The Knights of Tortall and the Holy Grail
By Caspian Nyghtvision
===========================================================
Disclaimer: (As performed by Terry Pratchett's DEATH) YOU MORTALS HAVE NO IDEA. COPYRIGHTS ARE MEANINGLESS. THAT BEING SAID, NYGHTVISION'S GOT NOTHING ON ME. (stalks off with scythe)
Nyghtvision: Err... and let's hear it for Death! Other than that, the only thing I have to say is that this episode sticks rather faithfully by the movie script. For better or for worse, we do not know.
Oh yes -- Owen's Song is mine, too. Isn't it JOLLY?
============================================================
"Bleeding daisies."
Nyghtvision wandered into the Movie Theater of the Gods with a glazed look and a cup of something or other clasped in her protective hands. It was dark in there, and the assembled immortals hissed in annoyance as she staggered noisily around, bumping into things.
"You know, it's funny she calls herself Nyghtvision. She's clumsy as hell at night," the bat goddess muttered.
"Clumsy as hell in the day, too," Queenclaw purred.
"True."
"Sshh!" Wavewalker was trying to concentrate on the big movie screen, which was currently showing the Knights of the Vaguely Roundish Table fleeing from catapulted livestock. "This is the good part!"
Meanwhile, Mithros was trying unsucessfully to get into the Restroom of the Movie Theater of the Gods. However, the other immortals had a decidedly ironic streak, developed after millenia of playing chess with mortal fate. They'd filled the whole room, toilets and all, with quick-drying cement.
--------
Back in Tortall, Eleni Myles (nee Cooper) had just finished her tea. Of course it was old-fashioned tea, with leaves in it, that you always swallow by accident and go around choking on for about fifteen minutes afterward.
Eleni finished the last sip of tea and looked in surprise at the odd formation of leaves in the bottom of the cup. Now, although tea-leaf scrying is generally looked down upon, being the sort of thing done by weird old ladies and weird bored teenagers and not proper magic at all, it occasionally can be quite insightful.
Instead of their usual formation -- a soggy, compost-looking lump that meant "The compost will be unusually good this year" -- the tea leaves were carefully arranging themselves to form a fancy-looking chalice.
"Oh dear," she said. "Not the Holy Grail again."
--------------------------
DOCUMENTARY: PICTURE FOR SCHOOLS, PART EIGHT.
(In front of an old castle, a scurfy old man with a very British suit on is talking to a camera in the time-honored, wheezing documentary fashion. He is A VERY FAMOUS HISTORIAN.)
"Defeat at the desert castle seems to have utterly disheartened King Jonathan... The ferocity of the blonde taunting caught him completely by surprise, and Jonathan became convinced that a new strategy was required if the quest for the Holy Grail was to be brought to a successful conclusion. Jonathan, having consulted his closest knights, decided that they should separate, and search for the Grail individually. Now, this is what they did. No sooner---"
(A KNIGHT suddenly storms into the scene and cuts the VERY FAMOUS HISTORIAN to the ground.)
(After a moment, a MIDDLE-AGED LADY wearing VERY MIDDLE-AGED CLOTHING dashes out of the bushes and looks in horror at the body of her HUSBAND.)
"Frank!"
------------------------
We now slip effortlessly into the next part...
THE TALE OF SIR ROGER
Through a lovely sun-dappled glade trotted a handsome knight on a magnificent imaginary steed. His hair was a dark brown that verged on black; his eyes were a nice classic Conte sapphire, and he wore an orange tunic set. On the front of his tunic, somebody (probably Nyghtvision) had carefully painted a nice heraldic chicken, posed in a position of triumphant clucking. The same noble device was painted on his shield, which was also orange, to suit his Gift. (However, since he'd been resurrected so many times, it was a paler orange than it had been. More of a watery tangerine. Tended to clash with his surroundings a bit.)
Behind the noble knight trotted a small retinue of medieval musicians and Owen, the knight's page, who was singing a ballad about his master. The knight held his head high and looked very proud and firm, but as Owen kept singing, his stance deteriorated a bit.
OWEN'S SONG:
"Jolly brave Sir Roger
Rode forth from noble Corus.
He was not at all afraid to be killed (again) in jolly nasty ways
Brave, jolly, brave Sir Roger.
