Lifes a Beach

I am Falconburger, Lord of the realm.

This I remember.... now. I have been away, lost at sea on an island. Attacked and chased by monkeys and coconuts. Beaten by evil men in silly hats and left to die. Enslaved by a shiny silver box. Seems that the blow to the head reconnected the bridge to my past that a coconut broke asunder after I was foolish enough to be a test pilot for a mad bastard.

So I am lord of the realm and yet i find myself sitting on a rock on a beach, once again in an unknown place. A fisherman found me adrift at sea, and when he found he couldn't use me as bait he dragged my soggy self back to land.

I asked him where he road to Castle Falconburger was, the shining beacon of modern thinking and wonderous capital of the realm to which he replied in his bizarre language "Wotareyouonabootyamudbustard?, thetoownisdoownthatroodoverthehill".

Obviosly a man whose intellect is barely above that of savage monkeys in far away lands. He did sound vaguly familiar though, so maybe i'm on my way home at least. So I'm going to head down this poor excuse for a road and see if i can find anyone who knows the way.

My biggest problem is of course that i have no money, no belongings and i look like something the cat dragged in, ate, and then threw up, licked... and then pushed under a couch with its nose to go mouldy. I look like a common begger.

As idle as a painted ship upon a painted ocean.

It seems that we've struck something of a dry patch. Day after day we've struck no breath nor motion. We sit as idle as a painted ship upon a painted ocean. There's water, water everywhere... and it seems that all the boards on the deck did shrink. Water, Water everywhere but I can't find a drop to drink.

And it pisses me off. Rastus is off his dial because he started chewing on some of the magic brown sand that makes the water go brown and yummy in The Precious. He keeps on sniggering to himself about revenge and saying "watch out, charlies in the trees" and crazy stuff like that. He's also led a raid on the Gerbil cage in the captains cabin and freed his kinsmen. So now he has a Gerbil posse.

So here I sit on the parched deck, chewing brown sand as the boat sits dead still and idle in the mirrorlike calm of the sea. The sun beats down relentlessly. I close my eyes...

Conning wakes up... extracts himself from the helmet.... and looks about. Blood and feathers lay scattered and stuck to the deck. My eyes open, I hear a hiss as the moisture in them evaporates in a puff of steam. I smile at him, my parched and dry lips crack dribbling blood.

He looks at the feathers. Notices the discarded duck head laying on the deck... (I don't like anything I'm eating to look at me unless I know her name and shes bought me dinner). I reach over and protectivly draw the shiny metal precious closer to me. My fingers hiss as they touch the hot metal. They stick for a moment. Smells funny. Like burnt chicken.

Thats funny... he looks mad... his eyes go all wide and he points at the dead duck and waves his arms about. I don't know why he's so mad... I left him a drumstick (I'm a breast man) We laugh at him, the Precious an I...then he pulls the horny helmet out of the deck and swings it at my head.

The deck tilts sideways and I feel like I'm watching it in the 3rd person...remotley... and a feel it burning on the side of my face when it slams against the deck as a well of hot darkness envelops me. As vision fades I see The Precious kicked across the deck. If I could move I'd kill him for touching it. Just before everything fades to black I see Rastus and his small gerbil Army charging at the evil viking lunatic...

Killed by a village idiot with a horny helmet. Oh, the shame of it.

A voice in the darkness.

Whispers a name that's familiar in my mind.

Falconburger.

F... a duck.

Well... how lucky am I. I crept upstairs onto the deck of this wayward vessel and found that Conning the lunatic was laying on deck unconscious. Well... kinda laying. He must have landed from an angle cos his horny helmets horns are stuck in the deck and he's kinda hanging from his helmet like some weird modern art. So at least i can sneak about without a worry. Apparently the helmet isn't enough to protect one from landing on ones head. He must just wear it for decoration. Freak.

On the upside I found the largest duck in the world sitting on the prow of the ship. I reckon its wingspan was about as wide as...as....as... a wide thing!. Like a cow. Big it was... white too. Biggest duck I've ever seen. Majestic. Awesome example of nature.

So I brained it with The Precious and took it back below decks to share with Rastus.

As I dragged the twitching meal back to the deck hatch I noticed that the sails were suddenly loosing their shape. I hope the wind picks up soon of we'll never get anywhere.

I wonder where they keep the water on this boat... I need some for the precious...can't get it from the sea cosit tastes funny.


Water, water everywhere nor any drop to drink.

Sigh. Yummy duck though.

