Knight of Darkness, continues, part six...

Blaise coughed, then flinched. "It's just a flesh wound," he said in a voice that was reminiscent of the black knight in Monty Python's Holy Grail...
The Anthropologist: "He does actually say that..."
Lady Miriam: "He's is, in fact, John Cleese!"
Pillywiggin (horrified): "Kill them with fire!"

The Anthropologist: "Blaise is in human form again, he summons clothes, even though he's not sorcerer... this is completely arbitrary isn't it?"

The Anthropologist: "Right. He's checking her for broken bones and feels her up. He blushes.... She's bitching about not something. Blaise has blown his cover and they're going on with this retarded plan... Yes, they've crash-landed... They've found an invisible flange wall flying across valley."

The Anthropologist: "She thanks him. The flange wall is sapping their magick and it would make them human by morning, which is baffling considering how they're described as separate species as opposed to be human plus..."

The mandrake had a vicious point. If that field or whatever it was, surrounded the valley on all sides, they were completely screwed and trapped here.
How ironic.
Azrael: "How is that ironic?"
The Anthropologist: "More unfortunate, really. Just?"

Legend had always said that the valley was green and lush…Yeah, right.
The Anthropologist: "More bitching about how legends are always wrong."

The Anthropologist: "He carries Merewyn. He and Blaise bitch at each other."
Lady Miriam: "They both gay men?"
The Anthropologist: "But they bitch at each other constantly."
Lady Miriam: "So, gay thirteen year olds?"

The Anthropologist: "Oh, they've found something else... fyrebaums... Yes, it's spelt with a 'y'."
"The trees." Blaise indicated them. "They're fyrebaums. Remember? Emrys gave one to Arthur for Michaelmas—not long after you'd been left at Camelot."

Emrys had said the trees had been created to be a source of light in the darkness. That they were symbolic of benevolent strength, dignity, and rebirth, which was why he'd given one to Arthur. Emrys had believed their fire was cleansing for the soul, and that any person who'd been exposed to it would be able to repent their past and find a new future.
Pillywiggin: "Oh! Spare us the symbolism!"

Varian didn't know about that, but he'd been captivated by the tree as a child. He'd stared at it for hours, trying to understand the source of the orange flame.
The Chronicler: "Wait? How the fuck could he forget something that's such a significant part of his childhood?"

Not even Merlin had been able to adequately explain it to him.
Pillywiggin: "Flange."

The Anthropologist: "They meet this Mother Sylph flange beast..."
The trees belched more fire that danced and entwined ten feet above them.

Varian looked up as the flames formed into the image of a young, beautiful woman. Every part of her from her flowing gown, to her facial features, to her limbs were made by the flames' spirals
(The Chronicler: "Is it too much to ask to look up your words before using them? They're traditionally air elementals.")

The Anthropologist: "They have an argument about whether they're good or evil... They probably only let good people pass."
The Balance: "But he's half-half."
Azrael: "He could walk past sideways?"

The Anthropologist: "The trees are confused. They hurl fireballs at them, which he deflects with his sword."
The Balance: "He's got Perfect Defence? (I just made an Exalted joke without ever playing the game.)"
Azrael: "Or he's in an anime."

The Anthropologist: "They question Varian's vow to protect Merewyn. She stands up to them about it... They escape."

How very strange to her. She'd never walked like this with any man except for her father. There was something unsettling and at the same time invigorating about the sensation of having his subdued power beside her.
(The Chronicler notes the Daddy Issues.)

"I wouldn't say that," Varian said, as if her gratitude made him uncomfortable. "We're not out of the woods yet. Literally."
Blaise snorted at his bad pun before he started singing, "Ain't no valley low enough…"
Cathed: "What?!"
The Anthropologist: "She's keeping up with pop culture."

The Anthropologist: "Blaise and V bitch at each other more... for far too many pages..."
Lady Miriam: "They're having a man off."
Cathed: "Doing it in the style of Intriguing Rivers of Male Lust."

They grew quiet to listen. It was a faint, almost indiscernible bell-like sound.
The Anthropologist: "There's a noise. They follow the sound..."
Pillywiggin: "That can't be a good idea."

