Editing Britbongsteros (section)

===Britbongsteros and the Lucky Charms===
So with peace in Wales, we return to London hungover as fuck and with King Algernon and King Rorke in tow. Due to some fantastic
:''> I roll to seduce''
Angus appears to have been the only person in Wales (in Britbongsteros) to have fucked an actual sheep.

With the Kings in London we hang around for a bit, taking a couple days off for R n R while they negotiate. Most of it is spent laughing at Angus who seems to have gotten a souvenir from his beau.

During our time (in the pub) we learn that there is a mysterious ship moored in the Thames and that the advisor who was so in favour of Algie invading Wales wants to see us. 

:''>Who is the adviser Dm?''
:''>Richard the third duke of Bosworth and blackadder, master of Dunny on the Wold.'' 
:''>Richard the Third?''
:''>Richard III''
:''>Of Bosworth''
:''>DM....''

So we travel to Cutlers hall where tricky dicky wants to meet us. We are expecting hunchbacked evil Richard, what we get is a Broad shouldered man, with a huge beard, strongfat as fuck and with a big booming laugh. It's Brian blessed and the King's second bastard cousin.

He is with one Samuel Johnson and one Ollie Cromwell.

Together they represent His Majesties most treasured advisers. The Privy Council.

:''>Who is....''

Google it. 

It seems we have developed a reputation for solving problems and the kingdom has two. One is nascent, a vessel full of Arab Princes has come to visit with a view to British investment in extracting oil from their lands. Sir Hobart and The Old Gang believe this could be used to fuel several new weapons of war. Including something called a "Land Cruiser" designs of which show great long caterpillar tracks and batteries of turreted cannons. The Privy Council will keep us posted on this project.

Richard starts munching on an entire roasted pig as Oliver Cromwell outlines what will be our next task while a prototype of this vehicle is built.

:''>A modest proposal on the Irish Question''

While Blackadder's servant Baldrick pours drinks, we listen to Crommie explain the problem.

:''>Eire Delenda Est...''

The Irish have been raiding across the Irish sea, the entire west coast is almost unlivable, British warships are being lost to the allies of the Irish, the so called "Deep ones."

Our mission? End the threat of the Irish.

How?

The Irish are mostly human barbarians (sorry Ireland) who have a portal to another dimension/world somewhere near Waterford. It is from this that they are summoning Pacific Rim style gribblies. Sir Hobart and his colleague (one Barnes Wallis) have contrived an explosive with high plasticity and excellent explosives properties. "Conflagration causing caustic cement" or C4 

We are to destroy the portal and a seaborne invasion of troops (including the prototype Land Cruiser) can deal with the humans. The Irish can summon monsters faster than we can build ships so with the portal atomized the navy can deal with Cthulhu and pals but not before.

Victory brings glory and medals.

Failure will bring us a Victoria cross

:''>Isn't that good?''

No it means we will be crucified 


How we get to Waterford is an interesting question. Or it would be, if we didn't have a pirate ship moored off Harlech castle and the 38 Minutes keeping an eye on it. We return to Harlech and prepare. 

So, now in Harlech, King Rorke came back with us, he and the King (or rather Blackadder and co) having agreed to allow free trade and the Welsh are now people again.

We had the option of taking the HMS Trafalgar - a RN Submarine but decided the pirate ship would be more subtle, so the Trafalgar will linger off Waterford as long as she can, to be summoned by signal flare (or she will run the fuck away if Cthulhu is spotted).

The voyage is uneventful, we land near Tramore, then it's just a matter of following the great green glowy thing that we can see in the sky. It's half submerged in the bit on Google Maps called The Gap.

Now a note on the Irish. As mentioned they're human, they're armed with sharp sticks. They will attack us on sight. With our weaponry we can annihilate a whole whole lot of them, however the DM is very careful to inform us that as soon as a shot is fired or the alarm raised, we will have about 15 minutes in game until Cthulhu or his cousin comes to try and find us. 