He was not in the least bit scared to be mashed into a lovely pulp
Or to get into an absolutely smashing fistfight and have his head sat on
To have his toenails pulled slowly out in a very jolly way
And his limbs horribly hacked and mangled, jolly brave Sir Roger!
Brave Sir Roger was quite jolly about the whole idea
Of having his nose pecked off and his ears gnawed down by some very hungry specimen of the species "Gallus domesticus"
Of burning at the stake, which would be very jolly,
Or having his spine jolly well pulled out by his-"
"That-- that's enough singing for now, Owen," Sir Roger said quickly. "It looks like there's nasty work afoot."
Up ahead, somebody had made shish-kebab out of several armored knights. They were pinned like butterflies to a tree. Birds sang cheerfully in the branches as the armored feet swung limply in the breeze.
"Ah, yes, nasty-- nasty work," Roger finished.
"No duh," muttered one of the musicians.
Less firmly now, Sir Roger bravely tiptoed on, until he came face to face with....
The THREE-HEADED RED-HEADED KNIGHT.
The left head resembled Cleon, the middle head looked like Thom, and the one on the far right was the spitting image of Merric.
"Halt!" said the Three-Headed Red-Headed Knight. "Who art thou?"
Owen jumped in quickly with "He is brave, brave, brave Sir Roger!"
"Shut up!" Roger said frantically. "Oh, nobody really, just-just passing through..."
"What do you want?" the Three-Headed Red-Headed Knight asked, all three heads speaking at once. It had done quite a bit of rehearsal lately, and was very proud of the effect.
Owen saw his cue. "To fight and vanquish, brave Sir--"
Sir Roger stepped on his foot. "Shut up! Nothing really, just to pass through, good sir Knight...."
"I'm afraid not," said Cleon.
"This is our bit of the forest," said Merric.
"Find your own bit," Thom said.
Roger decided a little bit of name-dropping and bluster couldn't hurt his position any. "I am Sir Roger the Chicken, Duke of Conte and Knight of the Vaguely Roundish Table," he said regally. "I seek the Holy Grail-- stand aside, and let me pass!"
"Oi, there's a lot of forest," muttered the musician again. "I mean, like, acres of it. We could just go around..."
"You are a knight of the Vaguely Roundish Table?" The three heads said in unison.
"I am!"
Cleon swore.
"In that case we shall have to kill you," said Thom.
"Shall I?" Merric offered.
"I don't think so."
"What do I think?"
The Three Red Heads consulted for a minute.
"I think kill him," Thom said.
"Oh, let's be nice to him," Cleon suggested.
"Shut up."
Roger chipped in tentatively, "Perhaps I could..."
"Oh, quick! Get the sword out, I want to cut his head off," Thom said dismissively.
"Oh, cut your own head off!" Merric muttered.
"Yes, do us all a favor."
"What?!"
"Yapping on all the time."
"Ooh, nothing at all like you, Merric. Besides, you've got bad breath."
"I haven't!"
"You have!"
"Oh, let's just have tea and biscuits," Cleon said calmingly.
"All right! All right! First we kill him, then we have tea and biscuits."
"Oh, not biscuits again."
"Okay, we'll skip biscuits -- can we kill him now?"
The Three-Headed Red-Headed Knight realized it was alone.
"He's buggered off."
"So he has ! He's scarpered."
There was a pause.
"You know, we just stuck to the entire script for this scene?" Thom ventured.
"Amazing. If it hadn't been us, it could have been the real thing," Cleon agreed.
Merric wiggled. "So how do you think we get out of this costume?"
----------------
The musicians played a jolly tune as they scampered along behind Sir Roger.
"Brave sir Roger ran away,
jolly bravely ran away!"
"I didn't!" Roger protested.
Owen went on,
"When danger reared its jolly head
He bravely tucked up his skirts and fled!"
"No, no, no, that's not how it--"
"Yes, brave Duke Roger turned about
And gallantly he chickened out
Bravely taking to his feet
He beat a very brave retreat
Bravest of the brave Duke Roger!"
(A/N: That's ripped right from the movie; it had a chicken in it!)
"Shut up, Owen!"
"Petrified of being dead,
He bravely soiled his armor and then--"
"That's not true!"
