undoing the only intact leather strap holding the chain mail together he released it. Like a burst dam a torrent of flesh poured forth sloshing around on the floor like a plastic bag full of water before two small eyes could be seen blinking as Sir Spicious came round. After much debate it was thought safer to send sir Loin back to his own lines still encased in his armour should he explode in the same manner.
Though the army of Sir Spicious had been decimated he still managed to pull himself further up the greasy Un-social ladder. Even Sir Loin, who started with an empty coffer, managed to gain a foothold in the social quagmire at the royal court. As for the Allies they too made progress leaping sluggishly toward their goal.
The incumbent King in his ignominious wisdom has great pleasure in presenting the following new titles to the following players: (old titles shown in brackets)
Sir Spicious of the order (Count on me) with 118 point shall from this day on be known as “Duke Box”
Sir Loin de Porc (Knight time) with 34 points shall from this day forth be known as “Baron Desert”
Sir Ron D'Ordye (Knight Cap) with 41 points shall from this day on be known as “Baron Knee” (Remembering that he still has to pay back the money lender!)
The Un-Social ladder is shown below and as a reminder of how to work your way up this ladder the Title table is also shown.
|
Total
Points |
Nom de Quil
|
Old title
|
Social
Standing at this time |
|
118
|
Sir Spicious of the order (John)
|
Count on me
|
Duke Box
|
|
68
|
Sir Ostrasize, cast thee out (Phil)
|
Count-a-Fit
|
Count-a-Fit
|
|
41
|
Sir Ron D'Ordye (Mike N)
|
Knight Cap
|
Baron Knee
|
|
34
|
Sir Loin de Porc (Dave)
|
Knight Time
|
Baron Desert
|
|
23
|
Rupert
|
Knight Gown
|
Knight Gown
|
|
4
|
Mike W
|
Over Knight
|
Over Knight
|
|
0
|
Brave Sir Robin (Graham)
|
Mid Knight
|
Mid Knight
|
|
0
|
Jules
|
Knight Life
|
Knight Life
|
|
0
|
Olly
|
Knight shirt
|
Knight shirt
|
|
0
|
Warren
|
Knight Tee
|
Knight Tee
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Title Table
|
Points Required
|
|
|
|
King of Kings
|
200
|
|
|
|
Prince
|
150 to 199
|
|
|
|
Duke
|
100 to 149
|
|
|
|
Earl
|
75 to 99
|
|
|
|
Count
|
50 to 74
|
|
|
|
Baron
|
25 to 49
|
|
|
|
Knight
|
0 to 24
|
|
|
|
Squire
|
-1 to -10
|
|
|
|
King of fools
|
-11 or more
|
|
New Rule!
The King also decrees that a new rule shall come into play called “Loot the camp!” Inspired by an idea brought up by Phil during the last game (Yes, you hate him don’t you!) the camp shall now become the repository for the players hard earned points. If some of your troops manage to get off table by pursuing a routing enemy they shall be deemed to be looting the enemy camp. If the camp is successfully looted the enemy player could potentially loose all of their hard earned points. However, depending upon what type of troops are looting the camp will depend on how many points the attacking player actually gets back. The King has not made it that easy so as to preserve the player’s interest in the competition because the last thing the King wants is a demoralised bunch of Retainers.
This should also encourage Retainers to leave camp guards behind so as to better protect their belongings. The King shall now work on some charts in such a fashion that they will confound players and baffle the Umpire.
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