The Thirteen Moons of Shamballa (in-character thread)

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(OOC: Major Hunter quietly says to the Prince)

"Well this quite interesting I am sure, but what's the problem?
Your Grace, is the lady you wooed a lady of substance?
If so is there no provision in the Accord for, shall we say, unforeseen circumstances?
If she is a lady of quality why not take here for your bride, for the sake of honour?
Once the child is born, and determined to be sound, quietly divorce her, with the proviso that her offspring is not a viable candidate in the event of succession. Give her a pension and remove her as far away from your court as possible.
Once all legal formalities are satisfied then marry this Volcano Queen. Explain to her the situation, and let her know that it was a divergence and will not happen again. You Grace, as much as it pains me to say it, beg for forgiveness.
If she is a commoner, well as they say "there is many a slip betwixt the cup and the lip. See her taken care of with a pension, or better yet wed her off to one of your nobles, preferably an unimportant and dim one. How is he to know whose child it is, or better yet find one that doesn't care, perhaps some old miscreant or senile dotard. Elevate him with an empty title and position, and post him as far away as you can from the court. Besides, do we know for certain that the child is in fact yours? Let us run some tests, or wait until it is born.
In the meantime as soon as we land wed your betrothed immediately and send forth a torrent of platitudes upon meeting with her. Tell her it is your greatest desire to atone for your slip in judgement. Have honey drip from your lips, as they say.
Or, we can lie and decieve her, deny everything, claim temporary madness, a sickness, magic, whatever you like. Tell this queen you are being slandered by the young hussy and you have no knowledge of what she speaks about.
Or, we fight and make our escape as soon as the cage is open. Our chance will only be one. A sudden and violent onslaught should help us win the day. Once we have taken over the ship we high tail it back to your lands and prepare for war.
What else is there to do? As some say back home, discretion is the better part of valour, some times.
Although unasked for, this is my council your Grace."
 
A very tall olive-skinned woman with the musculature of an athlete strides forward to address you from the other side of the energy beams: "Lowly male worms! It is an insult to Volcana even to have you aboard our rocketship! But we must transport you to Volcana to answer for your crimes. You all know why you're here, so do not attempt to deny what you have done!"

"What cheek! Worms, Insult indeed. Mind your manners madame!"
 
"What cheek! Worms, Insult indeed. Mind your manners madame!"
Captain Viraga turns and sneers, "Castration is always an option for your kind, you filthy male!"
"That, or alow me to be your champion in the judicial duel",Spisarevski adds, nodding aprovingly at Hunter's short speech.
"Ah! A capital idea!" Volpone responds enthusiastically. "I do believe that is the best option! Ah! What a friend! If you survive, I'll make you a baron!"
 
"Come now Your Grace. Spisarevski being your champion means that you acknowledge the slanderous accusations levelled against you. Your honour is being besmirched. Surely you will not allow that!"

Major Hunter turns to Captain Vigara

"Young lady you are in need of a paddling with such a sharp tongue. Your father obviously failed in his duty regarding this."
 
"Ah, you understand so little of our ways, Major," says the Prince. "To lie is beneath the dignity of my house. I'm certain our friend Spisarevski can prevail in a trial by combat, after which I'm sure some arrangement can be brokered between myself and the Queen."

One of the guardswomen points at Major Hunter and asks, "Captain, shall I turn off the electrofield so we can emasculate him?"

"No...we will leave that to the Queen to decide. Prepare for landing!"

With a shudder, the rocketship fires its retrojets and begins its descent. Through the porthole, you see your destination, a grandiose castle in a style you'd best describe as pseudomedieval-Earth. The landing pad appears to be a mile or so distant from the castle itself.
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When the roaring engines die and the hatches open, from your vantage point in the holding cell you can't see much but you hear a good deal of confusion and consternation. Captain Viraga abruptly reappears, her confident carriage and borderline-arrogant demeanor having decidedly evaporated; without explanation she turns off the electrofield that held you captive and merely says, "We must hurry. We're all in grave danger. The Queen requests your cooperation." With that, she turns on her heel and proceeds down the hatchway whence she came, expecting you to follow.
 
