Christmas

[Techno]

Shhhhhhh.... I'm hiding under the table

[petercooman]

This is meant to be the season of goodwill Peter...NOT scare the crap out of me and give me nightmares everytime I hear footsteps outside the house season

As long as you hear footsteps it's fine, but when you hear the clang and rumble of a centurion, be VERY afraid 

[fsn]

Anyone know where the satnav is in this Cent?

[petercooman]

Next to the juicer

[sebigboss79]

Which is only in Mark V upwards. Just lower right of the kettle and teabags

[Fenton]

Does the Mark V have the promised Chocolate Hob Nob holder? or did it get left out due to cutbacks?

[fsn]

Well it's a Sunday, and you would have thought it would have been Pendraken free, but no! Every day is a Pendraken day in the house! Besides, I was on my way out when I was accosted by a ragged figure. I first betook him to be some vagrant or vagabond, and gripped the stick I hold for such purposes more tightly. However, as he neared, I beheld his sack and took him to be the Postie. What dedication privatisation has instilled in these fellows! The chaps and indeed chapesses I have always taken to be noble and cheerful creatures, despite some ill-chosen sartorial attempts in summer, but these last few days have shown me the true, indomitable spirit of the humble British Postman.  So please join me in three "huzzahs" for the people who pop their packages into your boxes. Huzzah! Huzzah! Huzzah!

Sorry, I feel myself tearing up, and have not yet apprised you of the cause. The Postie explained that when leaving the sorting office yesterday he had noticed another package for me from Pendraken, and had camped outside my house until he could see me in person and place the package into my own hands. He wouldn't even accept the pound coin I thrust at him, and sped away no doubt to perform some other errand or good deed.

So what was contained therein? Tree, Zouave, Bren, paint ... from the "Impossible" range. We have "Black Watch Tartan", "Celtic Trousers", "1968 DPM", and "Maori tattoo". Might try some of that last on yesterday's tattooed ladies.

Which brings us to the 5 top totty. These are from the "beautiful, intelligent, self-sufficient and witty women who find wargaming an attractive feature in their men". Empty you would think, but not so. There's a nurse or surgeon in scrubs, a bespectacled beauty who may be a lawyer, a engineer in hard hat and ponytail, an intelligent looking one who may be a systems designer with laptop under arm, and a particularly beautiful and graceful creature fashioning castles out of clay. Hello Mrs. Fenton! Apparently Mrs Last Hussar was also going to be included in this range, but the photos she sent in to the designers will be the basis of a "Cosplay" range once the designers are back under control. Looking forward to that.   

Six gurning gunners, seven Seeps with their grinning idiot drivers, eight she-regicides, this time with a multitude of blasters, blammers, lasers, bolt throwers and very large fiery swords.

More of the dandies lancing and today's addition is one that the fantasy fraternity would enjoy. There a full ten of these malevolent creatures, axes hefted in armoured  fists, armour liberally covered in skulls and plumes descending from their all encompassing helmets. Reminds me of something out of Michael Moorcock's dark imagination.

For this tenth gift at Christmas, Pendraken sent to me, 10 Lords of Chaos, 9 dandies lancing, 8 maids to kill king, seven Seeps a swimming, 6 gunners laying, 5 top totty, 4 pots of paint, 3 French Brens, 2 Tonkin Zouaves and a sniper in a fir tree.

Getting a bit much now, isn't it?

So to the advent calendar. Quite a little speech to go with this one – "I have been troubled this day about a difference between my wife and he maid, Nell, who is a simple slut. Samuel Pepys 15th December 1661." Well, let's pop open the windows, and it's a pair of C17 figures – lovely work (Clib, is this yours?). One of the ladies is as you would expect, noble in full restoration dress. I take that to be Mrs Pepys, for the other must be Nell. She's dressed similarly, but the neckline has been pulled right down, and she's pulled up the front of her dress with one hand, whilst pointing to her person in invitation with the other. Rather shocking really!

I'm bored with the RC Centurions. Too much trouble to reload the guns. I was going to tell you about this complete range of pre-production British Napoleonics that was in my goody bag, but I think I'd rather read you some more from "FSN in Pendrakenland". 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

FSN, Bert, Lemmy and Red continued the trudge. The yellow plastic road had begun to ascend, and the trees were beginning to thin. FSN had sung his way through half of Eltham Joan's classic double album, but to the disappointment of his companions, had never begun "Grey Seal". He began the first few bars of "Social Disease". 

