Captian Horatio Daisy Gustavus MacNiel Monaco (captain_monaco) wrote,
Captian Horatio Daisy Gustavus MacNiel Monaco

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A Story and Frustration

I am frustrated by my seeming inability to get this Adventure underway. It reminds me of the time, long ago, when a group of the bravest men I have ever traveled with were faced up against the nefarious Ilghazi the Ortoqid, a Turk of some sort, as I recall.

His ethnicity isn't all that important. What is important is the fact that he was quite nefarious. He earned his nefariousness by thieving a most valuable artifact from the vaults of the Holy See. He stole the signet ring of the leader of the Emperor Manuel's Varangian Guard. Known to history only as Stephen, it was reveled to me by a vice-pope type person that Stephen true identity was none other than that of Pope Calixtus II.

Both Calixtus and the Bishop of Oporto conspired to make it appear as if this "Stephen" was an ordinary man, to rouse support for the current (the Second, I believe) Crusade. This one was a two-front war: the one, to fight the Moors in Iberia, the other to reclaim various lost cities in the Latin East.

At any rate, we were traveling in these lands, attempting to recover the signet ring from that loathsome Turk, when we encountered a dissenter. Shoddily clothed, and speaking broken, grammatically incorrect Latin, Imad ad-Din Zengi, the governor of Mosul, chaffed under the iron boot of Ilghaz, and wished quite desperately to see him tossed into the Vatican's dark, smelly dungeons.

After the transferring of a few trinkets--pocket watches, glass beads, the score of The HMS Pinafore, two bonsai trees from the Emperor of Nippon, eighty-three pence, the ocular of my best telescope, and a recipe for bread pudding--Imad ad-Din Zengi told us the approximate location of the blaspheming Ilghazi.

The only trouble was that Ilghazi had hid himself in the deepest parts of the Taurus Mountains, which during the winter, are all but unpassable. Thus, my band and I had to wait until the warmth of spring rid those awful mountains of their white covering. It was hoped, then, that the location of Ilghazi would become readily apparent.

This was not the case. As they are called the Taurus Mountains, not the Taurus Mountain, it should be apparent that there are more than one of them. This does not describe, I think, the truth of the situation. There is, indeed, more than one of these mountains; there are many, many, many of these mountains. It made searching quite difficult.

It took us many fortnights, but we did finally catch up with that nefarious Ilghazi the Ortoqid. We found him in a cave, near the town of Konya, a desolate village, where it seemed the only product was anger and resentment of white- skinned foreigners.

It wasn't all too difficult to pry the ring from Ilghazi's hands, and he was dead and half eaten by what appeared to have been a bear or something. He had, I surmise, been frozen one night, when he had been unable to light a fire in his mountain hideaway. Tough luck for him.

The Vatican rewarded us all rather handsomely, but hinted that we not tell others about out adventures in the service of the Pope. I am, for your benefit, sometimes unable to understand such subtleties.

I'm not quite sure what this story had to do with my current situation as an anxious adventurer, other than the blessed virtues of patience and prudence. It was fun to tell, though.

Where is my morning whiskey and rum smoothie?

Where is my particle physicist? I need more fermions on this ship!
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