territorial pissings

"Dost thou like our owl?"
"'Tis with artifice made?"
"Of course 'tis."
"An' it must be of goodly value, as precious saffron of the far-flung Indies derived, or of the greatest glittering gem that do the African mountains boast."
"Very. I'm Rachael."
"I hight Deckerd."
"Methinks of ye that you judge our work not of benefit to the publick."
"Replicants are like unto aught all other machines, be they of benefit or hazard; if benefit they be, 'tis not my problem."
"May I this personal question ask of ye?"
"Aye!"
"Hast though e'er retired a human, by great and foul error?"
"Nay."
"But within thy occupation, 'tis also such hazard?"
"Be this a test of empathy to harrow the soul, that questions may freeze the young blood, make thy youthful eyes start from their sockets, make each hair part and stand on end like quills upon the frightful porcupine?"
"We clepe it Voight-Kampff in short."

Here's why Ren Faire is 'way more fun to attend than Dickens Faire. Dickens is full of Victorians.

"Well, I am most afraid to note that he... er, well you see had a rather indelicate problem with his... oh dear, really I should rather not mention it. Might I get you more tea?"

versus Elizabethians;

"'Tis said that my Lord Warwick does upon his buttock a boil carry of most execrable putrescence as any found within Christendom, indeed a veritable gem as like to a hen's egg nor that of life-giving pelican, 'tis said a relick of nights spent amongst the French ladies, and greatly does it pain him whence he blasts of flatus decry unto London as the very cock's crow."

Hear! We of the Spear-Danes in olden days of the kings
Have heard of this fated trip
That trod the whale's road from Tromso
Aboard this small vessel!

The helmsman was a skilled sailor
Who served his liege, a jarl brave and sure
Five chosen bondsmen in bright hauberks chose to sail that day
For a voyage of but three hours

Bitter winter's blasts called out their path
Waves tossed the small ship
The crew's courage did not falter
And was thus the Long Serpent saved from dooms

The ship set ground in a foreign land far away
With Sigifrith Fork-beard
His thegn
A wealthy man and the ring-giver, his wife
A skilled swordsman already told of in many sagas
A wise man [runic magician?] and Asgunnr
Here on Sigifrith's Island

Attend this story of castaways stranded for many years
As though an uphill climb on a tall mountain
Mate and liege-lord alike would grant these others comfort
In their rocky island nest
Without mead, nor mill, nor fine cloths, nor luxury
[fragment ends]

Good gentles all we welcome hence to

TUDORMUCK

'Tis naught else but the first 99 1/2% Elizabethian MUCKE! (For more information, check you now the FAQ upon "Restoration and Stuart Players.") If you, good gentles all assembled, would with your hand thy character now connect, type now you out; "Connecte <thy name> <thy password>"

> Connecte THOMAS_Lord_Essex passingfairweather28

47 players are to this MU* and of this time assign'd.

> Laston DOUGLAS_Archbishop_of_Canterbury

Name Whereupon were they last connect'd Whereupon did they last take leave
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
DOUGLAS_Archbishop_of_Canterbury (2 weeks ago) 8:05 AM 3:12 PM

The Falstaff Arms
Good gentle, see you now this public-house, wherein may good sack and pleasant companionship oft be found. As does the storm now thunders like the wrath of Jove without, within grants the fire warmth and the stout e'en greater warmth to thy belly.
[Obvious exits (S)tage (L)eft, (S)tage (R)ight]

Within this room;
FREDERICK_Lord_Scrope
HENRY_Lord_Chichester
CATHERINE, a lady of the French Court
EDWARDCROUCHBACK
GOODWIFE_MARIAN
ANACHROCLES, a nobleman of far EPHESUS
INCONTINEO, his manservant

CATHERINE: Good sir, forgive this my woman's weeping, but my love hath fled.

HENRY: Winter's wind with icy breath has come to our English isle once more
And coated rustics in their pastures upon their sheep are all abed.
So while the warlike foe does with great haste 'pon our English shores encroach,
Does good king Harold, iron-clad, within his doublet his trembling hands secrete.

GOODWIFE_MARIAN does with great endeavor to pour herself more sack.

You say: Has anyone seen aught of DOUGLAS_Archbishop_of_Canterbury?
Aye, I wish with this troublesome cleric most soon to converse 'pon this,
The wedding of my most noble daughter to the good lord of SHREWSBURY.
Look to it!

INCONTINEO: The laston shews that DOUGLAS hath not been 'pon the MUCK in a fortnight. Methinks it like he is playing "Grand Theft Auto 15." 'Twas all he spoke of last time he was here.

You say: Good Incontineo, of this information I am most grateful.

> I AM QUIT OF THIS PLACE