Launched

Well... it seems that we are at sea. Apparently Rastus does NOT like the rocking motion as he has thrown up through is pipe three times. Like a whale spouting water it rockets up and coats the ceiling of the wardrobe in which we hide in a disturbing multicoloured mess. And then it slowly drips back down.

The boat started to rock while that helmeted moron was trying to get it free when there was this thunderous explosion somwhere. it was so loud that it made my very bones tremble. Then we were thrown about like ragdolls. I hit my funnybone. It wasn't funny. Someone is going to suffer for that.

Just before we launched the boat (literally by the feel of it) I thought I saw someone else creep past the cabin door. I couldn't see more than a shadow as they passed but they made an odd sound... like when you blow over the mouth of a bottle.
A hollow sound. I must have imagined it.


I'm not actually sure if , after all the flying about in noisy upside down-ness, the helmet headed Conning made it back on board or not. So its entirly possible that we're adrift at sea. Unless that was a person I saw... the hollow noise person. Maybe I'm going a little crazy. And I'm getting hungry... even the slow but steady drip drip drip of Gerbil vomit raining from the ceiling cannot quell the hunger. I'd bite the bum out of low flying duck right now.

I might have to venture up stairs and steal some food.

Lord of the Gerbils

I have decided to recruit Rastus, thats the gerbils name.... well Rastusafian Gnarf Googlewhisker the 3rd actually. Calls himself Lord too... Lord of the Gerbils. Despite his obvious pompusness (I mean... who'd go around proclaiming themself a lord and huffing and puffing and stuff if they weren't an over stuffed fop) I've decided that a talking rodent might make a usefull ally. He's combing his hair now, admiring himslef in the grimy reflection of the precious as we hid in the cupboard.

Reminds me of something but I can't think what. I use the sliver of light that creeps through the cupboard door to check my refection in my mirror as the boat in which we hide wiggles about while I ponder.

I wish that hemlet headed buffoon would hurry up and steal this boat and get us anywhere but this god forsaken island. I'm sure I can still feel that bass thrumming rumble too.

It's getting stuffy in here... Rastus is puffing on his pipe and i'm sipping yummy precious drink. Glad I'm safe in here with my friend the talking Lord of the Gerbils and not out there with the crazy people.

Last call, boarding now

As I head back down the mountain I notice a slight trembling in the ground... a rumble so low that I'm not even sure if I can really hear it or not. One might even use the word 'ominous'. I notice in the shiney (and slightly blood spattered) reflective Precious a reflection on the mountain behind me.. it seems there is more smoke.

I'm probably imagining it. It's bound to be the smouldering carcasses of the accursed hairy monkey men that were slain by my righteous hand. A hear a hollowish clonk sound behind me... right behind me. I dive into the bushes yelling "SNIPER!" again... only to see a hairy ball roll across the trail. It must have fallen from a tree. Could have brained me. I wonder what a Sniper is?

My head hurts. My body feels.... embalmed... and kinda sticky. My eyes feel like there's sand mixed with ants in them. My tongue feels like its one that someone else has sold at a second hand store and I bought it thinking i was getting a bargain. ripped off. It feels like someones used it to sweep up glass on a sandpaper floor... whatever sandpaper is. The precious tells me that its good. All good.

Up ahead I can see that dodgy Conning fellow trying to shake the boat out of the tree. Using my stunning intellect I deduce that he is stealing it. Lucky for him whoever owns it has similarly rancid taste in headgear. When he's not looking I climb aboard all stealthy like and hide in the cupboard below deck.

As I crouch there amongst the smell of leather gimp suits a gerbil lurking in the corner of the cupboard says to me "Pssst... wanna help me dig a tunnel outta here!?".

He takes a puff on a tiny pipe, smoke lazily oozes from his whiskery nostrils as he hands me a teaspoon.

Bloody Monkeys

What is going on... here I am waking up again...

Last thing I remember is that fool with he horny helmet rocketing past me screaming like a little girl. Now I find myself leaning against the Very Bad Thing at the edge of the village. The same Very Bad Thing that cored Skook like an apple before hurling the hollow remains off the edge of the cliff.

And whats this... The Precious is red... no wait... it's red a dripping... the red is blood. Oh... I see I'm covered in blood. All around me are the bloodied remains of there are giblets swinging from trees like wind chimes. Well... bloody... wet ... floppy wind chimes.. . that don't chime. They just kinds slap together wetly. And drip.

Arms... Legs.. heads... various odds and ends... lay all around me... a veritable sea of dead monkey men. I sense others watching me fearfully from the darker corners of the village. Apparently they fear coming out now.

