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This tale began here, and continued in RTWH.

It continues now here.

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The boat slowed as the current bearing it spread out and began to crawl. Soon it stopped totally. There were no true banks on the River of Time here, just small lumps of earth and trees rising from the water. In the distance one could make out some kind of large structure. It appeared to be made of stone.

“By Odin’s One Eye,” mumbled Terikel. “Which way doth thy river flow now, genius?””

“It doesn’t,” EoJ answered. He stepped out of the boat onto a particularly less-wet lump of earth. “We are here, in my realm. The Medieval Morass”.”

“Thou does thy tasks within a bloody swamp?” bellowed the barbarian angel. “We had thought our world was hard, what with little armored cockroaches scurrying about pretending to be men.”

“He means legionaries,” Edorix translated.

“Do not insult my home!” peeped a high voice. “I’ll kick your glowing butt all up and down that sycamore!”

The three spun about. They saw nobody. Until Edorix looked down and saw a rather large mouse in the bushes by the shore where EoJ had folded up the canoe into his pocket.

EoJ saw the mouse as well. He pulled his wand out, uncapped it, and aimed it at the tiny creature. “Begone!” he commanded it.

“You begone,” answered the mouse. Nobody could be sure if it was a large mouse, or a small rat. “This is my home, where I am king!”

EoJ grinned maliciously. Oh, if he just had the Banhammer right now…. Instead, he had the little wand of Imhotep. What was that phrase now? “Abra capocus! Hocus cadabra!”

The mouse sprouted wings.

“Oops,” said EoJ. He looked sheepishly at the wand. “It was not supposed to do that.”

“Thou has created him, thus thou art now responsible for him,” echoed the angel to his comrade, grinning to himself that he had been able to turn EoJ’s curse upon him. He shook his head vigorously at the strange formulation. “Somehow, methinks that statement has less impact in my tongue than in thine.”

“He means no foul or harm, little rat,” Edorix said, leaping to what he thought was the rescue of his angels.

“You see a rat now,” said the rat. “A swamp rat. The meanest, foulest, most feared creature in the morass. But I am a man, ensorcelled by an evil wizard. A hero, to many, and once a prince. I shall break this evil charm, and when I do, I shall seek to balance accounts with those who wronged me.”

“Thou art a rat with wings now, little friend,” Terikel said with a grin. “If some peon should challenge thee now, art thou a man or a mouse, thou can fly up to his face and bite off his most prominent feature.”

“I thought a man’s most prominent feature was lower,” said Edorix.

Terikel and the swamp rat both winked and said, “It depends on the man.”

Edorix blushed.

“I think we shall get along famously,” said the rat.

Terikel introduced himself and was about to introduce the others when a gasp from the mouse stopped him cold.

“You are a true angel?” the mouse said in awe. “And thy name is Terikel? For real?”

“Yes,” the angel replied, confused at the mix of mirth and awe on the rat’s furry features. “And what is thy name, Rodent Lord?”

“Call me SwampRat,” he replied. “It is a feared name now, and one worthy of much respect.”

“This can be doubted by none,” Edorix agreed. “And our reason for the gods sending us here would then be to restore the mouse to manhood?”

EoJ nodded. “Methinks that be the case. Damn you, you barbarian,” he cursed at Terikel. “Now you have me talking that crap.”


Swamprat led the travelers into his home morass, towards the large stone structure glimpsed from the distance. As they closed in, one could hear the groaning of engines of war, and the tramp of a thousand marching feet.

“Oh oh,” said the rat.

“Oh oh what?” asked the others.

“Charles VI is assaulting the Krak des Chevaliers again,” Swamprat explained. “He is not really Charles VI, he just thinks he is. The rest of us call him that though, since he is about as crazy as the real one. He’s batty, but clever. And charismatic, too- he talked Barbarossa and Erasmus into joining his Crusade.”

“Barbie and Eros are here?” asked Terikel, bewildered.

We use a lot of nicknames here,” replied Swamprat haughtily. “A lot. We call them Barbarossa and Erasmus, since the one is our best oldie and the other the funniest. Now they are teamed up with Chucky to storm the castle.”

“Have fun storming the castle,” Edorix giggled. He had not yet forgotten a Holy Roman Party concerning the Princess Bride.

“We must do something,” Swamprat said as the full deployment of Chucky’s army around the castle became clear. “Inside the castle are some of the most prominent people in the Morass- Thomas Aquinas, The Black Prince, Aelred, and the only people who can understand written words- Froissart and Sir Robert.”

“Who?” asked Terikel. The names truly escaped him. It happens when an angel spends most of eternity playing around in a single era.