Hanging in the trees were the remains of several knights. It was the spur of one who was swinging against a tree that accounted for the small metallic sound.
Lady Miriam: "We've found the redeeming feature."
Cathed: "That is quite impressively creepy."
Azrael: "Which means someone is going to try and have sex with it. It's what happens in these books. Pardon me if I'm a bit jaded."

The Anthropologist: "No, the cremate the bodies. With flange-ness."

The flames caught against the surcoat of the knight on top, then spread quickly to consume the others. It was a funeral ceremony very similar to the ones her Saxon brethren had practiced.
(The Chronicler: "Her Saxon brethren?!")

Merewyn watched as Varian whispered a small Adoni prayer for their souls.
(The Chronicler wonders what deities they have. And how she can be so very accepting of him praying to demon gods when she should be a Christian herself.)

Unlike his mother, he thought of more than his own selfish needs, and it made her want to hold him until his sadness passed.
The Anthropologist: "Nice to know the heroine's standards are also artificially lowered by knowing his mother."

"But you're an assassin for Merlin."
"And those I kill are traitors who sacrifice innocent people to Morgen's vanity and machinations.
(The Chronicler can't help but wonder if Morgen was a male villain, would her vanity and pride feature as much as negative traits? After all, there is no one more arrogant than the hero.)

...What I do, I do for the good of all. Trust me, the men I've killed were no loss to humanity. Not even the mothers who whelped them would mourn their passing."
(The Chronicler notices what he did there. He made them more bestial; We've debating over the concept of Grendel's Dam for years... Oh and do you want me to quote the earlier chapters?
There was nothing in life he enjoyed more than taunting others. Nothing he liked more than feeling the blood of his enemies coating his hands—but not before he'd had ample time to torture them.)

The Anthropologist: "We're told the plot of the grail knights dying again. And it's not any more interesting this time around. They argue some more and fail to communicate."
Cathed: "This book isn't really a romance novel, is it? It's just about the hero's, his best gay friend and his mummy issues."

The Anthropologist: "Merewyn makes best gay friend tell hero that he's a grail knight..."

"But I've never been that friendly to you."
It was true, he hadn't. "No, but you were never cruel to me either. That's the closest thing I've had to a friend since Narishka took me from my home."
(The Chronicler possessing a better memory than the heroine, remembers Magda, who wasn't just not cruel but actually nice to the heroine.)

The Anthropologist: "We find out about the traitor to Camelot, whom Merewyn remembers:
"He was a bit short, with a belly pooch. He had brown hair and eyes and the look of malice on his face. I didn't hear his name, but I'd know him if I saw him again."
Cathed: "Unsexy."

The Anthropologist: "Oh, for fuck's sake! It turns out that Blaise has secret flange weakness. Partially blind but only in human form."

Azrael: "WHY? And why hasn't this come up?"

The Anthropologist: "It's to explain why he doesn't judge beauty by outside... but by the heart. Because you need a flange reason for that."
"Everyone knows that mandrakes and Adoni are only attracted to physical beauty."

"Yo, Varian, we need to stop for a few."
Lady Miriam: "Burn him with fire."
Pillywiggin: "He's a pirate now."

The Anthropologist: "Moving on, she pisses, and just as she's finished pissing, she's kidnapped."
Pillywiggin: "It'd be funnier if it was during."

The Anthropologist: "V is very upset. He hears her screaming helplessly. The men kidnapping her are identical twins. One of which is named Derrick."
Pillywiggin: "My uncle is called Derek..."

Cathed: "How crappy is it to be kidnapped by someone named Derrick?"The Balance: "Worse of all they're Pillywiggin's relatives."
Lady Miriam: "Everyone knows the Irish are secretly fae."

The Anthropologist: "Apparently they've been waiting for a woman to come through, they've been stalking the character party... waited for her to piss so they can kidnap her and have sex with her."
Cathed: "Rape! But not the good sort of rape!"

