I am outraged!
A summons.
At your very relaxed discretion,
no consultation. I'm outraged!
Be outraged quietly!
Quit bawling!
Crazy.
Have you sent many?
There's been some sending, yes.
At least sixty copies.
Dispatched all around.
Enough pissing around. We launch.
We trigger. We precipitate.
But who says the Round Table is ready?
Better: we're perfectly aware it isn't.
Right. Enough.
- Where's the King? - Snoozing.
In his bedroom.
Snoozing in his bedroom.
You're saying he supports this scheme?
He'd have to be aware. Why were you told to shut up?
You call the first meeting
of the new Round Table,
behind Arthur Pendragon's back?
Hell yeah.
We'd do it again in a heartbeat.
Are you out of your minds?
Less goddamn loud!
How many objections did I state?
As many as we ignored.
This is a disaster.
You're dramatizing.
So, by "not ready,"
you mean...
We're not.
But there's "not."
- And "not." - That's "not."
What's the holdup?
How many decades to stick a table in a barn?
For half a year,
we've been struggling to restore an edifice
for which your gracious government
has granted us usufruct privileges.
It housed a siege-engine manufacture,
but now, thanks to the weapons ban,
it's a cattle market!
The floor's covered in droppings.
We stuff our noses with thyme, so we won't puke.
Endless shoveling!
How can you tolerate
knights congregating in a stinking shithole?
I thought the creed of the new Round Table was humility?
Knee-deep in manure.
Kills the smugness.
You think you'll wake up someday
and all will be magically back to normal?
The majesty of stubbornness!
He gets to Kaamelott, "Tear it down!"
Trashed his crib, so he squats mine!
Can't stand his apathy. Been sitting on his hands since the coup.
You'd think he'd be wearing pants!
He doesn't care about your Table. No shits given.
That's a bit strong.
Doesn't trouble us with it.
- He gets up at sundown. - If at all.
If I were he, I'd stay in bed too.
What's the insinuation?
His divine sword spits black fire.
To trim his toenails? No, to bump off Lancelot.
Has he offed him? Seems not.
What do you call flouting divine orders?
The sin of disobedience.
With that around my neck, I'd stay in bed too.
Ladies and gents.
Aren't you overdoing it some?
Getting any work done?
What's cooking?
Sire, I left the Table the instant
we intercepted this dispatch.
This is real.
Your in-laws have organized the first meeting
of the new Round Table.
And told no one!
A letter does that.
Well, that's nice.
- But... - We're unprepared.
You're good. Chill.
Sire!
You approve?
Approve?
Considering I won't attend...
We get it, you've adopted the "contrarian attitude."
Duly registered.
But be reasonable. No Round Table without you.
No pressure. You go ahead.
But I'm out.
What do I tell the knights we summoned in vain?
"Welcome, there's no King"?
No King, and it stinks.
- Sire! - Let it go.
He's out.
Get used to his absence.
Because sooner or later...
Meaning?
He'll do himself in.
As Kaamelott collapsed,
we know you planned to stay under the rubble!
If the kids hadn't acted, you'd be there.
What's it to you?
We Britons endured a ten-year tyranny
under Lancelot's regency.
For all the false hopes you gave,
you should've stayed in Araby.
In Araby, I was a slave.
Here, I am king.
Get this: I was better off there.
No, I won't kill Lancelot.
No, I won't lead the Round Table.
Thought about it,
but no.
Outta my league.
Hey!
Grab the lass and scram before it hits again!
Water first?
Can't just watch it burn.
Whatever, we're gone!
If you're not too busy, can we request a hand?
Out!
Next four!
That stays outside.
Four, not three!
Together or not!
Tiny table by the latrine.
Or you can eat ferns in the woods.
You varlets! Twenty more logs!
- Twenty? - Our food's an hour late!
Eat twice tonight.
You can't just split!
With the fair on, two rushes a day!
What's that say? Did you mention a summons?
Yes, but...
Still undecided at the front of the line: get back!
- You got his order? - Nope.
I don't speak Spittle.
Get your ass to the back!
Get back, wretch!
You know I can't read.
When we get mail, tell me what's in it.
This, for one,
is certainly news of Sir Percival.
The hell with him!
What is this?
I know the Cameliard seal!
It might be some sort of summons.
But if you take off, how will I manage?
With your brother and three clowns?
Does that include me? Watch it. I'm useful.
I'm a knight of the Round Table.
If I'm summoned to the new Table, I go.
I can't ladle soup all my life.
Soup needs ladling. Wretch!
Still don't get it?
As a veteran, you can skip the start. Introductions,
Round Table, knights, the whole nine leagues!
You don't need it spelled out.
Last five pork sausages!
No rough shit.
First broken chair
gets you suspended a month!
You'll eat dead leaves.
Quit mewling, there's poultry-mushroom pie.
Last three!
I'm alone on cleanup, where are the two grunts?
Splitting wood.
- You're not. Help me. - I'm on cutlets.
Served in what? No clean bowls!
- Faster on the bowls. - Faster!
Enough!
Enough, wretches!
One clean bowl gets me five filthies! I'm no magician!
We're outta bowls!
Goddamn!
There's a guy asking for "Merlin, the famous wizard."
Famous wizard? Our Merlin's not famous.
Not a wizard either.
Merlin!
Great wizard
of Kaamelott,
sorcerer to Kings Uther and Arthur Pendragon,
victor of the Great Squirrel of Markyal,
author of the scroll
"Druidism For Geezers,"
decimator of the School of Trout
of the Fivefold-Curséd River,
I have come here
seeking you.