“You might know them better as our most intelligent, our best newcomer, our nicest, plus the two writer types.”

“Oh, those blokes,” said EoJ. “They are splendid fellows. Why would Chucky want to harm them?”

“Does he ever need a reason?”

EoJ shrugged. That was true. Who knew what truly went on in the mind of a madman? One does not willingly don the name of Charles VI as a demonstration of one’s sanity.

“Surely we should try to speak with him,” Edorix suggested. A reasonable suggestion, had the target of the suggestion been a reasonable man. Besieging a castle of his peers and friends was not something a rational man did.

“I would advise against it,” the Swamp Rat counseled. “Our resident Henry Bolingbroke tried that. See that little hut over there, the one with those fierce Dismounted Knights surrounding it, the one with the leaky roof? That’s his new abode. The one of us most likely to be promoted, and he is not allowed to leave a battered-down old hut.”

“Surely there must be something we can do!”

“There is, but please stop calling me Shirley. What we need to do is get help. And that right quick!”

“There is a Knight Hospitaller in a small castle not far from here,” EoJ mused. “He has been quite helpful this past year. Maybe he can help us as well.”

“We are angels,” Terikel barked. “Why do we not sweep in upon our wings and spread fire and destruction about as we did in the old days?”

“Ever heard of Seraphim?” EoJ replied.

“Gaius, HussarKnight, and Yak? Of course.”

“No, I meant the Papal unit. They spread fire and destruction in Mongolphobia, an area not too far from here.”

“So?”

EoJ threw his hands up in despair. “What you propose is doing as do the Seraphim.”

“Yes!”

EoJ pointed to the musketeers. “Those men use Seraphim as target practice, idiot. They can shoot all four of us down easily, or worse- cause us to rain the Holy Fire upon ourselves.”

“Oh.”

That was decided. The four angels eased around the besiegers to the home of the Knight. The thick forest and wet underfoot kept the besiegers on the hillside surrounding the castle and away from the dark confines of the thick forest, making it easy for our band of heroes to pass by unnoticed to come to the rear portal. The clash of steel upon steel broke the silence, puzzling the four.The tiny castle was not besieged from without, but within were heard the sounds of battle. The four rushed in.

Two men were battling two others, while a small crowd watched from above. It seemed to be not a battle, but a contest. One of the knights was the Hospitaller.

“What is going on here?” roared Terikel. His was the loudest voice, and the most crass. Imagine a bull in rutting season, coming into a catfight between forty cows.... Something like that. A real crowd-control.

Once everyone turned to see the intruders, the two couples fighting turned to present a united front against them, confirming that they were engaged in a contest, not battle.

“We are conducting a trial by combat,” said the man judging the event. “Marsilio de Padova, who works the hardest for us all, is of one opinion, while this other bloke we recognize as the Most Improved of us, Prince Hal, is of another. There is thus a difference of opinion between the two, so we decided to let God decide in a trial by combat.”

“What a stupid concept,” Terikel mumbled. Then he brightened. “But handy. Very handy.”

“Which god?” asked Edorix. He knew of many, from Lug to Dagda to Cernunnos. Most were rather reasonable.

“Bad move, Edorix,” said EoJ as the others moved grimly forward at his outburst. “Maybe I should have warned you. Here there is only one god.”

“Which is?” asked Terikel, gesturing for more information.

“Which is the one true god,” EoJ said loudly. Then he dropped his voice to a whisper and added, “At least to those who live here.”

“So there is a true god,” Terikel said impatiently, “and us. Can we kick butt now?”

“We need these people,” EoJ reminded the two Roman-era angels. He turned to the judge of the contest. “We too require your aid. You were voted the Abelard, I presume?”

The one known as Abelard nodded deeply. “Yes, I was. They think me the most mature, thus best able to decide which strategy can free our Aquinas from his refuge in the Krak des Chevaliers. He, being the most intelligent of us, can come up with a plan to drive the madmen of outworlders from our realm.”

“I thought that was Mad Charles out there?” said Swamprat, suddenly suspicious.

“Oh no, he is downstairs, in a nice padded cell, playing with rubber toys,” laughed the Hospitaller. “A creature from afar has come and taken his guise. We were determining the best way to deal with that. I say bring on battle, these others say seek peace.”

“Fire and destruction!” cried Terikel with glee, turning to smirk at EoJ. “We go now to glorious melee, and enter the fray with joy in our hearts wishing for blood on our swords!”

Abelard looked to EoJ, and gestured toward Terikel and Edorix, who both had their eager hands on their swordhilts. “They are not from around here, are they?”

EoJ shook his cloaked head. “They are from Upriver,” he explained.

Abelard nodded once. “I pity you.”