The countryside as we cross it is green, not the healthy emerald isle green, but slime green, there are shoggoth looking things squelching across the land in the distance, lit against the stars by the way colours shift within them, like a land based aurora borealis. The land is nothing like you'd expect Ireland, it's not a wasteland, it's just... alien.

Plant things we don't recognize, reptilian things in the sky. Small tiny little flying fish that bite like mosquitoes. The sounds of the night as we carefully navigate the sucking mire of the coast are just wrong, what could be frogs screech, what might be fish croak, what definitely aren't foxes make pings and clicks like dolphins. Strange dark shapes move in the water, faces appear and disappear in puddles an inch deep.

On the skyline great huge shapes move inland, some humanoid, some that defy imagination, and others we don't want to imagine.

Toward the gap the great arch of the portal rises from the waters, spinning with green lightning, we can taste magic in the air. Not the ozone of earthly magic, this is a clinging filth that makes your spit black. From the portal there is a great flash and a huge tail with a great staring luminous eye on it appears from nowhere and slowly submerges as it slides down toward Dunmore.

It's a lovely place. 

:''>The Purple Penguin Abides''
We cross overland without incident, if thoroughly and completely freaked the fuck out. Britbongsteros is not a nice place but this is new, this is bad. Angus and I are hauling heavy satchels of C4, and as we get closer to the gate we start to realize just how big it is. The flickering eldritch lightning isn't helping either.

We come upon the gate just inland of it. We're pleasantly surprised that there doesn't seem to be anyone around the thing. Maybe the fish thing we saw earlier was the last to come through for the night?

We start to feel on edge, Cruella's hair is standing on end, my beard is bristling, change of plan. 

We retreat to a safer distance as the gate starts to flicker, to shift, to twist, almost biologically, flexing like muscle, peristaltic shifting within it.

:''>THOOOOOOOM''

The lightning blasts outward on a level we feel more than hear, and something else slips away into the waters.

We estimate it was about 45 minutes since we saw it land, and we start to really hope that the HMS Trafalgar is still off shore.

It's then we see the barbarians (I'm not going to call them Irish). They approach the gate furtively, like they're afraid of what it could do to them, they start to chant, to cavort, some sacrifice, driving prisoners into pits at the bottom of the pillars, others stroke and caress the mass of it. It's like they're refueling it. A priest is rowed out into the middle of the thing, and slits open the still living body of [we are going to pretend it was a sheep because I feel sick typing this] and [removes the unborn lamb from its womb] and kills it.

The small body he holds starts to glow, and he tosses the green shining corpses into the inky black waters.

Lightning starts to play up the arc, and the glow comes from within the waters.

It appears they've summoned another.

We also have our time frame.

45 minutes to recharge, five minutes to refuel, and then the natives disappear.


One hushed conference later and we agree, we have a plan. 
:''>It's a shit plan.''

We wait, we wait for the next summoning to complete. Then...

We wait. We wait for those five minutes for the barbarians to dissipate. Then we charge.

We're about 150 yards from the gate when we're spotted, a wedge of dirty, malnourished, and zealously frenzied barbarians forming almost from nowhere.

The DM starts timing us. 15 Minutes to Cthulhu.

The barbarians form a shield wall. There's six of us. What can we do against 500 odd men?

We form a straight line. Six abreast and move forward in pace with the bard. He runs surprisingly fast but stops at 30 ft and plays. He plays [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V88ydbx5-4A Man O'war, Defender]

Then we simply charge. Straight into that mass of humanity, slaves of the dark ones, they form a shield wall.


The Navvies hammer breaks shields, Angus turns men into screaming pillars of flame, where they don't simply melt. The gatling shotgun makes a fine red mist. Cruella laughs and moves so fast you can barely work out her motions until she stops to spit out a mouthful of jugular. The Wizard simply drives one sharpened stake through man, after man, after man.

We massacre them. Wading through blood and offal to the sacrifice pits.

Looking back on it now, sitting in my safe warm study, pipe in hand and Cruella playing with a dog nearby, those warriors spoke as they died. Each and every one, and they thanked us.

They thanked us for saving them. 

We feel literally and figuratively filthy as we start to prime the charges.