Wait... whats that... I thought I could hear a voice... a weasely.. hollow sound... "aww maate... not nice maaaate"... no wait... must be the wind.

As I comb my bloodslick hair into place I ponder why I would have gone on such a rampage. I guess the evil monkeys must have tried to take the Precious away... so that kinda justifies mass murder. The Precious provides me with a hot black drink that gives me energy and goodness. As I sip it, flicking unidenified sticky bits of monkey off the cup and admirning my gaunt features in my mirror I decide to head back into the jungle and try to launch the boat myself. The precious will show me the way now. I can't spend my days looking for a freak who keeps gerbils locked in a cage on his boat with his Horny Helmets and Gimp Suits. It could take forever to find someone that odd.

A Penetrating Scream

I think I'm suffering from Narcolepsy.... whatever that is...the amnesia keeps on making me forget... I keep on falling asleep. I need more of Mr Coffees magic. I'm twitching so much I think my outline is constantly fuzzy.

I woke up to a rather shrill and penetrating scream to find that the Very Bad Thing had been activated, its greased up ramming attachment thrusting forward with great thrusty lard force and malicious intent.

Hmm... That had to hurt.

I assume that funny felow Skook's body then went sailing off the edge of the cliff in to the smoking hole. Well.... it had to go somewhere as its not stuck on the end of the Very Bad Thing as one might expect.

Now that other fellow, Conning the Viking has broken free... it seems terror, much like lard, is a creat lubricant and he's wriggled free of his bonds. Maybe he got some on him as Skook became the hollow man. Lard that is.

The monkeys are quite agitated. The gerbils look disappointed.

He's running towards me... I could easily grab him and hide him in this hidey hole as he runs past..

But thats not what I'm here for... I need to find someone who can sail that boat I found in the tree.

Dawn of Skook

I found some yummy mushrooms on my way down the hill into the village... the precious told me to eat them. As i got closer i realised that the two hapless silly headgear fashion victims were none other than Conning the Viking and Skook. In terrible danger and in need of rescue.

I fell asleep waiting for someone to show up to do that. Now its just on dawn and when I woke up I noticed that the Very Bad things Fisting attachment has been lined up with Skooks backside and currently sits there dripping lard and ooze onto the stony ground while he begs an whimpers. There is a black haze around his head. Flies. Drawn to the kittyhat. It does make quite a sorry sight.

If I didn't know better I'd say this Skook fellow is the kinda person who'd say "Yeah man..cool... excellent... we'll link up and play Dawn of War at 7 on thursday...yeah maaaate.....maaaaate" and then not show up. Chaos Whore.

Of course... I don't know what Dawn of War is... being an amnesiac fop lost in the jungle... it must be the mushrooms talking. And I wouldn't hold it against him...

Oh look... the monkeys are winding up the Very Bad Thing... it sounds like it's under a lot of pressure.

Lard Arse

Hmm... now they are tying the silly head gear club to odd racks that leave them bent over the edge or the precipice looking down into the smoky darkness... and they are lining up the big ram thingy with Mr Horny Helmet's backside. Oh look... one of the monkeys has a big tub of lard and he's greasing up the end of the ram.

A gerbil has just sauntered up beside me... he has a few gerbil friends... they are pointing at the bound duo near the Very Bad Thing and rubbing their paws togther. It's strangly disconcerting to hear a gerbil do the Mwa a a aaah laugh...

The mad hatters are getting quite animated now.... well as animated as one can when tied to a rack while a monkey lubes you up with lard that is...

I think I'll sneak closer so I can hear their begging. After I comb my hair of course.

Temple of the Very Bad Thing

Well here I am hiding in the bushes and spitting out bugs. I'm at the top of the slighly smokey montain looking down at small stone village. It's some kind of temple. The evil cat hat loving monkey men seem to inhabit it, though it looks like it was built by creatures larger... the doors to the buildings are about 15 feet high. Maybe the monkeys of old wore really really big hats.

More intersting is the large wooden construction that dominates one end of the village. Of course it's the dramatic end of the village that kinda hangs over a cliff overlooking a hot looking hold in the mountain. The device is very odd indeed. Tied to posts in front of it I can see two strange looking fellows. One has a horny helmet... the other has a dead cat on his head.

Drawing on my vast knowledge of engineering, ritual sacrifice, evil monkeys, torture devices, seige warfare ... of which I have none... I'd say the device could be called a "Very Bad Thing".