"Mmmmm mm m mmmmmm" commented Lemmy.

"Yers. Third time I think. Will he never get to Grey Seal?" Wondered Bert.

"If I ever get to think his singing is good, please Clib me to deaf with the bat of your Sten." Added Red.

"Yers, and you could ... he looked at Red's torch .. get Lemmy to do the same for me."

"MmmMm mmMM!!!" Chipped in Lemmy.

"As always Lemmy, you put your finger right on the point." Fortunately, FSN had stopped singing. He knelt and gesticulated at his companions.

"What's he doing?" Asked Red.

"He thinks it's combat hand signs. He's a student Cant." Said Bert, acknowledging  FSN's combat signs with some hand gestures of his own.

"A what?"

"MmmMMmm mmmmmm mmmmm mmmmm mmmm! Mmmmmm mmmm mm mmm mmmm mmmmmmm  mmmmmm mmmmm mmmmm."

"Oh! Italian. I thought it was nothing like the Cant Beasts of Duce Savoia Matchetti 79."

"You're frolicking making that up aren't you?" Bert was scornful.

"Seriously! I lost two good friends there. Beaten to death with a balsa wood club." Said Red defensively.

"Oooh! Nasty!"

"Mmmm mmmm!" Agreed Lemmy.

FSN stood atop a hill, gazing out over the landscape below. The ground ahead was as flat as a table, and the line of the yellow plastic road could be seen stretching out in a straight line ahead of them. A few buildings dotted the landscape; FSN could make out a Russian church, a French chateau and some snake fencing that could only have come from the good ole' US of A. To their left were a selection of terraced housing, to the right a castle was in ruins. Straight ahead FSN thought he could see a glow.

While he waited for the others to catch up, he took the golden ling from the special pocket in which he kept it. It blinked as he stroked it, and sang it a little ditty.

"I take my precious gold ling
to Marder for to sea
if he can send me homeward,
I won't carp if it can't be."

"Are we doing the fish puns?" Asked Bert, who had caught up.

"Mmmmm mmm m mmmm mmmm!" said Lemmy, and Bert and Red laughed.

"That's a good one!" Said Red, cleaning the front of his trousers. 

"What's that over there?" Asked FSN, desperately trying to draw the conversation back on himself. 

"How the frolic should I know?" growled Bert. "Every time you get to the top of a hill some bar stand changes the scenery below." Again, he eyed FSN accusingly.

"What are those?" FSN, desperate to change the direction of the conversation, pointed to the sky where some dark shapes wheeled, .

"Birds." Replied Bert.

"Are they savage eagles that might attack us?"

"No."

"Then what kind of birds might they be?" Said FSN, shielding his eyes from a non-existent sun.

"Do you have to talk like that?" 

"Sorry. I did a lot of D&D in the '80s."

"Are they Keeley Hawks from Ashes Ashes 2?" Red had his torch in his hand and looked prepared to use it.

"No. They're auks." Bert was becoming frustrated with this obvious set up to a pun.

"There's not many of them ..." FSN began. Bert's fist tightened on his Sten.

"So you could say ..." Red continued.

"There's only a few seagulls." Bert completed and strode off down the yellow plastic road, Lemmy following close behind. Soon, he heard feet running behind him.

"Bert! Bert! In the sky!" FSN shouted urgently.

"It's just a few auks" said Bert, then mentally kicked himself for falling into the pun-trap.

"No, the other way." Bert turned, Sten ready. Sure enough, a second flock had appeared in the sky, and the auks had beaten a hasty retreat in the face of it.

"Are they Tony Hawks from Pro Skater 2?" Called Red breathlessly.

"You sure you don't make this carp up?" Replied Bert.

"Are we doing the fish puns now?" Asked FSN, nervously.

"No." Said Bert, flatly.

"Mmmmm mmm mmm mmmm." Said Lemmy.

"Flying monkeys. Why not?" Asked Bert through gritted teeth, and took to his heels. The quartet ran down the hill, towards a very convenient farm house, the flying monkeys in pursuit, their angry chattering and the beat of their bat-like wings getting nearer and nearer. Bert made it first into the house, and was vaguely disappointed that FSN was close behind him. Red dived in right behind FSN. Bert looked back. Lemmy was struggling, his lack of a mouth making breathing difficult, his little fat legs pounding across the green felt towards the house.

