A Fleeting Beating

Just as one rebellion in Cyrene has finished (resulting in the final removal of psychopathic khat-chewing Murmur O'Daffy, and the birth a wonderful new land where De-Mockery-Cy can flourish), another insurrection has broken out here in the lovely country of Northumbria. No - the peasants aren't revolting yet; there's a severe shortage of spears, swords and assorted weaponry because the Tree/Liberationist Alliance Administration has decided that they're surplus to requirements, so they've either beaten them into ploughshares or flogged them at a bargain basement price to the Bulgars and distant kingdoms in the Levant. Nevertheless, the land is buzzing with talk of rebellion and sedition, since the Witangemot recently gifted the majority of politicos with a golden opportunity to hone their skills in betrayal and duplicity.

This all began when a substantial representation of ordinary Northumbrians humbly petitioned King Alhfrith for an opportunity for the ordinary people to vote for or against continued Northumbrian participation in the Holy Roman Empire (which is neither holy, Roman nor an empire). Since the poor old King was overwhelmed with the number of petitioners, he decided to pass the matter on to the Chief Cock And Bluebottle Washer Dagwald Caedmeron, the High Celestial Panjandram and Demigod of the Tree Faction, and Esteemed Leader of the Tree/Liberationist Alliance Administration. (Phew. I'm glad I managed that..)

For fear of appearing to be mean-spirited, Caedmeron had little choice but to comply with the wishes of the populace, so a debate was arranged in the Witangemot - but not before he'd given strict democratic instructions that his fellow Tree Faction members must vote against the request of the Great Ignorant Unwashed and Unworthy. Were they to vote in favour of the peoples' request, the offenders would be severely whipped. This threat was also lovingly made by the Redistributionists, Liberationists and the Hedgehog Liberation Front.

To their credit, a sizeable number of politicos from all factions voted in defiance of the whips for the motion, but sadly, alas and alack, to no avail. They're having their wounds treated right now - and it ain't pretty. Fear and cowardice won the day, Dagweird the MilliCaedClegge won the vote, and the Northumbrian people once again were defeated. As a special prize for their efforts, these Noble Faction Leaders will each be permitted to personally kiss the ring of King Jose Borracho, the psychotic, khat-chewing Holy Roman Emperor, and to exchange pleasantries and nibbles with his half-witted accomplice, the colourless Hermit the Rumphole. Sounds like a great deal, boys. Enjoy.

In the meantime, as I wander through the streets of the lovely settlement of Streonaeshalch, surveying my own feline kingdom, I see queues of men forming outside the blacksmiths, and I hear the sound of roaring flames and beating metal..