Especially if you're tied to a post in front of it and wearing a silly hat.

The precious tells me to wait and see where that curious fist shaped ram on the device ends up...

The precious knows best.

Crazy people

I've set off on my trek up he fiery mountain (insert dramatic music here)... well actually its more of a smoking moutain... well... when I say smoking mountain.... it more a pointy mountain that might have once smoked... or even been fiery. Or both. I'm not a mountainologist.

The precious thinks I worry too much, told me to have some more magic precious drink... apparently my nervous twitch and darting eyes were fading. Can't have that.

The precious tells us that I must climb it... so climb it I will.

I was talking to a rock earlier... called itself Sanjeev. Said it'd just been laying around for ages. It was bored though. I would have talked more to the rock but then I heard high pitched whiney voices from the jungle... "Maaate...awwwww. cmon maaaaate...not nice maaaate!".

Obviusly a crazy person by the sound of it. I said farewell to Sanjeev the rock and moved on. Can't let the crazy people catch up with me.

Sleep is for wimps

I haven't slept in days... weeks even. Its a blur. But thats OK.

The precious is lookin after me. It keeps me going. With its energising drinks. The precious is goooood.

A manky monkey man tried to take it away from me. He did covet its shinyness.

I beat him with it. I beat him till the precious was shiny and red with monkeyblood.

Bad monkey. I went to the stream to wash the blood and monkey giblets from my face. My reflection didn't look like me. Huge eyes... red rimmed... insane grin/grimace...hair out of place. The precious likes it. The precious gave me more precious drink.


Every time I hear the crack of a hairyball falling from a tree and landing on the ground I dive for the bushes screamin SNIPER!. I don't know why. What is a sniper?... i seem to be wound up fairly tight. The precious tells me thats its good to twitch like this and talk to rocks incessently.

The precious also tells me that I must climb the mountain. The smoking mountain. I will do as the precious says. After I comb my hair. I shall climb the mountain.

Getting precious

After I dusted myself off, spat out the dirt, and quickly fixed my hair with the brill cream and mirror I took a closer look at the odd item in the ground.

It was some sort of hatch... no doubt leading to a hidden research lab where I'd run into a long lost scientist ...

No wait...

It was the curved edge of some amazing massive metal flying machine buried for a millenia... and digging it up could well unleash an invasion of...

No... not that... keep on digging...

Hmm... I've unearthed an strange and archaic artifact from a civilzation no doubt lost in antiquity. I polished the dust and scraped off the dirt and muck and bugs... slowly but surely becoming obsessed with it. Its mine. The shiny. All MIIIIINEEE!...

Nobody else may touch it...

Nobody!...

Its mine...

My....

Precious!!!...

and as I sneak off into the jungle, stroking the precious, ancient words gleam in the sun like fire across the side of my precious...

"Mr Coffee"

Lost

Well... last night I slept under the boat that I found. I didn't feel comfortable about sleeping inside the boat... the way the gerbils all tried to hide behind one another everytime I entered the cabin disturbed me.

After sleeping under the Dogarella I set off back into the jungle again looking for anyone or anything that might be able to help me get theboat back in the water and drive the damn thing.

Not that I know where to sail it. I don't know where home is anymore. I don't even know what my name is.

As I wandered aimlessly looking at myself in my portable miror I tripped over something metal sticking out of the ground...

Dodgerella

As night began to fall I decided to seek shelter. So far I have seen no further evidence of the hairymen or the ministry of silly hats. Good for me of course... probably not so good for them. But thats a sacrifice I'm willing to make.

So anyway... as I fought my way though the dense and tangled undergrowth I came across a strange site. well... probably not as strange as Skook and his cathatastrophic hat of cat but still somewhat unusual. I found a boat parked half way up a tree. How the boat ended up in tree is anyones guess... but I'd say it was probably the result of extremely poor sailing. Scrawled across the hull of the boat was the name "Dodgerella". If I could get the boat out of the tree I might be able to sail the away from this cursed island. I climbed the tree and boarded the boat.

It was wedged in the tree pretty well... but by the looks of it if it could be broken free it might slide all the way down this hill and into the water. Unfortunatly though some fool had put a device upon the steering wheel... some sort of metal device called "Ye Mighty Club".... it seemed to prevent the wheel turning. I needed a key to open it.

So... I needed to find the owner... or at least the key. I looked into the cabin to see an odd assortment of objects. A black leather gimp suit, a cage that contained several worried looking gerbils, an array of oddly shaped wooden knobs, a bucket of soapy frogs, handcuffs, a wardrobe full of studded loincloths and a large helmet with two stupid looking horns poking out of it. Sigh. How was I to find out who owned the boat.

