"Wilde! You look like a drowned rat!" roared Ulric
"Well as much as I debate the nature of the beast the article of expression is about right"
This eloquence just left a puzzled expression on Ulrics face...
"Means I agree sir"
"I knew that! Now what happened down in those marshes? Is our Southern flank secure?"
"Not exactly I'm afraid." admitted Wilde "We kinda got seperated from the rest of the army and stuck in a river... that wasjed away half my regiment. We weren't too far away from the action, as I heard a very distinctive bang midway through the battle"
"Wilde you could have been miles from the battle, my scouts on the edge of the marshes reported a very large bang in the middle of the afternoon. Is that why the Steam Tank has not returned?"
"I fear we may have seen the last of that I'm afraid... it has been dreadfully unreliable of late anyway, it barely made it to the edge of the marshes let alone far through it."
"So our southern flank is now overrun with Elves, Lizards, Ogres and Fetishists then? Do you have any good news?"
"I do have a small ray of hope for us... I have dealt with a small problem. I convinced our brutish 'allies' to buy back Arthur and the Mad Monk..."
"YOU DID WHAT?!?!?"
"Hear me out Sir! I got them handed over to the Ogres, as they control Stormhenge..."
Sir Ulric looked blank
"Where you can perform ritual sacrifices
Walls have more expression than Ulrics face
"The ogres had themselves a hearty meal?"
Cows have more comprehension than Sir Ulric right now
"The jinx and the loon are dead!"
"Oh, right, good!"
"Yes Sir. Now we just need to appoint someone to take control of their army. It's somewhat in disarray, and there are so many of those raving loonies around the camp I think they'll be around everytime they go out to fight, but if we give it to a capable general we may just get it somewhere."
"I know just the man" proclaimed Ulric "Roughguts!"
"Wizard, wears brown, sure he said his name was Radagats or something... I call him Roughguts cos he doesn't half drop some bad uns, not one to share a small gatehouse with if you get my meaning!"
"You are as subtle as ever sir..."
"Anyway, he talks to Annabel and she likes him and she's never been wrong about anybody so I'll put him in charge."
"I don't mean to shatter any illusions you may have here, but from certain anatomical features I'd hazard a guess that your horse is a stallion"
"No you're wrong, I know her lineage she's Arabyan"
"Well you know horses better than I, I'm sure you... and Annabel... know what's best."
As General Wilde left the chamber there was a distinct sound of sobbing as a poor poet lamented ever coming on an expedition with a lunatic, a jinx, and a sound and capable warrior - who sadly took a knock to the head in the first battle that he was still yet to recover from...