"Of course", Spisarevski replied, following. "Since nobody requests the assistance of accused people, I presume that henceforth the accusations against the Prince and us have been dropped..."
 
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" Yes... I hope this isn't a case of out of the frying pan and into the fire.
What do you think Your Grace? What would cause such an abrupt about face?"
 
"Of course", Spisarevski replied, following. "Since nobody requests the assistance of accused people, I presume that henceforth the accusations against the Prince and us have been dropped..."
" Yes... I hope this isn't a case of out of the frying pan and into the fire.
What do you think Your Grace? What would cause such an abrupt about face?"
As you descend the ramp to the landing pad, your question is answered nonverbally by the sight of a troop of Emperor Malvolio's blue-furred ape legions muscling several large cannon into position to fire upon you as well as the rocketship you are disembarking. Waiting at the bottom of the ramp, with engines idling, are three large vehicles that superficially resemble Earth automobiles but with sleeker profiles, jutting fins, and huge exhaust ports at their tail ends.
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"Hurry! Before they are able to fire! Into the rocketcars!" commands Captain Viraga to her guardswomen and, by implication, you and your associates as well. You catch a glimpse of Princess Vulpecula, whom you have not seen since the hunting expedition, entering the lead rocketcar.
 
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"Your Grace. Shouldn't you join your sister over there? No doubt she'd be glad to see you!"
 
"Your Grace. Shouldn't you join your sister over there? No doubt she'd be glad to see you!"
"I think we should worry about that later. She's in capable hands," he replies without explanation, looking rather pale and sweaty. "I daresay we're relegated to this last machine due to our masculine gender, and expected to operate it ourselves. Have either of you any experience in vehicles of this sort?"

The front hatch opens with the press of a button, revealing a capacious interior with seats for eight. Corbaccio, Corvino, Jörg, Bonario, and Prince Volpone climb in the back, apparently anticipating either Hunter or Spisarevski will act as their chauffeur. "We haven't such machines on Mosca," Jörg says.
 
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"Well we don't have them in England either, but I'll give it a go! How hard can it be? That looks like the accelerator, and this is most certainly some type of steering device, and these must be the brakes, but I don't see a clutch... Maybe this one here? Ahh, and this most assuredly is a horn, and these are the controls for the headlights. I've got it now! Hold on chaps, and Your Grace. Spisarevski, how about you take the co-pilot's chair. What! Tally-ho and pip-pip"

(Major Hunter, who is certainly channeling Mr Toad, of Toad Hall at the moment, has a Mechanical of 2, with a +1 for driving. Should any be necessary, here are his rolls: 5 + 5 + 1 = 11, 5 + 2 + 1 = 8 )
 
Spisarevski jumps in the co-pilot seat and tries to help the Major withwithout interrupting his uncharacteristical tirade. Is it possible that the Major might be worried?
If so,that calls for a double amount of concentration.
 
"Come now Spisarevski. Chin up, stiff upper lip and all that. I haven't been in a crash that I haven't walked away from yet. As the lads in the regiment used to say ' No guts no glory. ' "
A calm sort of reckless detachment takes over Major Hunter as he eases into the chair. If he has one passion it is certainly the operation of motorised vehicles, at very high speeds although, he probably isn't as proficient as he imagines himself to be. He really is quite mad sometimes! :shade:
 
The good news is that Major Hunter manages to back the rocketcar up in time to avoid an incoming energy blast that disintegrates a large patch of roadway that is now engulfed in flames. Chunks of asphalt rain down with a nerve-wracking clatter on the hull of your rocketcar and as the smoke clears a bit you can see a large pit directly ahead of you, though there is still ample room to drive around it if you steer a bit to the left.

The bad news is that the other rocketcars in your convoy have sped off without you at nearly supersonic speed, forward into a dark tunnel leading to you can only imagine where. Behind you the roadway seems to lead up to the barbican of the castle on the hill, where the blue apes are lining up their arsenal. As Hunter works the controls of the rocketcar, the noblemen in the rear seats shout a steady stream of useless and conflicting advice: "Go faster! Go slower! Into the tunnel! Off the roadway! Backwards! Forwards!" Meanwhile the blue apes are readying another volley which you have no doubt is aimed in your direction.