Mad Monkeys

A hairyman stepped out from behind a tree.... then another... and another... one was holding another potential cat hat it its hairly little hands...

Skook was making straining noises as he tried to pry the cat off his head... it had quite a good grip and was making suctiony noises like a fat mans bum in a bathtub as he wrestled with it.

As Conning the Viking slowly toppled over due to the overbalancing of his horny helmet I thought it best to exit stage left before one of the hairymen messed up my hair by doing unto me what they'd done unto Skook.

So run I did, into the jungle away from the evil hairymen and the ministry of silly hats. Behind me i could hear a lot of squawking and hollering rapidly fading into the distance until eventually all I could hear was the wind in the trees.

Safe at last I sat against a tree and let that warm wind blow over me... and i relaxed...

To the sound of the wind...the buzz on insects...the slithery sound of snakes...
the skittering of several large spiders... and if a spider's large enough to hear... I don't want to hear about it!... as deep growl of someithing with big teeth rumbled off in the distance... it became more and more difficult to relax.

I tried in vain to remember my name... Hawkshnitzle?, sparrowbun?, magpie..er..pie, owlhotdog? Albatrossnuts?...

sigh...

My name is...

"My name is...".... I realised that the spot in my head where my name should be lighting up in big *neon letters was unfortunately dark and lacking in name type information.

I glanced around for clues...

One of the hairball stealing hairy little men had sauntered out of the trees again... hands clasped behind its back.... I swear it looked like it was trying to whistle and look inconspicuous as it edged toward another of the fallen hairballs from the trees. Skook the Peon dropped down on his knees as it approached and tried to communicate with the native...

"Maaate...awww... c'mon Maaaaaate" He babbled....

I wondered what bizarre language he was speaking for a second and then the hairy man grabbed a nearby dead cat and jumped upon Skooks head. There was a flurry of screeching from the hairyman and Skook... and a few "Maaaate...whatcha doin? maaate....awwww maaaaaaate thats not nice maaaaaate!" and when the dust cleared the hairy man was gone... and Skook was wearing a new hat. It had a tail and a distinct cat like look about it.

Skook tried in vain to remove the hat...or rather cat... cat hat perhaps... but the aperture wrapped around his forehead was far too tight. The tail hung out over his ear... the cats dead eyes stared up at the sky. Like some demented **Davy Crockett Hat… In retrospect it was a lucky cat... lucky that it was already dead. Now ask yourself just what the aperture was.

Conning sniggered… just as a hairy ball fell from above him and impaled itself on his horny helmet… unbalancing him… and making him stumble to one side.

So there they were… Skook with his cat hat and Conning with his lopsided horny helmet. The ministry of silly hats.

“My name is…”… I pondered…

Then I heard noises rustling in the undergrowth…





* Neon : what the hell is neon?... is that word a memory?... never mind.
** Davy Crocket : not sure who this person is… a have vague memories of him having a similar hat…

Welcome to the Jungle

I wandered over that hill... and found a beach. It stretched for miles in both directions. Putting the gleaming water behind me I turned around to survey my island. My island. Why did I call it that?... strangely I feel that I should own it. Like I'm used to owning everything I can see. Odd that. Anyway... I can see that the land rises up towards a fairly high peak in the distance so I decided that higher ground was the order of the day.

Into the dark and mysterious jungle I went, and after about 3 hours of trekking thought tangled vines and sticky plants that seemed to actually TRY to grab me my second-to-none direction sense led me to a clearing. In the clearing was a smashed up cart, and a lot of fur. There was also a man in a silly hat and something next to him that I thought might be a person but I'm not quite sure.

The blonde fellow had a hat on that sprouted two mighty horns that were almost as tall as he was and he introduced himself as Conning the Viking and his trusty sidekick the peon Skook Squalder.

I said "Hi My name is..."

Catastrophe

What the F***!,

A short time ago I found myself waking up.. groggy. I felt like someone has put me into a sack of hammers and thrown me down a stairwell. I was sitting against a tree amidst the wreckage of some sort of vehicle with a throbbing lump on my head. There were pieces of fur everywhere... like some kind of animal has literally exploded and next to me was a large round hairy wooden ball thingy. Scrawled on a piece of the wreckage was the word 'Auntie Gruvarti'.

