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The Chronicle Of Sir Rupert And The Lost Cross

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Sir Rupert Wragg and Roland of York watched as the tail end of Kibonreju’s forces disappeared from view. They waited a few more minutes, and the only sound to be heard then was the sound of merriment from within the cave. “The cat’s away,” mused Wragg, “so the mice can play.”

Cautiously he peered within. Sure enough the guards, six of them, were amusing themselves with cards, without a care in the world. They believed that the cave’s location was secret, they knew nothing of Madiosi and his miraculous paintings, and so they relaxed and enjoyed themselves.

Wragg turned to Roland and held up six fingers. Roland nodded.

Suddenly Wragg froze. A woman’s voice, from deep inside the cave. “Let me go, while he’s gone! Please? I’ll do anything? Please! Let me go!”

“Shut the fuck up!” growled a guard. “He’ll be back, and he’ll kill us if you’re not…..FUCK!”

Wragg and Roland tore into the cave, roaring. Six guards there may have been, against two of them, but nevertheless the battle was one sided. Roland and Wragg’s swords swung with savage fury, slicing through muscle and bone in a short but bloody progress down the cave. Only one actually managed to draw his sword before his head rolled along the cave to be stopped in its travels by a large piece of timber, his surprised but sightless eyes gazing up at the occupant of a large wooden cross.

Roland and Wragg gazed, too. She looked exactly as she had in the chapel at the Priory. Except that Barbaria, too, looked rather surprised.

The two men kneeled in wonderment at having reached the object of their quest. “Praise be to God!” prayed Wragg, “we have found St Barbaria!” Silently he added, “God, she looks wonderful!”

“Praise be, indeed!” said Barbaria, “I’ve only been waiting about four centuries for you! Still, better late than never. I don’t suppose there’s any chance of you two goons getting up off your knees and getting me down from this fucking cross?”

Wragg thought he might leave the vituperation out of his final chronicle, to spare St Barbaria's bushes. Though he didn’t quite expect a saint to use such terms, he had to admit that she could, perhaps, be forgiven for using them.

Roland looked lost. “I don’t suppose….?”

Wragg sheathed his sword. "Yes, I have some tools!"

"Ah, you think of everything, Sir Rupert!"

“Don’t thank me, thank Pilus,” said Wragg, producing a pair of pincers, a hacksaw, and a jemmy bar from the pack on his back. “It's him that thinks of everything!”

“They call that ‘going equipped to commit burglary’” commented Roland.

Wragg waved the jemmy at him threateningly. Then he gazed longingly at Barb.

“May I?” he asked.

“May you what?” asked Barb.

“May I touch you? To check you’re real?”

“If you must. I can assure you I am. It’s been my curse to be suspended in this state of physical perfection all this time. I’ve longed for death, prayed for death, but it has never come. By the way, thanks for the other night, it was a…..great comfort!”

Wragg smile happily, and then placed his hand on her calf. Sure enough, it felt warm and strong beneath his touch.

“Come on, guys, pleeease!” begged Barb. "Hurry up! Or he'll be back!"

Roland kicked the wedge out, and the cross was loose. Getting it down was less easy. Only two of them to physically lift the cross, and prevent it falling. They managed to lift it an inch or two then it slipped, and crashed back into the hole, to the accompaniment of some highly unsaintly language from above.

“Can we get her down with it upright?” wondered Roland.

“I’m afraid there is isn’t a ladder in my pack, even Pilus isn’t that clever!” replied Wragg, gloomily.

“Over there!” groaned Barb. “The asshole Kibonreju uses it to climb up to me!”

Roland sought and found the ladder, and also some old rags, which he used to tie Barb's upper arms to the cross so that her weight was no longer suspended from the nails. That was something of a relief to her, at any rate.

Wragg placed a square-ish piece of rock next to her foot, to rest the heel of the jemmy on, hooked the claw of the jemmy into the nail head, and pulled hard.

Both the nail and Barb screamed in protest, but to all their relief, the nail came out. Wragg began to repeat the process on the other nails, pausing only to cross himself as Barb uttered language that he had never heard in his life before, not even in the poxy taverns of downtown Camelot.

Several agonising, invective filled minutes later, and Barb was suspended only by the cloths. “I’ve got her!” called Wragg, and Roland untied them, leaving Wragg holding a nude but very relieved Barbaria in his arms.
 
Mmmmmmmmm ! Well ! I'm relieve from my anxiety ! I dont know if I'm already nailed to my cross but , anyway, my sacrifice has been a good thing : hurry up, wragg and pilus, I'm not sure that my crucifixion could be pleasant to Kibonreju and perhaps he could be soon returning to the cavern !:eek:

My lovely BARB, I offert to you all my sufferings, now : could they permit to you to live with your lover wragg for a long time and if you could post, from time to time, a fresh roses'crown for my head, I should be ravished ....