[Hunter should now be able differentiate between the rocketcar's gears. A successful attempt versus a Target Number of 10 will allow you to follow and steer around the hole without crashing into the sides of the tunnel; or perhaps you would prefer to continue driving backwards?]
 
"Indeed!", Spisarevski laughs curtly. "I can report I haven't been in one of those, either!"

He leans back in his seat, and puts his belt. Then he gives a thumbs up to the Major as he avoids the blast. But otherwise, he does his best not to distract him.
 
"SILENCE!"
(Major Hunter barks out in his best Parade Square voice, in an attempt to calm the panic and silence the chatter. Then he will head for the tunnel at speed. He rolls a: 5 + 4 + 1 = 10.)

"I say Spisarevski, see if you can find a radio amongst those knobs and dials. It would be nice to see where those harridans got to."

(He then pulls out a cigar and puts it in his mouth)
 
The rocketcar bucks under your control, wheels temporarily leaving the earth below, as you zoom forward at a breakneck pace and nearly sheer off your fins on the tunnel walls. The tunnel is dark but apparently straight as you can just see daylight as a tiny pinprick at the other end. The sound of numerous explosions rumbles behind you and the tunnel appears to shake as pieces of the ceiling collapse inward onto your path and on the hull of the rocketcar. Flop sweat drips from the noblemen who white-knuckle the armrests of their seats. After what feels like an eternity of tension, you bolt out the tunnel into a verdant forest. The road forks left and right, with no signposts to guide you and no obvious trail left by the other rocketcars. Behind you, you see some sort of huge armored vehicle comparable to a tank lumbering forward on treads at the other end of the tunnel.
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You estimate you have perhaps three seconds before you must choose left or right at the fork, for to stop and contemplate surely means the tank, although slow-moving, will catch up with you within minutes. Unfortunately, you cannot see what lies left or right due to overarching trees forming a sort of natural tunnel on both sides.
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Major Hunter takes the right fork, not wishing to be blown to bits he does't hesitate.
 
Major Hunter takes the right fork, not wishing to be blown to bits he does't hesitate.
Veering right, the rocketcar hits a patch of rough road and begins to shake and rattle. The vehicle has no speedometer or odometer as far as you can tell, so your pace is a guess based on how rapidly the scenery seems to streak past you. The rocketcar is suddenly jolted and you hear a gurgling sound behind you, followed by the odor of fresh vomit: it would appear someone in the rear has thrown up. Hunter is too preoccupied with driving to look, but Spisarevski can see that Baron Bonario projected his morning meal all over the lap of Duke Corbaccio. Both men look embarrassed.

After many miles of forest tunnel, you suddenly emerge in a glade surrounded on three sides by what look to be tiny houses built into the boles of the trees.
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The roadway ends in a cul-de-sac amidst the tiny village, as it were, and your options are to crash the rocketcar through some tree-homes and into the woods beyond, to stop here, or to make a U-turn and go back whence you fled.
 
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"That wasn't so bad, was it? Well chaps? What do you say? Do we turn around, or get out? Your Grace, what do you suggest?"
 
While the occupants of the rocketcar discuss their options, you notice the tiny doors in the trees swing open and out come some small men resembling gnomes or leprechauns from fairytales back home on Earth. They approach the rocketcar with trepidation.
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(They look very much like these gentlemen)
 
Major Hunter puffs on his cigar, looks down at the men, smiles, and says:

"Good morning! This may sound odd, but where are we?"
 
"Good morning! This may sound odd, but where are we?"
The trio responds with a lilting melody in three-part harmony:
"We welcome you to Picklenut Forest!
We've been expecting you!
We are the lords of Picklenut Forest!
There are no others who
May dare to wander Picklenut Forest,
Though we are small and few!

You bring such joy to Picklenut Forest:
You've proved our faith is true!
Now that you're part of Picklenut Forest,
What once was old is new!
While you're a part of Picklenut Forest
You must do as we do!"
 