They disappeared into the scenic distance.
By Caspian Nyghtvision
===========================================================
Disclaimer: (As performed by Terry Pratchett's DEATH) YOU MORTALS HAVE NO IDEA. COPYRIGHTS ARE MEANINGLESS. THAT BEING SAID, NYGHTVISION'S GOT NOTHING ON ME. (stalks off with scythe)
Nyghtvision: Err... and let's hear it for Death! Other than that, the only thing I have to say is that this episode sticks rather faithfully by the movie script. For better or for worse, we do not know.
Oh yes -- Owen's Song is mine, too. Isn't it JOLLY?
============================================================
"Bleeding daisies."
Nyghtvision wandered into the Movie Theater of the Gods with a glazed look and a cup of something or other clasped in her protective hands. It was dark in there, and the assembled immortals hissed in annoyance as she staggered noisily around, bumping into things.
"You know, it's funny she calls herself Nyghtvision. She's clumsy as hell at night," the bat goddess muttered.
"Clumsy as hell in the day, too," Queenclaw purred.
"True."
"Sshh!" Wavewalker was trying to concentrate on the big movie screen, which was currently showing the Knights of the Vaguely Roundish Table fleeing from catapulted livestock. "This is the good part!"
Meanwhile, Mithros was trying unsucessfully to get into the Restroom of the Movie Theater of the Gods. However, the other immortals had a decidedly ironic streak, developed after millenia of playing chess with mortal fate. They'd filled the whole room, toilets and all, with quick-drying cement.
--------
Back in Tortall, Eleni Myles (nee Cooper) had just finished her tea. Of course it was old-fashioned tea, with leaves in it, that you always swallow by accident and go around choking on for about fifteen minutes afterward.
Eleni finished the last sip of tea and looked in surprise at the odd formation of leaves in the bottom of the cup. Now, although tea-leaf scrying is generally looked down upon, being the sort of thing done by weird old ladies and weird bored teenagers and not proper magic at all, it occasionally can be quite insightful.
Instead of their usual formation -- a soggy, compost-looking lump that meant "The compost will be unusually good this year" -- the tea leaves were carefully arranging themselves to form a fancy-looking chalice.
"Oh dear," she said. "Not the Holy Grail again."
--------------------------
DOCUMENTARY: PICTURE FOR SCHOOLS, PART EIGHT.
(In front of an old castle, a scurfy old man with a very British suit on is talking to a camera in the time-honored, wheezing documentary fashion. He is A VERY FAMOUS HISTORIAN.)
"Defeat at the desert castle seems to have utterly disheartened King Jonathan... The ferocity of the blonde taunting caught him completely by surprise, and Jonathan became convinced that a new strategy was required if the quest for the Holy Grail was to be brought to a successful conclusion. Jonathan, having consulted his closest knights, decided that they should separate, and search for the Grail individually. Now, this is what they did. No sooner---"
(A KNIGHT suddenly storms into the scene and cuts the VERY FAMOUS HISTORIAN to the ground.)
(After a moment, a MIDDLE-AGED LADY wearing VERY MIDDLE-AGED CLOTHING dashes out of the bushes and looks in horror at the body of her HUSBAND.)
"Frank!"
------------------------
We now slip effortlessly into the next part...
THE TALE OF SIR ROGER
Through a lovely sun-dappled glade trotted a handsome knight on a magnificent imaginary steed. His hair was a dark brown that verged on black; his eyes were a nice classic Conte sapphire, and he wore an orange tunic set. On the front of his tunic, somebody (probably Nyghtvision) had carefully painted a nice heraldic chicken, posed in a position of triumphant clucking. The same noble device was painted on his shield, which was also orange, to suit his Gift. (However, since he'd been resurrected so many times, it was a paler orange than it had been. More of a watery tangerine. Tended to clash with his surroundings a bit.)
Behind the noble knight trotted a small retinue of medieval musicians and Owen, the knight's page, who was singing a ballad about his master. The knight held his head high and looked very proud and firm, but as Owen kept singing, his stance deteriorated a bit.
OWEN'S SONG:
"Jolly brave Sir Roger
Rode forth from noble Corus.
He was not at all afraid to be killed (again) in jolly nasty ways
Brave, jolly, brave Sir Roger.
