My Journey, My Triumph. By Lord Curtmungus, Part 1.

I am honored to be back with y’all, a fine brotherhood of decent, gentle nerds, after my banishment to the Wasteland by Djensen those many, many years ago.

I’ll be honest, after I was exiled, I fell into a deep funk, being away from the only community that accepted me for how strong/good at A&A I was. I had to get out of the DARK HOLE I was in, so I went on a journey… a journey to find what it was that I missed, to fill THE HOLE A&A.org was filling in my life. So I packed my weights, 120 cases of Busch Light, and hit the road.

I left my gym in Bellingham and started north toward Vancouver. Gargantua had reached out to me earlier to cheer me up and told me about some Nerd Fest he was hosting. “Feel better by stomping some A&A saplings,” he said. I was like, “Ok, I can always stomp some saplings.” I got to this house in BC where it was happening and immediately knew I’d made a mistake. These weren’t saplings but tapers to my sun. I played a few side games, made some 40+ year old kids cry by rolling 8 out of 8 AA gun shots, but otherwise was mostly bored. I tried to get some guys juiced up with my Busch, but they preferred their tea. I couldn’t believe it. Where was the RAGE AND HONOR?

It wasn’t all bad, though. Some crazy-ass from Toronto who kept losing lost his cool and pulled a gun out of nowhere. To wit:

He yelled, “this is how we settle the rules at the YG Bunker!” I didn’t know what the hell he was talking about. Before I could throw his arse through the wall, Garg cooled him down with the promise of a “reroll.” I think he heard “roll” and thought he was getting like a buttered roll or something:

What a loser.

The next morning, depressed and a little hungover, I was planning on just driving back to Bellingham, but then out of no where Idi Amin popped into view :

Was it a dream? I wasn’t sure. He told me to keep heading north. Word was there were some Sage War Masters in Whistler who heard I’d crossed the border, my approach heralded to them by a Thunder Clap, and they desired my presence to “test my Rage and Honor.”

I was so excited, I almost messed my britches (I did actually). I jumped in my 86 Lincoln Towncar (Signature Series Nut-Heads) and put pedal-to-the-metal. I had an address to what I thought was a house, but it was just a dark bunker in the rain. There was a figure of a fine gentleman there to great me:

I went in. It was intense. Row after row of G40, AA50, Pac 2001, Xeno World at War, Fortress America (Original), where there was unbridled rolling, True Men jousting, Whiskey in every hand, dice firing this way and that–they seemed to glow as hot as coals in a fire! I bellowed with rage, got my bench press out and fired a set of 535lb reps before I was ushered to my game with declamations of respect and Thanksgiving.

I can’t say all that happened that night. My Rage and Honor swelled my body, and some of my clothes ripped at the flex of my hot muscles. My dice were impeccable, as if the Hand of Zeus guided my wrist. I rolled 13 tanks in a German hit on Moscow and got 15 hits!! The edges of my mind started to move as I studied my games, I began to almost SEE THROUGH all the possible moves!

I won!

I won everything. The MEN in the bunker didn’t cry like little bitches or run off. Every victory of Lord Curtmungus was greeted with howling, guffawing, self-flagellation, tongue wagging, drinking, celebratory gun fire, to wit:

I soon realized I wasn’t there to “play games,” but to be tested, to see if I really was the best.

I was. And they only grew more excited at the revelation.

As some point after dawn, I was pulled aside and told there was someone waiting for me: an unbeaten A&A War Master. Not much was known about him, but once and while a few souls were invited into his presence to receive his “dispensation.” They only knew that at one time he was known as: “The Six Sided Cognoscente .” I was like: WTF. But they pressed me, pleaded that I must journey to his layer atop a mountain outside Nelson, BC: the dreaded Ymir Mountain! I relented, and I drove off after eggs and tripe.

I drove all day and into the night, the only thing keeping me going being the A&A FIRE in my heart, Busch Light in my hand and Lords of Acid pumping through my tape player. I pulled into Nelson, BC an hour after dawn. What a dump, a true Wasteland!:

I felt at home, and tarried a few days in the local haunts and bars while I regained my strength.

Once ready I ascended the mountain, scrabbling hand over hand, loose rock crumbling under my foot. Hours I climbed and many times I was ready to quit. But a break in the clouds with the sun hitting my face, or a remembrance of a good roll would warm my spirits and I would go on. It was like Chodo Baggins and Samwise Ganja or whoever climbed Mt. Doom.

In the late evening of my climb I reached a headwall made of what looked like pure black obsidian. It seemed sentient and present. I touched its perfectly smooth face, and it was warm and resistant. Suddenly it spoke in a harsh black tongue! The letters of an uncouth language I did not understand, but somehow did, flashed in hot red across the rock surface:

The actual translation was: The Black Voice: “In G40 2nd, what is the proper UK counter in its R2 if Germany has queued-up a soft Sealion with 1 CV, 1 CC, 2 ftrs in 112, all remaining, original air in WGer, and all 10 transports in 113 w/sufficient boarding units with no other UK sea units in counter position and only 35 IPCs to spend, 1 ftr, 8inf, 5 AA, 1 mech in London?”

I dropped to my knees and pounded the inside of my mind for the answer. After minutes of almost weeping, the image of the G40 map appeared before me as a rotating plane clear as the brightest day. I could sea the units’ valuations, the numbers, the battle calcs, all like little blue numbers floating up above the units and popping into infinity as I comprehended them. And then I suddenly knew. I stood up and with Rage and Honor declared to the black face of the mercilessly indifferent rock: “All subs in 110!”

A minute or an hour passed, I couldn’t tell. But finally a deep, fatal voice laughed and said: “Welcome Lord Curtmungus…”

The smooth towering rock face rumbled and then swung open like prominent doors. I could see only impenetrable black in the opening, but I showed no fear and entered…

End part 1.

Your barge would be like supply ship of Hope and Thanksgiving!

Well said, and hale met, Sir!

@Hecatomb said in My Journey, My Triumph. By Lord Curtmungus, Part 1.:

@Curtmungus
Waiting for Part 2, Mylord, knowing I’m not worth it… * kneeling down *

Hail! Rage and honor, young man! Grab a Busch Light… and feel the power! Boooya!

@StuckTojo

GO READ MY NEXT INSTALLMENT! NERD! BOOOYA!