Spisarevski tries to find a radio or similar.
"I'd say we turn back", he replies. "And we might borrow a piece of cloth from the local gnomes, before we go. They seem to think we're messiahs, or something."
 
The little men look up to you and address you with another song in tripartite harmony:
"It has long been prophesied
Giants would come to the land
To free the little folk who hide
From the iron-gloved whip-hand
Of the viragos who ride
Hard over every man!
We hope that you will decide
To stay as long as you can!"
 
"Me? Not at all, but Duke Corbacio probably does...", Spisarevski answers absent-mindedly. "Hear that? They expect us to save them from the ill-mannered Amazons!"
 
The lords of Picklenut Forest gesture for you to follow them and gleefully sing:
"For many, many long, hard years
We small ones have been fleeced
And treated with such cruelty
Our numbers have decreased!

They treat us to the whip
As though we're common beasts!
Our bodies have been brutalized!
Our thoughts have been policed!

But now revenge will be at hand,
O saviors from the east!
We are known for our baked goods
And we shall rise like yeast!

We shall be your followers
And you shall be our priests!
We'll sup on cupcakes of revenge
Till all viragos are deceased!

Our ovens blaze with fury!
Our baking pans are greased!
Now we have cause to celebrate!
We invite you to a feast!"​
 
"Me? Not at all, but Duke Corbacio probably does...", Spisarevski answers absent-mindedly. "Hear that? They expect us to save them from the ill-mannered Amazons!"

"Yes, quite." Major Hunter softly replies with some disdain in his voice. "Doesn't seem that the old chap has much of a stomach for a good motor ride. What!"

(In response to the gnomes' plea Major Hunter says)

"So it seems."
 
The lords of Picklenut Forest gesture for you to follow them and gleefully sing:

"For many, many long, hard years

We small ones have been fleeced

And treated with such cruelty

Our numbers have decreased!



They treat us to the whip

As though we're common beasts!

Our bodies have been brutalized!

Our thoughts have been policed!



But now revenge will be at hand,

O saviors from the east!

We are known for our baked goods

And we shall rise like yeast!



We shall be your followers

And you shall be our priests!

We'll sup on cupcakes of revenge

Till all viragos are deceased!



Our ovens blaze with fury!

Our baking pans are greased!

Now we have cause to celebrate!

We invite you to a feast!"



"Savage little fellows, aren't they? Well I for one don't think it's very sporting to see these little chaps under heel, and those witches aren't the most pleasant of ladies. I think we should see what they have in mind. Besides, if those gorillas pick up our trail, we might need some help to deal with them.
I say little fellows, do stop with that dreadful singing. You're hardly Gilbert and Sullivan after all. What's all this talk of a feast, and what exactly have these so called ladies done to you?"
 
"Savage little fellows, aren't they? Well I for one don't think it's very sporting to see these little chaps under heel, and those witches aren't the most pleasant of ladies. I think we should see what they have in mind. Besides, if those gorillas pick up our trail, we might need some help to deal with them.
I say little fellows, do stop with that dreadful singing. You're hardly Gilbert and Sullivan after all. What's all this talk of a feast, and what exactly have these so called ladies done to you?"
"Now that you hidalgos
Are on our archipelago,
Let's proceed allegro
Regarding these viragos!
The situation's a farrago:
We're subject to embargo!
They beat us against walls
Until we suffer from lumbago!
And squeeze us by our balls
Until they've turned indigo!
We've not done much but crawl
Since a long time ago!

We do not mean to tease you!
The feast is sure to please you!
If you're quick on the uptake
You'll know we bake fine cupcakes
And many say our tarts
Are on par with works of art!
We'll prepare the finest meal!
While you eat you can reveal
How you'll free us from 'neath the heel
Before our pastries do congeal!
We'll sup once we are able

So come along to our table!"

 
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"The devil!" Baron Bonario interjects. "I daresay we lead charmed lives, my friends. If not for the Emperor's invasion of Volcana, we'd be prisoners, and you, your highness--" he gestures at Prince Volpone "--may well have been made a eunuch by now!"

"Ah!" Prince Volpone exclaims. "I reason the Emperor must have gotten wind of the Paubrasilia Accords and seeks to smash any possible alliance betwixt our moons! I hope the Queen is safe."