"Come on Lemmy!" yelled Bert, but all his encouragement was to no avail. The strap on Lemmy's bass broke and he tripped. The flying monkeys were on him in an instant, tearing, biting, ripping. In seconds they had done their evil work and flew off, satisfied, leaving an overly bloody corpse on the sward. 

"Maybe he's all right?" Asked Red, hopefully. Bert shook his head.

"Oh my cod! They've killed Lemmy." Exclaimed Red. Bert was grateful that he had been spared that. He was less pleased when FSN launched into a rendition of "Funeral For a Friend."

"Grey Seal."  He muttered.  "Just get to Grey Seal."



They rested in the farmhouse for a while, and when they resumed their journey, FSN was in high spirits. His version of "Jamacia Jerk-off" was accompanied by some dance moves that cannot be adequately described.

The afternoon, or morning, was pleasant. They had passed into clear terrain and the going was easy. About a +2 Bert estimated.

"Mmmm mm." Said Lemmy, and sure enough a single rider approached.   

"I think you're right." Said Bert. "It looks like him."

"Who? Who?" Asked FSN, theatrically squinting at the approaching figure.

"It looks like a ...." began Red, but Bert cut him off.

"It isn't any kind of made up creature from any made up world. He's well known in these parts, and it's a bit of a sad story."

"Do tell! Do tell!" Exclaimed FSN, clapping his hands and jumping on the spot.

"Oh! For Frolics sake! All right." Bert sat on the road and wished for a cigarette, but he hadn't any since such things became frowned upon in kid's books. "The bloke coming towards us is the sole survivor of .. " FSN had settled at Bert's feet and now raised his hand.

"No, that wasn't a fish pun. Do you want to hear this or not?" FSN nodded energetically. "Well, the bloke coming is Trooper Ouse of the 9th Madeup Hussars of Conflans. There used to be a whole regiment of them, and they made a brave sight. A few years ago, at Salute I think it was, they were part of a demonstration.  Trooper Ouse was the lucky one, got knocked out by an unlikely throw of the dice from long range cannon fire. He was put in the casualties box. The rest of them, well, they all made it back to their own box, but it got left under the table at clear up time." His audience gasped their horror. "So Hussar Ouse there is the only one left."

"So he's a hussar," began FSN, beating a joke to death, " and he's the only one left. What do you call him?"

"Jacques."

"Jacques Ouse. Something Zola-esque in that name, with anti-anti-semitic overtones." Mused Red.

"I think you're the only one who was thinking that."  Said FSN, unkindly.

By this time Hussar Jacques Ouse of the 9th Madeup Hussar of Conflans had approached within hailing distance.

"Hello!" Shouted FSN, cordially.

" 'jour." Replied the Frenchman, trotting on. FSN stared at his departing back.

"What an ignorant frolicking tweet!"

"Yes. He's always like that." Explained Bert.

"Mmmmmm mmm mm!" Put in Lemmy.

"Wise words, my friend, wise words." Bert clapped his friend on the shoulder and Red nodded in agreement.

"Oh come on. Let's get going." Said FSN, and off he stomped. 

[Techno]

 
Cheers - Phil.

[Orcs]

Brilliant.

Lets just hope the men in white coats don't take him away before he has finnished.

[fsn]

Don't know about you lot, but I'm really looking forward to the end.

[fred.]

Lest just hope the men in white coats don't take him away before he has finnished.

I think you made a mistake, I hope you don't mind that I've corrected it.  

[fred.]

Just noticed as well that fsn has more posts than me - even though he's only been here for less than a year (I know that's hard to believe, how quiet it must have been in 2012).

Perhaps I need to start a campaign for something...

[fsn]

Byzantines?

[fsn]

Brilliant.

Lets just hope the men in white coats don't take him away before he has finnished.

Pre 1866 Austrian infantry?

[Ithoriel]

Just noticed as well that fsn has more posts than me - even though he's only been here for less than a year (I know that's hard to believe, how quiet it must have been in 2012).

Perhaps I need to start a campaign for something...

Usually I feel like i never shut up but I feel like a positive Trappist by comparison