The silence is the worst, after the screams. After the cacophony.

There's a shape on the horizon, a shape like a great, crystalline structure, that walks with the gait of a man and the step of a bear, it can't be looked at for long, and it's coming our way.

We thought to wire the charges in a neat demolition pattern, the wizard would bore into the pillars, and we would place shaped charges, we thought.
:''>We thought.''
We didn't think that these things were operated by blood sacrifice.

The gate has starting to glow already. We didn't summon Cthulhu, The barbarians did that.
:''>We just summoned Cthulu's dad.'' 
We simply toss the bags of C4 in, fire the signal flare and turn tail. 

Thing is.

That great big shape on the horizon is catching up on us. It's a ten minute run to the Trafalgar, even if she's there. If she hasn't been sunk. We set the charges for two and whatever the thing on the horizon is, it's about ten minutes away.

It's gonna be fine, it's gonna be tight.

We run. We run like crazy.

The charges go off. We don't even look back. The pillar comes down, Magic blasting out, throwing us flat. The shock wave blowing us off our feet. Heat on our exposed skin.

We can't hear, we can barely see, magical lightning spearing into the ground around us. Throwing up great spumes of earth.

The beast is catching up. By the time we're on the dunes, down at Dunmore East, it's right behind us. It's right there. It's literally on us. It's... indescribable.

Out in the dark, we can see the Trafalgar. She's not alone. The beasts of the waves have risen. The Trafalgar and the entire Atlantic fleet lay into every filthy beast your mind can imagine, lit in flashes of lightning, strobing slaughter, guns fire, ships are torn asunder, beasts scream, everything dies.

There's something small coming for us. It's one of the Trafalgar's boats. A steam pinnace.

Thing is, the beast on shore is at least as fast as it. 

We are stuck.

We can dig in, try and hamstring it maybe? We can...

:''>The Navvie passes DM a note.''
:"Bard. Play me something good. I go to glory."

[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-reAahY1GCE Jeff Wayne's Thunderchild]

The night is black, rent asunder by shot, ethereal lightning, and the sound of a countryside dying, and in that darkness, the Navvie starts to glow. Stripes of Red, White, and Blue.

Saltire first, cross of St George next, and finally St Patrick's Saltire. Overlaid across his broad, broad back.

We move to stand with him.

:"Go boys. Go."

:"Go."

I shake his hand. I press something into that broad paw of a hand. A small, purple, penguin.

He tucks him into his shirt, and starts to walk forward. A small glowing flag into the blackness of the night. 

That was the last we saw of him.

The beast stopped in its tracks. Raised one great foot, and slammed it down on that little flag.

We watched from the beach, then the pinnace.

It raised its foot, and that proud little flag still stood.

It began to climb.

As we boarded the Trafalgar, we saw the beast fall, the Union Jack atop it's great head. As the Trafalgar began to sink beneath the waves, we saw that little flag cease to glow.

And that anon, is where this episode of Britbongsteros ends.

[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zQcgUlkUv10 Saxon, Broken Heroes.] 


There is an epilogue to this episode however.

We returned to Waterford the next day. The remains of the Atlantic and home fleets licking their wounds in the channel, the Trafalgar took us back to say a few words.

We went ashore and took a shovel.

The Bard plays [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZYGtXcDRoi0 Amazing Grace, Royal Scots Dragoon Guards] as we walk up the beach.

We approach that great huge corpse, already rotting in the sun, seagulls (because seagulls don't give a fuck) picking at it.

Within the great sundered skull, split right down the middle, we find first a sodden, bloodied, slightly torn purple penguin.

Then within that skull, a hammer, and a body.

We start to dig. In that blasted tortured land. The flower of the British Navy burns off shore, great huge elder things lie on the beach, rotting in the sun.

Britain, this great Britain, is united once more, we did that. This man did that. This penguin did that.

We pick him up.

:''>He coughs.''

:''>motherfucker.''
I suppose I should have said "that night" (in regards to the last we saw of him), but that'd have ruined the effect a little. I thought /tg/ might prefer to experience it as we did.

:''>DM you're a dick.''