Laying around me I found my possessions... well I assume they are mine as there is nobody else about. The clothes I had on were decidedly grotty... covered in something yellowish and greasy... and there was bloody fur on everything. I found a pocket mirror that had somehow survived my crash landing here... there's some brill cream, a comb, another mirror, and an apple (slightly squashed).

Around me is an alien landscape, strange trees with huge hairy balls tower above me. Sometimes their hairy balls fall to the ground making a curious clonk noise... and then a few minutes later a smallish hairy man runs out and steals the hairy balls. I heard a rather unnerving howl off in the jungle a short while ago too... I hope whatever it is only eats hairy balls and hairyball stealing hairy men.

It's quite warm here. I can smell the sea I think. Looking away from the wreckage of the thing that lays shattered around me I can see a path of smashed trees leading off over a small hill and beyond that blue sky.

Looking in the mirror as I slick back my hair with the brill cream and comb I think to myself... damn but you're a devilishly handsome chap.

The diary is a strange device... I can write upon it's magical surface but I can't look at the previous entries... it seems to be magically locked and only it's owner can open it.

I assume I'm the owner.... but... I can't remember who I am!

Behold... the Pussywagon!

Well... last night Cassandra the gypsy attempted to read my future. She said much as I expected, the usual fame, glory, and veritable river of good looking women due to throw themselves at me. I mean... I could have told her that for nothing. There was a moment when I saw her expression flicker... I couldn't tell if it was fear or excitement... but it was gone as quickly as it arrived. No doubt she was having a vision of my future glory, or maybe she was reading my mind and could tell what that I was oggling her bossum. She then said she was going to do some hypnosis therapy of some sort that would energise my inner being. My inner being. I wondered if she meant the inner being downstairs that I wanted to be in her inner being? I was about to object when suddenly I found myself waking up... apparently I'd had too much wine. I'm not sure actually... its all abit fuzzy.


Now I find myself standing in Glocks workshop looking at a very strange contraption... it looks like an average ordinary everyday wagon. The type that would be drawn by two horses usually... except it doesn't have wheels. It has cats. Actually it has cats with buttered toast secured to their backs and they are connected the actual wagon via an ingenous g-clamp arrangement that has the cat constantly spinning on its axis so that neither its paws or the butter toast can touch the ground at the same time. You can probably imagine how you'd have to clamp a cat to make it do that. I won't go into details but I doubt it's comfortable. The cart hovers in the air like a hawk does over the field. It also has a large windmill attachment on the back that has one of the spinning cat toast devices at the centre.

Glock has names it after one of his relatives for some reason . He calls it the the Auntie Gruvarti Cart. So I'm writing this as I step aboard and prepare to release the lever that operates the windmill on the back of this contraption. I really doubt that its going to work... this Glock fellows a total nutter. But... as the brave and powerful lord it just wouldn't do for me to let some lackey be the first one to test it. Seeing as it can't possibly work... what risk is there to me... at least this way i'll be seen as brave and innovative by my subjects.

Back on deck

Well.. after my terrible illness i'm now feeling much better. With my perfect physical fitness and stunning physique it really is silly of any nasty virus to try and take me on. I knew it was only matter of time before I got well again. It was never in doubt.

Hmm.. what's been going on while I've been resting in my room?...

Glock has invited me to "Weetnus tha fyootya of trunsport" whatever the hell that means... in the morning. No doubt he has some new lunatic scheme.

Cassandra, the gypsy girl built of yummy is going to consult the omens tonight over a candle lit dinner and read to me my future. No doubt it will be full of glory and excitement and all the good things I deserve. If it isn't I might have to have her executed.

We finally located Jose and Pricilla!, they've been hiding in the cellars the whole time. It seems they got tired of the rats that now plague the castle and had to come out of hiding. I think after she avoided being burned at the stake as a witch she instead ended up feeling the heat of a different kind with Jose. I'm not sure what to do with the pair of them yet.

Von Snotgobbler has turned to guerilla tactics... raiding caravans and merchants on the road to my village. Cowardly git, he's too much of a wuss to attack the castle outright.

Some dark and swarthy man was caught trying to climb into the castle last night. He was apprehended of course by my elite guards (he accidently stepped in one of the privy buckets on the wall we were saving for Snotgobbler and slipped down the stairs rather noisily). He claims to be Cassandra the gypsies betrothed. Obviously a mad man, so I threw him in the dungeon. She never needs to know of course. It'd would only worry her that mad men were stalking her. So in the dungeon he'll stay, I'm doing it for her of course.

