COPYRIGHT INFO The Sporadic Verses are copyright 1992, 1993 and 1994 by Jeff Berry and Ben Baron. They may be reproduced in any SCA publication so long as this copyright notice is retained, they are not sold for profit, and the authors receive a copy. If you want to sell them for profit, or buy the nice bound collected editions, contact Jeff Berry, nexus@panix.com END OF COPYRIGHT INFO - Date: 11/25/97 The Sporadic Verses - an epistle in n parts Being a Satire of nothing in particular. For the people who thought real life was getting stranger than the Verses. From the life-imitating-art pens of Louis-Philippe Mitouard and Alexandre Lerot d'Avigne Episode the Fourteenth Chapter Thirty-seven When last we left our heroes, they were at the Crown Tournament of the Wastelands, stalking King Jocko of the Wastelands, who had recently announced he would hold the throne forever. They were hoping to replace him with his brother, Boffo, who although identical in appearance was much more suited to their political tastes -- he had been properly brainwashed. They saw their plans fu ... -- uh -- disarranged when, just as they reached the King's camp with their replacement King (Boffo) in a barrel, Baron Wulfric of Warmongeria marched in with his army and placed the King under house arrest. Baron Wulfric, using a feeble excuse about being the eldest Baron of the Wastelands, assumed the throne as Regent. He spent the night in the King's camp, sleeping in the King's throne, wearing the King's crown, smoking the King's stogies, and in general acting as much like the King as he could. While Wulfric spent a slightly uncomfortable night sleeping on top of the throne, Cyrano, John, Jasper and Sven, the PELICAN seneschal, spent an even more uncomfortable one sleeping under the stars in the forest. Boffo, sleeping near the heroes under the stars in the forest in his barrel, deserves special mention for discomfort. While the rest slept, a shadowy figure was in action. With the grace that only the faux-oriental can muster, it slipped silently past the guards near the King's tent. Once there, with a furtive glance, it drew a katana and in the same motion slashed a huge rent in the back of the tent. The blade glittered in the moonlight like an overextended metaphor as it flashed in a gratuitous moulinet before sliding back into its sheath. The figure stepped inside and crossed quickly to the sleeping Queen. In the dim light of the fortuitously burning candle the figure became identifiable as Reginald Miyamo! After gazing in peace on the Queen for a moment he whispered softly in her ear, "Your Majesty, wake up! It is I, Sir Miyamo, here to rescue you." Barbie did so, and after a token display of modesty, hurled herself into the Samurai's arms. The two fled silently into the night, pausing only to allow Miyamo-San to drop a letter of resignation where the King could not help but find it. Chapter Thirty-eight Morning broke and, typically for the Wastelands, they had to wait three days for parts to repair it. As the sun rose, our heroes decided it was time. "This plot is dragging a bit, wouldn't you say old man? Time for a radical plan," said John to Cyrano. "Yes," Cyrano agreed, "We'll never overthrow the world at this rate." They stared at each other meaningfully then John reached into his knapsack and pulled out a piece of paper and scrawled what looked like a petition on it. He pocketed the paper. Jasper was beginning to wake. "What are you two knaves going to do?" he said groggily. "What we should have done a while ago," said John with bravado. "Right," added Cyrano, looking puzzled, but speaking with equally false bravado, not to be out done. "You don't know, do you?" asked Jasper. "Jasper, old friend, I am shocked," said John, feigning a hurt look. "Amazed," added Cyrano, bluffing along, "how could you think that of us?" "No, I guess we don't," John said, "but we had best figure it out by the time we get to Jocko's camp -- we're going to try it soon." With those brave words, John and Cyrano set off for King Jocko's camp. The camp was only 100 yards away, but carrying the barrel containing their King substitute, it seemed like at least 101 yards. Finally they reached a clearing near the encampment. They stared out from the forest's fringe. They had hoped to lure Jocko's guards away, but they found only Wulfric's there instead. "Hmm, looks like His Excellency had the same idea as we," said Cyrano. "But we still have an ace in the ... box. Doing okay, ace?" John leaned over the barrel and whispered in. A muffled voice replied yes. John and Cyrano straightened their clothes then stood up and walked boldly into the clearing, toward Jocko's encampment. Wulfric's guards immediately (well, after a while) noticed these unarmed men walking slowly toward them, carrying a barrel. The fifteen armed guards did what came naturally -- they panicked, jumped up, grabbed their weapons and formed a skirmish line at the margin of the Royal encampment. Cyrano and John nonchalantly walked up to the skittish Vikings. John then stopped and (slowly, so as not to start another panic) produced the paper from his pocket. He read "We, the undersigned protest the action of the Committee Against Raider