Have fun, for the eternity !:)
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hurry up, wragg and pilus, I'm not sure that my crucifixion could be pleasant to Kibonreju and perhaps he could be soon returning to the cavern !:eek:
Well Pilus is there and waiting for Kibonreju with all of Malin's bewitchment flowing thtough his very sinews. Let's hope that Sir Rupert remembers those atop the peak and doesn't just scamper back to Messaline's refurbished cottage with the nude St Babs and Brother Roland :rolleyes:.
 
leaving Wragg holding a nude but very relieved Barbaria in his arms.

Sometimes it's nice to write stories :)

Dreams come true in stories :) :rolleyes:

Don't forget, a pencil and a dream can take you anywhere! Happy New Year! :)
 
“Praise be to God!” prayed Wragg, “we have found St Barbaria!” Silently he added, “God, she looks wonderful!”
dark-black-and-white-crucified-woman-ramon-martinez.jpg crucified-woman-highlight-i-ramon-martinez.jpg bfd0e7ffcd6f5c0fe9b5c03c803a857b.jpg

"Yes, I have some tools!"
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“They call that ‘going equipped to commit burglary’” commented Roland.
burglar-crowbar-01.jpg

Wragg waved the jemmy at him threateningly.
thug-jemmy-cartoon-illustration-ruffian-crowbar-40056510.jpg

Wragg smile happily, and then placed his hand on her calf.
jesusfeet_01.jpg

Roland sought and found the ladder
vector-of-a-cartoon-fire-fighter-carrying-a-ladder-outlined-coloring-page-by-ron-leishman-20204.jpg

Some highly unsaintly language came from above. Language that he had never
heard in his life before, not even in the poxy taverns of downtown Camelot.
schelden.jpg

Wragg holding a nude but very relieved Barbaria in his arms.
tumblr_n0bcjlIbqO1s9rg6lo1_1280.jpg
 
Isn't 'incomprehensible German' redundant???
...ugly American...
..didn't I already say - my spells will always be incomprehensible for anyone except those whom they are meant for!

What is this 'Ugly America'?
I've heard of Vinland and the Wonderstrands.
They are told to be beautiful places. Belongs to the skraelings though.

Here too, we have a beautiful place.
But now the troglodyte minions of Kibonreju are smothering it with the filth of their presence.
Disgorged like maggots from the caverns, streams of these creatures congeal into a crawling carpet that begins its advance upon the slope. Their former-human faces frowning at the light of day.

It's a bit like when you check the wheels of cheese in the cellar, and one sounds wrong, and you roll it out and bed it on St. John's wort, and out come all the worms.
And I feel the hill herself, she wants to heave, to shake off this disgusting load.
Maybe I could help with that.

I hope this party of adventurers doesn't expect any spectacular war-spells from me, any shows of fire and thunder. That will be the Sorcerer's task, Repertor's. And while I consider them to be an entirely unchivalrous weaponry, a dragon might for once be justifiable.

My contribution would be of a different kind. Witchcraft and sorcery are two quite different things.
Those who aren't aware of that should just remember that there's a reason why many wizards live in high towers, when no witch ever does. There's a reason why witches gone bad are cranky annoying malevolents, while wizards gone bad are megalomaniacs bent on world-dominion.

As they say in the rhymes of the ceremonies, it's in tune with life, an art that was born among the trees, where our ears were lucky to hear those glorious songs, and we were duly sworn to be a living force.

There are more limits to our powers - in fact that power isn't even 'ours'.
As it turns out though, sorcerers are often more envious of us than the other way around.
Because those things we do, when we do them, seem effortless, regardless of scale. Just tipping the balance.

Take as an example, that well-worn sleight of hand, turning knights into frogs. 'Turning' is just right. A knight walks up to a witch and insults her. At that moment, on the inside, in a way, he already is a frog. Expects to become a frog. Wants to. Once you've learned the ropes, frogging a knight isn't more difficult than helping someone turn his coat inside out. That's what it is. Bring that frog out and flip the knight to the inside.

Turning him into a squirrel, now that's different, that's just supernatural. I've got no fucking clue. It's absolutely nuts. Unless of course the knight is in fact a raving rodent, or such.

You know, about learning the ropes, that's what it's like, a complex knot might look like magic, but it's just knowing what to do. That's what it is. So witchcraft is more simple than you might think but that doesn't mean you shoudn't take it seriously. Not taking witchcraft seriously, is a mistake some people have made before. Each of them only once.

So many powerful beings have come here today, to this one point, in itself a peak of promise, and there's no telling what the tiniest spark might set off.

Just, look at that Messaline.
There's something with her that they warned us of, at initiation.
That some of us would be drawn into the flames, wishing to feed the fire, bound in our mind to stake and pyre.