Missy's Message

Hello,
Seeing as Mr Falconburger is...er... sick (well he's still sulking in his room) I thought it best I update the kingdom journal. Its snowing!. It never snows here... I mean it gets cold and all... but snow here at sea level is pretty unusual. No doubt it's the work of one of those witches he foolishly let into the castle. Nobody's found that wench Pricilla or the other two that went missing after Von Snotgobblers attack but I'm sure they're out there workin a spell of malice and frosty hatred. We should have let the villagers burn them when we had the chance. I can't abide pretty witches.

The plague of rats in the castle is getting worse as that mad bastard Glock seems to have stolen all the cats.

Oh..and nobody told me he'd let this Cassandra woman stay in the castle... he snuck that one past us!. He's a sly bugger... everyone else knows you can see right into that tower room from his bathroom... well everybody except her I suppose.

Well... I have to go into the village soon to fetch some things so I best be off now. I might even get time to visit the smithy, if I'm lucky. I'm certainly in the mood... and seeing as Jose isn't here...well... must be off!, things to buy, witch burnings to incite, towels to fold.

Missy.

A message from Glock

Ahh have it on good authoit'eh thut our lord and masta thut tosser fulconbugger never reads is own diary once a day is gone... so ah'll take this opportinut'eh to examine tha magic book that 'e uses. I dunno whut 'es on aboot with this dreaded lurgi... 'es not sick. 'es just sulkin. Missy the Maid tells me thut 'e fell over in the bathroom, 'it 'is elbow or sumfin or some such tripe. There was also mention of the fuct thut 'e 'appened to be balanced on the edge of the bathtub ut tha tiyme whilst peerin across the wey through a certain layd'ehs tower windah... and that maybe 'e was caught unawares hence the sudden lack of balance. Anyway's Ah best be off and get back to meh workshop.... am sure me toasts almost done. ach. Aye. haggis etc.

PS 'es a right tool thut mun.

Woe

A terrible plague has befallen me... I can barely lift my head... it could be days before i can possibly lift my quill and write anymore... if I don't die from this terrible and powerful sickness.....woe.... ;-(

Gypsies, Rats and Sniggers

I suppose its only right that I send someone into the forests to try and find out what fate befell Lord Thunderquark and his daughters. Not that I really care. It's a PR exercise really. Now who can I send into the enemy infested deathtrap of a forest?.... so many crack troops to choose from... experienced veterens and such. I really need someone with their wits about them to sneak behind enemy lines or the task could mean certain death.

I'll send that guard that sniggered yesterday. Yes... he's... appropriate. He's been on duty for at least a week... thats experience enough. I'm willing to chance his life anyway.

I went into the village this morning, dispensing all bits of food that had started going wrinkly in my larder among the thronging mudgrubbing masses. Really... the way they behave, biting one another and such you'd think they never saw fruit before in their life.

One good thing that happened was a chance meeting with a young gypsy girl, a fortune teller of sorts. Her name was Cassandra and I swear she really was made from all the nice bits. I may just have to invite her to the castle for dinner. Maybe get her to tell me my fortune or something. I did detect a slightly dark look from a bearded long hairy hippy of man who is also with the gypsies... probably plotting some nefarious scheme... gypsies are like that. Scoundrels.

I chanced a look in Glocks workshop... He's building a new carriage it appears... but it doesn't have wheels yet... its kind of odd looking. I mean... what kind of carriage needs an anchor?

We seem to be going though a bit of a plague or rats in the castle too. Probably something to do with the lack of Cats in the castle.

I think Von Snotgobblers force will arrive in the morrow to lay seige to my castle. The man is such an idiot. Oh well.. I best go and tell the privy cleaner to keep his buckets today rather than washing eveything away in the river. At least then we'll have something good to throw at him... and the pesants downstream will have some less icky water to brush their teeth in too. I'm such a caring guy.

An Unfortunate Series Of Events

I stubbed my toe this morning. I was distracted and my normal lordly strutting ended in a rather undignified hopping up and down affair. A guard saw me. I'm SURE he sniggered. I'll watch him closely from now on.... obviously a bad apple, that
one.

I stubbed my toe because I was distracted by an unidentfiied flying object... well I think I know what it was. But I don't really think it could have been what it was... I mean... it looked like a cat with toast tied to its back spinning erratically though the air in an upwards fashion at breakneck speed. It made a rather unhappy meowoooooeeeooooowwwooooowwwoooeeeoowoww noise as it flashed past and into the stormclouds overhead.

Apart from that...nothing major has happened...

