"YOU DID WHAT?!?" screamed Sir Ulric
"You said we needed funds for this expedition, I provided them" pointed out The Mad Monk, in one of his unusually lucid voices.
"You said you were going to sell some of Gelderlands surplus warmachines to some gentlemen from the East... I didn't expect you to sell them to a marauding bunch of Ogres!"
"I did say they were rotund gentlemen..."
"Well that was somewhat of an understatement now wasn't it. Now we head into the badlands knowing that at any time we could be fired upon by our own bloody cannons!"
At this the mad monk paused for a moment and considered the position. "I don't think this too likely... they seem to be quite happy with the deal, and we forged something of an informal alliance over a very large meal"
"Well I'm glad you had fun"
"Hardly, I had indigestion for days..."
"I have no interest in your constitution! Tell me we at least have some cannons left for our own armies"
"I may be mad but I am no fool - of course we do"
"Very well, let's prepare for this campaign. I suppose at least if those brutes use those cannons to devastate half the badlands we can follow in their wake. I just hope we don't see any lizards. Man those things give me the creeps - weird cold blooded little critters" Sir Ulric rattled in his armour as an involuntary shudder trickled down his spine.
At this moment a little voice chipped in, having suddenly had an epiphany...
"There were some overweight gentlemen from the east... who bought cannons over a feast..."
"Oh shut up Wilde!" roared Sir Ulric "I am most definitely NOT in the mood for your poetry right now!"
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