“Pitty works even further downriver,” said EoJ seriously.

Abelard looked to his fellows and conversed in whispers. They quickly reached a consensus. Abelard turned to the visitors.

“Our Knight will lead you and the two Upriver ones to try to relieve the siege militarily. In the mean time, we others will try to gather more support. Hopefully you Divine Ones can create a sufficient diversion to allow us to succeed.”

“We are bait,” EoJ deduced.

“We are dangerous bait,” Edorix agreed. He had his sword out now. “We are bait that can bite.”

EoJ shrugged. “If that is what is meant to be, then so be it.” He turned to face Terikel with a face filled with wrath. “This is the last time I ever let you talk me into having fun with the Banhammer.”


It was a glorious battle. Short, but intensely glorious. The angels swept out of the eastern sky in the morning, raining death and destruction from above as they threw fire and what-not among the creatures below. Explosions erupted among the foul beasts assaulting the fortress, but not all were from the fire being thrown. Little balls of lead filled the air, and some of them clipped feathers from wings or creased arms and torsos. EoJ flew higher, out of range, and directed his powers on those below, while Terikel and Edorix swept in fast and low, swords swinging in mighty arcs, to chop arm from body and feet from leg, effectively dis-arming and de-feeting the beasts using heavenly fire upon angels.

Still, there were many muskets and few angels. One lucky shot ripped into the vestigial wings of Edorix, tumbling him from the sky, while another shot one of the horns from Terikel’s helmet. That caused an awful ringing and an instant concussion, sending the angel down among his enemies. His last thought as his body tumbled out of control was, “damn EoJ! He was right again!”

EoJ made himself invisible, while the Knight Hospitaller withdrew unseen from the field. Abelard was right- a direct military approach was unsound at this moment. We must wait for a proper moment. He smiled cruelly. That moment was coming soon.


“Another fine mess you have gotten me into,” barked Edorix when he noticed the eyes of Terikel fluttering as they opened. Both angels were bound hand and foot and wing.

The angel looked about. He and Edorix were in a tiny chamber, wrapped in some devilish rope. Nobody else was about.

“I guess we did not do so well?” he asked.

“We did a lot of damage, but not enough to break the siege. EoJ got away. He found some other blokes wandering about and called in their aid. The locals named them Saladin and Galileo, the one for his excellent generalship and the other for being so darned underrated. From the noise outside, I guess they have a few of their favorite units with them.”

“Or the whole of their favorite faction.”

“Where are we now?” the angel asked.

The cherub shrugged within his bindings. “They cast us into the cellar of their command shack, as far as I know.”

“A wine cellar?” asked the angel greedily.

“Just a simple cellar,” Edorix replied through gritted teeth. “In their command shack, amid their horrible-smelling supplies and directly under where they are going over their...” He glanced with new respect at the angel. ”You did this on purpose, did you not?”

The angel nodded. “Swampy, wake up.”

From under the binding crept the mouse. “Hey guys,” he said. He grasped the magical bindings with his tiny forepaws and made ready to chomp through them. He winked at Edorix, “Sometimes being a rodent has its advantages. Ready to be freed?”

And his teeth began chomping into the magical rope.

“Hurry,” Terikel whispered. “EoJ should be overhead any minute with Aftermath and Ankalus, if he can find him. The others are already attacking.”

Swamprat redoubled his efforts. The ropes parted. “You are free.”

Terikel untied Edorix, then the two began searching the cellar for weapons. There were none, but they did discover another bound person. He too was hastily freed.

“King Arthur!” Swamprat exclaimed. He dropped to one knee in respect.

King Arthur rose unsteadily, and like the angels, peered about for a weapon. “Thank you, Swamprat. It has been a long time since I have been here. And you call me Arthur?”

“You were voted our Most Missed,” Swamprat replied.

The king nodded. “Those outworlder people had me locked away for a long time. I suspect they were going to use me to force the others in the castle to capitulate.”

“But we thwarted that evil plan,” Swampy said with a grin.

“And there is more to come,” said Edorix. He lifted a lid from a woodburning stove, and found swords inside. “Three armed angels and a king loose in their command center? They are about to have a very bad evening.”

And so it was. The outworlders were laughing as they thrust back EoJ’s simple attack, and detailed off vital reserves to deal with Saladin. They had more reserves, and sent them to deal with Galileo and the Knight Hospitaller, but they had badly underestimated the guile and ability of Galileo. He was threatening to break through just as the three angels and the king rose from the cellar and burst forth from the shack.

The false Charles was casting about desperately, his cronies likewise. Galileo was breaking through, and Saladin was pressing hard. The Knight Hospitaller and the others from his castle were fighting hard and turning the flank, while overhead EoJ was raining fire and destruction from the safe heights above the reach of muskets.

