When we last left our, errmmm, heroes, they had arrived on the shores of the west, having mistaken it for the east! MORONS! Sir Kyle, comatose for a good two weeks or something in the potato cart, suddenly awoke and announced he had had a vision, but curiously, refused to talk about it, prompting Archduke James to try and dig it out of his brain with a filthy knife while he slept! Blinded to the pain due to his addiction to the poppy, Kyle did not notice, but unfortunately, James FAILED in the attempt to procure any secrets!
Meanwhile, Wardstein crushed the skull of a useless toenail-painting servant for seemingly no reason, and then, from out of nowhere, a mysterious visitor: a cute blonde of around 20 who could barely speak a word of English. Apparently the sole survivor (wait, arsonist?!) from a burned out shire on the Western shore, for some strange reason, she took a shine to Sir Kyle!
This morning, in different buildings in different cities, two of our three National Cemetery Management Council (NCMC) co-writers, James and Wardo, learned that Sir Kyle had gone home sick a mere ONE day into the work week, and fresh from not only a weekend, but three solid months of vacation leave!
…to be perfectly honest, no one really knows how long Sir Kyle was gone, but it seemed a really long time! Those bodies aren’t going to bury themselves, Kyle!
. . .
Night slowly enveloped the aimless crusading force, but only one campfire burned. Archduke James, Sir Kyle, and Baron Von Wardstein sat around it, relaxing on a spread of ornate Persian rugs from the “far west” and nibbling the remnants of their chicken dinners. Nearby, the thousand or so soldiers worked with great zeal to complete a motte and bailey castle. Some hours earlier, the Archduke had ordered that it be constructed by daybreak, which was particularly cruel because this was when he planned to move camp. He snickered to himself as he carved a placard with great care.
It read: FORT JUSTFORTHEHELLUVIT.
James glanced up to see if anyone was admiring his crafting ability as much as he was, and noticed Baron von Wardstein stroking Allspice the cat, who sat calmly on his knee. The small creature purred softly with its eyes closed as Wardstein used his free hand to pick his teeth with a shard of wishbone. Nearby, Sir Kyle lay as the ‘inner spoon’ with his yet-to-be-named blonde. She fanned one hand over his head wound in an effort to keep the flies away, and with the other she pointed at a nearby thicket, attempting to get Wardstein’s attention.
In this moment the Archduke felt an emotion he couldn’t quite put his finger on.
It was jealousy.
“Tayyyyyy! Tayyyyy in the weeeennnn!” said the girl, widening her eyes at Wardstein. “Tayyyyyyyyy! Tayyyyyyy in the w—“
“—yes! Yes, I know!” Wardstein screamed. “TREE! Tree in the wind! What about it?! All day with this! Literally all day!”
She ducked timidly behind Sir Kyle, who lay perfectly still, his eyeballs rather cloudy.
“Archduke, are you hearing this?” Wardstein went on, gesturing to the girl. “This is getting to be ridiculous! I mean, I get that she doesn’t speak English and stuff, but is that kind of behaviour normal in any language? Euhrnnnnnnn! ROCK! Rock on the ground! Eurrhhhnnnn! CAT! Cat on my lap!”
“Oh, about that—I’m sentencing Allspice to death.”
“You heard me. I’m sentencing that cat to death. If I can’t have it, no one can. Death byyyyyyy—-” The Archduke’s crystal blue eyes looked up and to the right a moment. “Death by….fire! Yeah, throw the cat in the fire! Do it! Do it now!”
The men had previously discussed the possibility of whether or not Unglorp, the witch James exploded, could have given Allspice any magical powers of its own, but they could not come to any consensus. Now though, the cat gave a low growl, its eyes darting back and forth between the two men, seemingly interested in their bizarre conversation.
Wardstein stared back at the Archduke a moment, opened his mouth to speak, and then stopped himself. He looked unusually calm.
“You know what,” he began, “I’m not even going to engage. Why don’t you and Kyle take a walk or something? That hole you dug in his head is getting pretty ripe.”
Wardstein and the Archduke looked over at Sir Kyle, who lay groaning. A loud, gurgling squawk sounded from beneath his plate armour and his eyes rolled back. The girl threw her head back in laughter, then mimicked the sound an inch from the knight’s face several times, spraying spittle all over his glasses.
She showed no sign that she would soon tire of her funny joke.
“Fine, sit here with your cat,” James needled. “As if I even care! I’ll just get my own cat, and it’ll be WAY better than yours!”