"Good!" says Duke Corbaccio. "He must be weaker than we'd dare dream if he fears such as that! We must return to Mosca and coordinate an all-out attack!"

Count Corvino adds, "Attacks aside, I believe we have stumbled upon some sort of Volcanian slave labor force, which is a violation of the Interlunar Accords. Only the Emperor is entitled to slaves. This bears further investigation. Perhaps we can glean information that can be used to bring Volcana to its knees."

Jörg the Jägermeister snarls, "I've been cheated of roast hornabeast, my lords! I'm famished and these odd fellows seem to be offering a luncheon!"
 
"Indeed, it's best to go out and partake of the little guys' lunch", Spisarevski says. "Just beware of falling asleep... but yes, a violation of the accords might be just what Your Majesty needs to make sure a certain transgression would be overlooked. And, depending on how serious their transgression here is, the follow-up might vary from exchanging measures in repairing the situation - say, something like what Major Hunter suggested in return for the liberation of the small people - to asking the queen to step down and placing your lady on her throne. After all, the accords would then be in order, your majestic seed having been received by the queen to begin with!"
 
"Indeed, it's best to go out and partake of the little guys' lunch", Spisarevski says. "Just beware of falling asleep... but yes, a violation of the accords might be just what Your Majesty needs to make sure a certain transgression would be overlooked. And, depending on how serious their transgression here is, the follow-up might vary from exchanging measures in repairing the situation - say, something like what Major Hunter suggested in return for the liberation of the small people - to asking the queen to step down and placing your lady on her throne. After all, the accords would then be in order, your majestic seed having been received by the queen to begin with!"
"This fellow shows good reasoning
Just as our food will show good seasoning!
Come along in all good haste,
There are many delicacies to taste!"

[If you follow, they lead you down a short cobblestone pathway to a wide, sunny glade replete with wooden picnic tables at which sit dozens of denizens of Picklenut Forest.]
 
"Looks like we are going to supper. Come now my good chaps show your guests what type of table you have. Would any of you have some tobacco that you could spare to part with?"

(As an aside to Spisarevski and all the others)

"Your Grace, listen to what Spisarevski says. Sometimes, the situation demands a set of rules for the people, and another for the king. On our world we have an expression called 'Realpolitick.' As the head of your people you must consider what is best for them. If your death will serve the greater need, then so be it. At least one can hope to have a death worthy of a song, so that your name will live on after you. If the greater need calls for a sacrifice from your folk, well needs must. In this case the ramifications of indiscretion may not be as grave as it first seemed, and in fact may have revealed the proverbial 'Silver Lining.' If your Emperor is concerned that an alliance may occur from your actions, and this will threaten his rule, all the better. Judging from what we saw this fellow does not seem to be worthy of following. Surely such a tyrant should be cast aside? I have seen too many fools be placed above their talents because they had a certain name, or happened to be enjoying the benefits of an alliance made by an ancestor. If your desire is to overthrow the Emperor, then let us follow Duke Corbaccio's advice. With the Queen as your bride, two worlds will be united and may sway others to join your banner. If all you seek is to be left alone, then an alliance will create a strong block that can resist the Emperor. If (with all due respect Your Grace) you wish to merely fornicate and rut for the rest of your days, without a care about your subjects, then let's go and eat, get drunk, and see if we can help this wee folk in their plight. Well there it is!"
 
"And", Spisarevski adds, "you have no doubt noticed how much my friend tends to speak, in contrast to me. Listen, then: when I speak short and to the point, and he speaks as long and as eloquently as he just did, you really ought to consider what we said, Your Majesty. And if you intend to discard it, to consider it twice."
Then he goes out and stretches, looking at the wee folk.
A smallish army to take on the amazons and the Blue Apes, he thinks. But they know the terrain. And with terrain advantage and ruses, winning has been achieved even given worse odds.
Granted, Spisarevski can't quite think of an example, but he's not a military historian...though his classical education supplies the answer: 300 Spartans...which, to him, aren't even Greek...have held for days due to their own terrain advantage.
He should remind any naysayers of such events.
 
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