That's what it is with her and the cross she's carrying.

She fears it and desires it; she desires it more for fearing it; perhaps also she fears it still more for knowing how much she desires it, and the fate it threatens. And how that fear and desire can run away with you and make your head swim and so much more, I do know about that.

I think Kibonreju has no idea what's coming his way...
 
Pilus Primus was surprised to note that his heart was pounding. His eyes met Messaline’s as the crucifixion squad rushed to perform Repertor’s orders. She made no protest as they tore her clothes off, throwing them to the round like the discarded rags that they had become.

As her loin cloth came off, and she stood naked in front of the crowd, Pilus said, ”Tu nedois faire ça, Messaline...” You don’t have to do this, Messaline.

Oui,” she contradicted, “je dois faire.”

“God, help her, God give her strength!” prayed Pilus as they pulled her over backwards onto her cross. His mind was whirling, a seething mass of confused emotions. She looks beautiful…this scene is grotesque…this is wonderful…this is terrible….I want to watch….I cannot watch….she must do this…why must she do this? And why must the nails be so big and so sharp?”

The sound of the hammer on the nail echoed back from the mountain. Messaline didn’t scream, but to Pilus her agony was obvious, as her body jerked and tears stained her face, but still her eyes did not leave his. She gazed at him like this for every blow of the hammer on every nail, and Pilus shared with her the torture of that terrible process of crucifixion.

And not one sound, not one word of protest escaped her lips.

The crowd behind Pilus murmured in appreciation of the courage of this woman. “Dieses Mädchen ist zu mutig und zu schön für das Kreuz!“ exclaimed one. This woman is too brave and too beautiful for the cross! Some clapped in agreement. The clapping stopped abruptly when a soldier raised a sword.

The cross creaked slightly as they began to lift it. Pilus watched her breasts rising and falling in quick gasps as she endured the agony of her weight being taken on the nails.

The cross slid down into the hole and hit the bottom hard. Messaline’s body was thrown around on the nails as if she was a rag doll. Then, and only then, did she cry out from her cross, and all the pent up anguish of the last few awful minutes escaped in a single word :

"BARBARIA!!!!”

“ BARBARIA! ..Barbaria!... Barbaria!” replied the mountains.

Pilus looked up at the naked, tortured woman, and wept. Malins stood beside him, and gripped his hand in support. Neither could do a single thing to help Messaline.
 
Just, look at that Messaline...She fears it and desires it; she desires it more for fearing it; perhaps also she fears it still more for knowing how much she desires it, and the fate it threatens. And how that fear and desire can run away with you and make your head swim and so much more, I do know about that...

How true you're !:rolleyes::eek::(:)
 
..
Here too, we have a beautiful place.
But now the troglodyte minions of Kibonreju are smothering it with the filth of their presence.
Disgorged like maggots from the caverns, streams of these creatures congeal into a crawling carpet that begins its advance upon the slope. Their former-human faces frowning at the light of day.

Poor Bavaria. Its fate is to attract those who smother it with the filth of their presence.

..
Take as an example, that well-worn sleight of hand, turning knights into frogs. 'Turning' is just right. A knight walks up to a witch and insults her. At that moment, on the inside, in a way, he already is a frog. Expects to become a frog. Wants to. Once you've learned the ropes, frogging a knight isn't more difficult than helping someone turn his coat inside out. That's what it is. Bring that frog out and flip the knight to the inside.

Uh-oh :eek:

..
Turning him into a squirrel, now that's different, that's just supernatural. I've got no fucking clue. It's absolutely nuts. Unless of course the knight is in fact a raving rodent, or such.

Better ask Messaline how she does that trick. Fairly soon, if you'll take my advice.

..

I think Kibonreju has no idea what's coming his way...

There may be trouble ahead.....
 
How true you're !:rolleyes::eek::(:)
Well that demon-lord is supposed to believe the opposite but we are on the same side here ;)
BARBARIA! .. Barbaria!... Barbaria! "replied the mountains
the mountain wakes, the mountain rumbles, the mountain speaks... await what else He has to say today...
A Donnern schickt er oft ins Tal, und dann schauderts alle auf einmal
 
Wragg holding a nude but very relieved Barbaria in his arms.
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Uh-huh. And they got mad at me when they thought I'd confused the St. Barbaria with some blonde upstart for a moment.
Hagiography isn't my strong suit anyway. Most of what I know of churchly things is how to avoid them.
 
...Turning him into a squirrel, now that's different, that's just supernatural. I've got no fucking clue. It's absolutely nuts. Unless of course the knight is in fact a raving rodent, or such...

Better ask Messaline how she does that trick. Fairly soon, if you'll take my advice.

It's simple : you do want it ! :rolleyes::D
 
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