“Go ahead, see if I care!” Wardstein farted abjectedly. “It’s unpossible anyway, ’cause the witch told me herself this is the world’s greatest cat.”
Allspice purred in agreement.
“Whatever, you stupid baloney!” James whined. He snapped his fingers wildly. “Sir Kyle, we walk. Bring the woman, I may decide to make use of her.”
“M’lord, you’re actually going to, uh, use your own legs for transport?” Sir Kyle goggled. He’d only ever seen James carried about on sedan chairs.
“I am! Let’s go, this dialogue is getting cumbersome!”
(Jump cut! The setting? Deep in the forest. For unknown reasons, Sir Kyle, James, and the retarded blonde have all walked here. Wardstein apparently decided to sit back at the campfire. A small hut is standing at the centre of a clearing)
“Let me get this straight,” said Sir Kyle. He began dry-humping the retarded blonde as he spoke. “This guy is like, some kind of engineer or…doctor? Like, a techie kind of guy? Uhhnnhnn!”
“That’s right,” James said proudly. “This guy is the best! He’s going to fix up your head!”
At that moment, a squat man appeared in the doorway of the hut. “Who goes?” he growled, a home-rolled smoke jutted from the corner of his lips. Porcupine hair in every direction.
“McStogie, it is I, The Archduke James! We require your special talents! My main man here, Sir Kyle, is in need of medical attention!”
McStogie ignored James as he took in the strange sight of Sir Kyle trying to mount a blonde woman nearby his doorstep.
“You smell of cheese!” he exclaimed. “That means the flesh decays! That head wound should have been looked at ages ago.”
Sir Kyle stopped his gyrations long enough to pat his head. When he examined his hand, sticky clots of blood clung to his fingers. He began digging around in the exposed tissue, as though prospecting for boogers, or perhaps to actually lay hands on the brain inside.
“I think you’re right,” he told McStogie. “It’s itching a lot now and I think it’s got some maggots in there. Ewww! Yep, maggots!”
He flicked the squirming mess on his fingertips at James, who shrieked girlishly.
McStogie, as was his style, did not react. “I can handle this, of course. For the appropriate amount of…gold?” James nodded significantly. “Okay, so we’re good! Come into my shop. Leave the girl outside–women just get in the way. You too, James.”
James smiled smugly. “With pleasure, McStogie,” he said, rubbing his fingers together as he feasted on the sight of the blonde, who was now lying on the ground for no reason. “WEEEEHHNN! WEEEEHHNN!” she howled.
“Ooooooh yeah! This will be suh-weeeeeet!”
(Time passes. McStogie and Sir Kyle emerge in the doorway of the hut. James and the blonde are exactly where they’d been hours ago.)
McStogey flicked a cigarette into his nearby flower planter, which was stuffed with dead weeds. “Okay, this took a little doing, but I fixed him right up. I had to cut away the dead tissue. It needed replacement, see? I also tricked him out a bit.”
James stared in amazement at Sir Kyle, who was now a different man altogether.
“James, you uh, haven’t moved,” Sir Kyle stated flatly.
“No, I snapped my fingers repeatedly, but that idiotic woman wouldn’t hop on my dick as the click rhythm and pointing implied she should!” James cried. “But forget that, what…happened to you?”
“Sir Kyle here needed a bit of an upgrade. I replaced his forearms with these special Gauntlets of Titan Strength here. I’ve been wanting to use them on a project for a while now! Turns out they’re a straight bolt-on to Kyle’s chassis.”
Sir Kyle flexed his hands powerfully, the gauntlets glowing in the moonlight of the forest. “Wait ‘till Wardstein gets a load of me,” he chuckled.
“Sir Kyle was also way too short to be a respectable knight, so I added these special boots here, which are integrated into his upgraded hydraulic spine. With his frame upgrades, he can now lift entire wagon himself!”
James was captivated at the change. “And that’s not all,” said Sir Kyle. “My head, obviously, was buggered; so McStogie addressed that issue, and then some! See, my CPU is a neural-net processor – a learning computer. The more I see, the more I lee-urn.”
“But…your head—” James gasped.
McStogie interrupted. “Not just a head anymore! It now doubles as a helm he will never have to take off again! Special customized design. I made it from the only known quantity of adamantium in existence. It’s one of a kind. It’s indestructible by the hand of man.”
“Then how did you shape it in such a…distinctive fashion, then?” James wondered. “It’s got rivets and stuff, and—”
“—NEVER MIND THAT NOW!”