Pricilla and Jose are still missing.

Lord Thunderquark apparently had a nasty run in with Von Snotgobblers troops in the forest. Terribly unfortunate coincidence that he happened to venture in that direction instead of using the main road... i'll be needing a new fancy coach now... because upon seeing my flag upon the old one Von Snotgobbler went into a rage and made rather a mess of it. It's unknown yet as to the plight of Thunderquark and company.

The gypsies have started mixing with the villagers... plying their various trades.

Glock has been hammering and sawing and generally noisily at work on something in his workshop. I expect calls of "Fire! help!" or "How come there's a crater where the smithy used to be?" any time now.

I suppose I'll have to go out into the village someday now and make an appearance... act all lordy and stuff. One has to keep up appearances.

Glocks Speil

This Glock fellow is a strange unit. He came to me today while I was admiring myself in a mirror. He was carrying a cat, some toast and some butter and asked for me to witness a great discovery. Well actually he said "Aye Lud!, wheel yer follar meh oop onta the top of the wahl so's ah can shoe ye me wee experiment!"
So I found myself standing atop the wall, looking down on the peasants scabbling in the mud while Glock tried to hold the cat while he buttered the piece of toast. He then hurled them both off the wall. Then began this long winded *speil : "Uz ye cun see m'lord, the cut lunded on iz wee footsies und the toast landed on its bootery sahd, it huppens thut wey every tahm aah try it".

As the peasants fought over the cat and the toast in a flurry of buttery fingers and fur i pondered the wisdom of letting this lunatic live in the castle. Glock then wandered off muttering to him self about "cuts and booter and flying boogies'... So I went back to lording about as only a lord can.

Pricilla and Jose are still missing in action, Thunderquark has left in my fancy carriage for his little kingdom by the sea. I hope his driver took the shortcut I mentioned. I'm sure he will... Cedrick the woodsman assured me that a tree had accidently been felled upon the main road leaving only that option.

Rumour has it that some Gypsies have set up camp on the other side of the village too.

*Speil.... not sure if thats a word... but i'm the lord of the realm so I can make words up if I want. You know what I mean.

Raising the Stakes

What a day. The soldiers failed to locate either Jose or Pricilla in the village. They did find a pyre with a stake in the middle of it all nicely prepared for a witch burning should there just happen to be one. The peasants even dragged some pews out of the church fo the elderly who wanted to watch. Thoughtful of them.

Lord Thunderquark, while quite upset about his missing daughter, has started packing to leave in a bid to distance his other two daughters from the slightly paranoid villagers. He claims that if Pricilla is not returned to him within one month he will return and burn my kingdom to the ground. I nearly missed that last bit because i was falling asleep during his pompous speech and ranting.

Meanwhile i've heard tell that Von Snotgobblers troops are on the move again... heading this way. Really, the guy will never learn. I can't even remember why he hates me so... hmm... i think it might have had something to do with his daughter... or his sister. I'm not sure. To much wine tends to make the memories a little fuzzy.

Thunderquarks coach has mysteriously broken down... so being the gracious host that I am, I've offered him the use of mine. A fine looking contraption proudly bearing my family crest and regalia. I even suggested a shortcut though the forests to the east cos I'm just a nice guy.

An alchemist/wizard type fellow also showed up today offering to provide me all manner of technological wonders... in a fit of curiosity I offered him some space near the blacksmith in which to work. His name is Howard Glock. He's rather hard to understand actually... having a broad foreign accent and all. But I'm all for multi culturalism and stuff. Besides... if he fails to provide me with new toys I'll make him the jester because he talks funny.

Dreams and portents

Ahh... what a lovely day it is. The sun is shining, the birds are singing, the peasants are happily slaving in the town and on the farms to make me rich. Does it get any better?

Thunderquark claims that he had a terrible nightmare last night. He says it was so real that he fears I may have an evil spirit haunting my castle. Apparently the evil spirit tried to suffocate him with a feather pillow last night. Odd behaviour for a ghost. He's also a bit cranky about some random event that happened in the village yesterday. Apparently his three daughters went into town and caused a ruckus... i have no idea how that could have happened. The problem is that only two of them returned, leaving Pricilla out there somewhere at the mercy of the peasants.

Coincidently Jose is also missing. I'm sure he is looking after her. Yeah... perfectly safe. I'm sure.

So now i suppose i have to send a squad of soldiers into the village to fire a warning shot into someones head before young Pricilla shows up in pieces.

Sigh. No rest for the wic... good looking.