He was not in the least bit scared to be mashed into a lovely pulp
Or to get into an absolutely smashing fistfight and have his head sat on
To have his toenails pulled slowly out in a very jolly way
And his limbs horribly hacked and mangled, jolly brave Sir Roger!
Brave Sir Roger was quite jolly about the whole idea
Of having his nose pecked off and his ears gnawed down by some very hungry specimen of the species "Gallus domesticus"
Of burning at the stake, which would be very jolly,
Or having his spine jolly well pulled out by his-"
"That-- that's enough singing for now, Owen," Sir Roger said quickly. "It looks like there's nasty work afoot."
Up ahead, somebody had made shish-kebab out of several armored knights. They were pinned like butterflies to a tree. Birds sang cheerfully in the branches as the armored feet swung limply in the breeze.
"Ah, yes, nasty-- nasty work," Roger finished.
"No duh," muttered one of the musicians.
Less firmly now, Sir Roger bravely tiptoed on, until he came face to face with....
The THREE-HEADED RED-HEADED KNIGHT.
The left head resembled Cleon, the middle head looked like Thom, and the one on the far right was the spitting image of Merric.
"Halt!" said the Three-Headed Red-Headed Knight. "Who art thou?"
Owen jumped in quickly with "He is brave, brave, brave Sir Roger!"
"Shut up!" Roger said frantically. "Oh, nobody really, just-just passing through..."
"What do you want?" the Three-Headed Red-Headed Knight asked, all three heads speaking at once. It had done quite a bit of rehearsal lately, and was very proud of the effect.
Owen saw his cue. "To fight and vanquish, brave Sir--"
Sir Roger stepped on his foot. "Shut up! Nothing really, just to pass through, good sir Knight...."
"I'm afraid not," said Cleon.
"This is our bit of the forest," said Merric.
"Find your own bit," Thom said.
Roger decided a little bit of name-dropping and bluster couldn't hurt his position any. "I am Sir Roger the Chicken, Duke of Conte and Knight of the Vaguely Roundish Table," he said regally. "I seek the Holy Grail-- stand aside, and let me pass!"
"Oi, there's a lot of forest," muttered the musician again. "I mean, like, acres of it. We could just go around..."
"You are a knight of the Vaguely Roundish Table?" The three heads said in unison.
"I am!"
Cleon swore.
"In that case we shall have to kill you," said Thom.
"Shall I?" Merric offered.
"I don't think so."
"What do I think?"
The Three Red Heads consulted for a minute.
"I think kill him," Thom said.
"Oh, let's be nice to him," Cleon suggested.
"Shut up."
Roger chipped in tentatively, "Perhaps I could..."
"Oh, quick! Get the sword out, I want to cut his head off," Thom said dismissively.
"Oh, cut your own head off!" Merric muttered.
"Yes, do us all a favor."
"What?!"
"Yapping on all the time."
"Ooh, nothing at all like you, Merric. Besides, you've got bad breath."
"I haven't!"
"You have!"
"Oh, let's just have tea and biscuits," Cleon said calmingly.
"All right! All right! First we kill him, then we have tea and biscuits."
"Oh, not biscuits again."
"Okay, we'll skip biscuits -- can we kill him now?"
The Three-Headed Red-Headed Knight realized it was alone.
"He's buggered off."
"So he has ! He's scarpered."
There was a pause.
"You know, we just stuck to the entire script for this scene?" Thom ventured.
"Amazing. If it hadn't been us, it could have been the real thing," Cleon agreed.
Merric wiggled. "So how do you think we get out of this costume?"
----------------
The musicians played a jolly tune as they scampered along behind Sir Roger.
"Brave sir Roger ran away,
jolly bravely ran away!"
"I didn't!" Roger protested.
Owen went on,
"When danger reared its jolly head
He bravely tucked up his skirts and fled!"
"No, no, no, that's not how it--"
"Yes, brave Duke Roger turned about
And gallantly he chickened out
Bravely taking to his feet
He beat a very brave retreat
Bravest of the brave Duke Roger!"
(A/N: That's ripped right from the movie; it had a chicken in it!)
"Shut up, Owen!"
"Petrified of being dead,
He bravely soiled his armor and then--"
"That's not true!"
They disappeared into the scenic distance.