And into this cauldron of chaos exploded three angels and one very pissed-off king.

It was sort of an anti-climax. One minute the besiegers and their hordes were busily engaged in battle, and the next they were disorganized rabble fleeing the field. Swampy had Charles by the throat, his tiny teeth ready to chew through flesh as it had so recently done to the magic ropes, while the remaining enemy commanders were stretched out headless across the small hill. They literally never knew what had hit them.

Then came the aftermath, in the form of Aftermath. He threw pictures of horrible endings at the enemy, and wove words into nets which fell upon them, enthralling and enrapturing them. This caused their morale to drop drastically, and many began wishing they never listened Charles, no matter how charismatic he was.

The fall of the commanders coincided with the fall of their morale, and with no kinglets to rally them, the armies fell apart and routed.

“For cursing me,” Swamprat cried, and sank his teeth into the throat of Charles. The crazy warlord flapped his arms trying to dislodge the tiny teeth, but failed. He began to shrink, as the Swamprat began gaining in size. The magic was reversing, and morphing... Soon Swamprat was the man, and Charles but a little mouse trying to scurry away.

“Turnabout is fair play,” said the rat-returned-to-human form.

Edorix fell over laughing. “You were cursed by a mouse?” he laughed.

“Hrmph,” said Swamprat. “He was a magical mouse.”


The victorious forces pushed in toward the command post to greet those who emerged from below. EoJ and Aftermath swooped in from above and alighted next to the grinning angels already present.

“I see we kicked some real butt this time, eh?” he said with a lascivious grin of his own.

“Indeed we have,” replied the Viking angel, with an I-told-you-so smirk on his face. “And now to take their names, so that when we write up this episode, we can make a good presentation.”

“Be my guest,” Swampy said. He dragged the Knight over to the angel. “Here is the Knight.”

Terikel took out a stylus and a tablet. He carefully, and painstakingly wrote the runes “Knight” upon the tablet. It took a while, but finally he finished the six-letter word. “Your name, dear knight?”

“Terikel Hospitaller,” the knight replied.

The angel looked up in surprise. “Really?”

“Truly.”

“Ah,” said the angel, and penned the name.

Swampy brought forth the next, the one they called Henry Bolingbroke. Inscribing the title took longer, as there were more letters, but this trying task was also accomplished. And before the sun went down, too.

“Henry,” the angel said. “And your name is?”

“I am Terikel Bolingbroke,” the man said.

“Eh?”

Swampy laughed. “And that over there is Terikel Galileo, and that one Terikel Abelard, and that one Terikel Saladin.”

“Do you mean they are all named Terikel?” the angel wondered in surprise. “All of them?”

“Including the wood-burning stove,” Swampy replied with a laugh. “Terikel Ironworks. See for yourself.”

It was. And so were the soldiers.

“I am Terikel,” one would say.

“And I am Terikel,” said another.

“I am Terikel,” said a third, “and so is my wife.”

“Is there anyone in this land not named Terikel?” the angel wondered aloud, in desperation.

“No,” replied Swampy. “This is Terikelstad, where all carry that name. And another reason we rely so heavily upon nicknames- otherwise we cannot tell one apart from another. Terikel is a barbarian word, it is, from Tir- the fire in the night, and Kael- the sword. Ter-i-kel- the flame in the sword. See the mountain behind the castle? Now that the sun is dipping, it appears to be a sword wrapped in flame- giving the name.”

“But it is my name!” the angel roared.

“Which means, lord angel, that you were probably born here too. We all have that name.”

“Even you?”

The former rat laughed. “No, not me- I was not born here. But you evidently were, before going off to Viking lands and becoming an angel.”

“That’s right,” Terikel Marsilio added. “That is why you were voted our Most Popular Misplaced Viking.”

“NO!!!” The angel Terikel was in turmoil. On the one hand, this revelation that he was not the only one to bear the honored name was painful, while the other hand showed him that the name would not soon fade from the memory of man. In the end, a third hand won out and he breathed a sigh of relief. His task- gathering the names of those earning the awards for a grand presentation- was made much. Much easier. And he already knew how to spell that name.

The angel smiled. “Brothers,” he said to the townspeople and angels alike, “we are done here. Bring on the ale, it is time to celebrate!”


Things were now set right in the Medieval Morass. Ankalus and Aftermath were left to police up the remaining mess, while EoJ, Terikel, the now-human Swamprat, and young Edorix continued on their journey

This tale shall continue in this scroll.

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[This message has been edited by Terikel Grayhair (edited 01-07-2011 @ 10:03 AM).]