The Anthropologist: "V throws his sword... not sensible throwing weapon. Then the heroine is feisty. She kicks him in the crotch...
Varian stiffened in empathy as he fought the need to cup himself out of habit.
Cathed: "Clearly he sees people getting kicked in the crotch all the time."

The Anthropologist: "He doesn't apologise for throwing his sword."
Cathed: "Of course he doesn't."
The Anthropologist: "...despite having killed innocent bystanders in the past. He thinks it's a good idea."

The Anthropologist: "Other twin grabs her..."
Lady Miriam: "Does the Benny Hill music come on?"

The Anthropologist: "He tries to throw the sword again. He pins the man's sleeve to a tree. And then the other twin picks her up..."
Pillywiggin: "Sounds like a really stupid flash game..."

The Anthropologist: "Merewyn is free for... she scooted away, that just isn't a word."
Azrael: "Clearly she was carrying a small fold up scooter."

The Anthropologist: "Maybe I read the second page twice... that all only happened once. The sword throwing..."
The Balance: "Keep doing that. It makes for an interesting race scene."

The Anthropologist: "Right, they were actually triplets, way back when. The third is hiding in a bush because he's been turned into a ferret... They're identical triplets, which is particularly rare."
The Chronicler: "Because they can't shapeshift or use illusory magic at all in Camelot."

The Anthropologist: "They're Derrick, Erik and Merrick... That doesn't quite rhyme."
The Balance: "Maybe it does in her accent."

"Aye," Merrick said caustically. "At least we were her lovers until Erik got drunk one night. After he failed to please her, she insulted his manhood, and he called her a frigid bitch incapable of human emotion, never mind an orgasm."
(The Chronicler is trying to get her head around this set of insults. After all, it makes little sense to call the infamously promiscuous Morgan a frigid bitch and whilst she may not have had an orgasm in his company, surely it's as much his fault as hers. And that aside, are we suggesting that only those who can feel human emotions can orgasm? Because... it's really messed up. That and the Chronicler is not sure any of them are human in the first place.)

The Anthropologist: "The hero commiserates with them, after all 300yrs without a woman..."
"Figures the only woman to touch my cock in over three hundred years damn near rammed it up my throat."
Lady Miriam: "Medical complication."
Cathed: "I was trying to innocently rape her and she hit me! What's up with that?!"The Anthropologist: "Not the world's most successful comedy character..."

"Serves you right," Merewyn said defiantly. "Your mother should have taught you better. You don't just grab a woman and haul her off."
Cathed: "Why bring their mothers into this?"
The Anthropologist: "It's part of the rape prevention techniques. She forgot to use it earlier, so now she brings up his mother in hopes of quelling his passion."

Merrick snorted. "You do when you're desperate."
(The Chronicler wonders why V hasn't killed them already. After all, if there were any more obviously unrepentant rapists...)

Still, Derrick showed no remorse for his actions. "Not from where we're standing or, in my case, limping. At least death would cure my blue balls."
(The Chronicler: "Just wank.")

Blaise curled his lip at them. "Ah, your mother was a hamster."
The Anthropologist: "Apparently they don't have Monty Python in hell, so it's lost on Merewyn and the triplets."

"Damn pity that. I'd shoot myself if I had to live without Monty."
The Chronicler: "But how did Blaise get to see Monty Python if he's been undercover?"
Blaise placed his hand over his heart as if her words wounded him. "When we get to Avalon, my lady, it's something you have to see."
Cathed: "On loop."

Blaise frowned. "I thought you said there were no women here."
"There aren't. Sylphs have no interest in men, and Nimue hates all of Morgen's ex-lovers. If anyone tries to be nice to her or seduce her, Merlin hangs them in the trees for everyone to see. He might not be able to handle Nimue, but he'll be damned before he lets anyone else near her."
(The Chronicler is given pause... the triplets define women as "women they're allowed to fuck.")

The Anthropologist: "Blaise has a flange parent who brought the flange trees to the flange valley. Adoptive father, actually... But he used to be encased in ice, whatever that means, and is now not... I really don't care."