Personas(CARP), and state our support for the Viking and Associated Personas Independent Defenders (VAPID)" He pushed the paper toward the Viking Guard Captain -- Gunbutta, who stood at the middle of the Viking skirmishers. "Sign this." The Vikings looked at each other in confusion. "What is this nonsense, you worm?" asked Gunbutta, knocking aside the outstretched petition with her sword. "We're starting a petition drive," Cyrano chimed in, "against banning all early period personae. Hadn't you heard that the Imperium thinks that Viking personas are unsafe? Think it has to do with all that drinking and 'uff-da'ing you do. Probably they didn't like those nasty poleaxes either. I think they want everyone to carry these." He said disdainfully, as he put his hand on the hilt of his rapier, careful not to draw it. "Now, mind you, I think everyone should have the right to drink and 'uff-da' all they want, so I think you should look this over," Cyrano nattered on. "Ya," one guard said in agreement to Cyrano, "ve can be Vikings, no?" "Only if you sign this paper ... with a pen ... uh, with your name..." "Ya, ya." The Vikings began to murmur to each other, and clamored forward, barging around and through each other toward the hand holding the paper. Dropping their weapons, they formed an untidy knot around Cyrano as John drifted around the throng, toward the camp, rolling the barrel on its side. Cyrano lured the Vikings slowly away from the mouth of the camp, then with a clever bit of slight of hand, pushed the petition into Gunbutta's hand and drifted out of the throng as well. Chapter Thirty-nine While Wulfric and his guards were distracted in front with the whys and wherefores of the petition, John and Cyrano moved quickly into the tent where rested Jocko and Barbie. Our staunch heros, aided by the fact that Jocko was asleep, quickly overpowered the King and led him out the back of his tent through a gaping hole which was conveniently located there. As they did so, a piece of parchment laying on the table fluttered to the ground un-noticed where it was immediately trampled underfoot, destroying forever Miyamo-san's beautifully worded resignation haiku: "A King unservable, A retainer fled with Queen, Life can be tough, eh wot?" When they reached a safe distance from the camp, Boffo was released from his barrel. A sniff into the barrel proved that king candidates kept about as well in storage as old cheese, but after stretching a bit, Boffo was ready. The conspirators stripped the clothes off Jocko and put them on Boffo. The frilly underwear didn't quite fit, but no matter. Jocko was placed in the barrel and the party made haste towards the rendez-vous. There Sven produced a cheap forgery of the royal crown which he and Shadrach had spent one whole morning browbeating Bill into constructing, under the flimsy pretense that it was for a play. As it happened, Bill saw through the ruse, while Shadrach with that myopia which is peculiar to the egocentric accepted it on face value. With a somewhat grandiose gesture, Sven placed it upon Boffo's willing brow. As soon as Boffo had the crown on his head, a change began to come over him. He seemed to straighten in stature and grow several inches. He began to laugh maniacally "ha, ha, haH HAH HAH, HAH!" (well you get the idea). His voice took on a deep cinematic vibrato "You fools, you should never have put the Crown on my head, for now the Wastelands will never the same again." "Hmm," said John, staring at his shoes, but speaking sotto voce to Cyrano, "This isn't quite the reaction I expected. I thought he was supposed to be a rube." "I was betting on dunce," added Cyrano quietly. "I had double-or-nothing on unmitigated fool," whispered Jasper. "He's never been this clever before," said Sven apologetically, "Someone must be controlling him." The vibrato, of course, was coming from Hawk and Robin who had managed to come up behind the scene undetected. It was the same cheap trick which had fooled Queen Barbie in an earlier scene, and heralded the appearance of our next coup plotter. If all the previous was not confusing enough, from behind a nearby tree walked Hawk, Robin and a heretofore unknown man, dressed in a black cape, sinister looking boots and leather gauntlets, and a large iron mask. The same outfit, in point of fact, that Sven had worn in episode 8 to impress Barbie. "Hey!" said Sven, "Where did he get my master villain suit?" "That is none of your concern!" said the newcomer, in a deep raspy voice also underlaid by Hawk's heavy breathing. "And my schtick! He swiped my schtick! Stop it!" the last scream was directed at Hawk and accompanied by a swift kick from the irate PELICAN. Hawk nimbly dodged behind the tall stranger and stuck out his tongue while continuing the sound effect, a not inconsiderable feat of diaphragm control. The figure continued his approach and crossed to where Boffo stood, enjoying the heavy weight of the aluminum-foil-coated-cardboard crown on his forehead. The stranger clapped a large black-gloved hand confidently over Boffo's shoulder and spoke (with the help of the sound-effects crew), "You have done well, my son." "Son?" thought John, puzzled. "Time for some plot explication."