The Anthropologist: "They have another argument. Blaise hits on Merewyn...."
The mandrake shook his head. "You're gay, aren't you?"
Varian raised the blade to rest against Blaise's Adam's apple. He carefully pressed it close. Not so much that it drew blood, but enough to let him know that he wasn't amused. "Or not."
(The Chronicler is finding the sexual politics in this book increasingly repulsive.)

The Anthropologist: "Ah, but he wished he was gay so Merewyn wouldn't tempt him. There are death threats. Such a true sign of friendship..."

Even though Merrick and Derrick had offended her with their actions, there was a tiny, tiny part of her flattered by their failed abduction.
(And now The Chronicler is even more repulsed. She understands that no one had found her sexually attractive for a long time, but she used to be the most beautiful woman in the world and she knew this on no uncertain terms. Threats of rape should not be flattering.)

The Anthropologist: "They're now singing the song from Spamalot. And they discuss the merits of the musical Spamalot..."

Sara Ramirez had nothing on Merewyn. The cadence of her tone actually sent a shiver down his spine. One that went straight to his groin and made him heavy and aching for her.
Cathed: "That's reassuring..."

The Anthropologist: "Blaise can't stop quoting from Spamalot. It's getting really, really annoying. And now they're discussing how great the triplets are in bed..."

He shook his head as she flounced off in front of him.
Two seconds later, she vanished...

The Anthropologist: "It turns out there's a small hole in the ground called The Pit of Despair. A flange hole in a flange valley. And it makes you more emo. She angsts for about a page."

The Anthropologist: "Apparently there's a poison gas that comes out of the pit that makes you feel suicidal."

Derrick thought about that for a second. "You know that wouldn't be so bad as long as her body wasn't cold or stiff."
That disturbed him on a level he didn't even want to contemplate. "You're disgusting."
"Three. Hundred. Years," Merrick said each word slowly. "No sex. Think about it."
The Loinfire Club has no words. The Loinfire Club had joked about them being necrophiliacs earlier but...

The Anthropologist: "Her angst turns into feminist angst. Because she's angsting over how all men are brutish. Feminism is apparently entertaining."

"The burden of you men. Why couldn't women be left alone without you and your cockfighting and your cocks…"
Varian choked. "Our what?"
The Chronicler: "She lived in the pit of promiscuity for several centuries. Why are you surprised?"

"Really? Is it any wonder? Why would any woman want to subject herself to the male ego? Why?"
The Chronicler: "A question that the author never answers."

"Sure, you're a handsome beastie with kissable lips when they're not bleeding. You're fair in form with big, bulging – hyphen
Pillywiggin: "More to the hyphen count, then?"

He actually cringed in fear of the word "cock" coming out of her mouth again, but luckily she averted her thoughts as her gaze met his.
Azrael: "Battle of the gaze!"
Pillywiggin: "Quick! Gaze leap on her and stop her from saying cock!"Cathed: "Diplomatic relations between the gazes..."

The Anthropologist: "They're teasing V about his inability to withstand Merewyn saying the word cock..."
"Yeah," Blaise teased. "You're worthless, Varian. And what on him bulges again, Merewyn?"
Varian glared at the mandrake, who merely continued to laugh at him.
"Everything. His arms, his legs, his—"
Pillywiggin: "Again with the hyphen."

"They destroy everything. Everything. Because you're all worthless whoremongers."
Pillywiggin: "Whoremongers?"
Cathed: "They're also rather worthless rapists."
Azrael: "Of course they're worthless whoremongers. They're not mongering any whores. She's telling them they're really shit pimps."

The Anthropologist: "And then there are flange rocks. But no one cares... we skip the pointless flange thing they effortlessly overcome..."

The way she held him was so very trusting, almost childlike. No woman had ever really held him.
The Balance: "I thought we've put all that behind us after the Lolita-heroine of Come to Me."

The Anthropologist: "Angsts killing. Angst other things. Angst feminist. Inner beauty... I don't care... They finally rescue her from flange pits. And there's pissing again."
Azrael: "Makes the books gritty."
Cathed: "Or cute and charming and humorous."