Take a step back.
Why?
If he wants a duel, that's my out.
Merlin!
We must join forces against evil.
I'll give you contrarian attitude.
The shit's on you.
The shit's on you!
I was thinking.
You blaspheme,
and I get struck by lightning?
A bit hairy-footed, you think?
When I saw you leave at dawn, I said,
"That's it, they went after his wife,
he'll kill Lancelot with his magic sword."
Well.
Another time.
It's us!
The hell they doing here?
You dress in rags for Mommy and Auntie?
Spotted you in the distance. We said,
"Some knave snuck in to steal scraps!"
Nobody told you we were coming?
Slipped our minds.
Frankly, I thought you'd croaked.
But he'd be dressed the same.
No, I'd be gone.
So this is your famous Cameliard?
Heaven knows we swore never to set foot here.
Good oath. You should've kept it.
I hadn't seen my son in nearly 12 years.
Since Lancelot's takeover.
We worried so, in those dark years!
How many times did the Saxons interrogate us,
"Where is your son?"
"Give us information, about your son!"
"No, we know nothing," we said.
We didn't snitch.
But you had no information to give.
Exactly.
Lack of information ensured we didn't snitch.
Enough. What do you want?
We've come to speak of an heir.
Of?
Can't say you've shown much disposition.
What the hell...
Do I throw 'em out?
It's quite odd that you wouldn't agree with us.
Think I was waiting for you?
Thrice a week at tea time, I nag 'em.
Fat lot of good.
Our room's next door. Think the ruckus drives us out?
Nope. We sleep like corpses.
Adding to the historical issue
of your lack of manhood,
there is, more recently, your age.
Both your ages, as it happens.
Already loving this.
- What'd they say? - Nothing.
There's no shame in being limp-whistled.
So you're more into table talk with a bunch of asshats,
But are you at least trying?
- None of your business! - No.
I'm starting to lip-read.
They ask if we're getting there?
No. We don't touch.
I'm not bitter.
We appreciate each other, but no.
And being totally ignorant on the topic,
I can't really identify the problem, let alone initiate anything.
You've cheered us all up, why don't you leave?
We wouldn't raise an issue...
... without bringing a solution.
We offer you a mixture.
That cost us about a leg each.
It's a mixture
for couples.
Split it into two herb teas, on a night that boogies some,
it boosts all parameters.
Fertility, enthusiasm, endurance.
It'd make moldy centenarian cripples squeeze out quadruplets.
That vial may contain the promise of a radiant future
for the Kingdom of Logres.
Here's the miracle survivor.
Can't rule out another ceiling collapse.
Could I change rooms?
Change rooms...
Think this is Amenhotep's? We're outta rooms.
Don't mind us fixing your pad while you stand around?
You don't mind we're doing repairs?
What have we done wrong?
Housed a jackass who pisses off the gods?
Help remove the burnt bits, we'll clean behind the bed.
Father?
Father!
Father, over here!
Ruins of Ban
Can you hear me?
Do you understand my words?
I am your son! Do you understand?
I am Lancelot!
I left this fortress
and yourself when I was but a very young...
boy.
Stay there.
Stay there!
Look, you gifted me this knife.
Do you remember?
I'm not sure what you mean by changing hues.
Is it a yes?
No?
Father?
Sire,
one of the most respected druids of Britannia.
Well, isn't he?
As much as anyone else.
Who knows his mug?
Anyone outshining Mister Elias...
Even you're more famous than he is.
He's a hobo!
- Is fame important? - Not at all.
Nor are his words.
Not your call!
This is Conle, the druid.
The druid...
- Conle-the-Famous. - The famous Conle.
- Shush! - Am I wrong?
Shut it, windy varlet!
Enough!
Your Tranquility will note the elegance with which I remain neutral.
Why call me that? Are you from Rome?
We have indeed served the same Caesar.
Albeit at different periods.
I'm listening.
A few days ago, chance guided my footsteps
toward some undergrowth.
Chance...
Upon reflection, was it not rather intuition?
After all, whether druid, prince, king or knave,
what are we without intuition?
I was walking through the undergrowth,
Sire, if I were to tell you...
Tell me why you're here.
For nothin'. Don't it show?
Sire, the end will interest you.
There I was, when suddenly,
I realized I was...
in Kaamelott.
That so?
Yes, Sire, instinct had led me
near the ruins of your former fortress.
Legendary seat of the confrontation
between the treacherous Lancelot of the Lake
and Arthur Pendragon.
- Ass-licker. - Why?
The fight wasn't legendary?
Nobody died.
Do you mind?
I couldn't have said why,
I felt unwell,
uncomfortable, almost ill.
You don't say?
Was some dumbass druid droning on?
And then, an idea came to me.
The birds.
Birds. What birds?
What birds?
Any birds!
By conjuring a few flocks, I understood.
This part is riveting.
As riveting as the rest?
Sire,
the birds won't fly over Kaamelott.
- Who cares? - No one.
- Sire, you have no idea. - No, I confess.
Sire, I won't beat around the bush.
- Don't like foreplay? - Lay off.
I'm afraid Kaamelott's ruins
are cursed.
How about that!
If I'm not mistaken.
Have you never known of anyone
at Kaamelott practicing black magic?
Wouldn't you have practiced some
in that shady wizard get-up?
Says the fetid hermit who washes his hair with lard?
- That's enough! - What a pain!
Throw them out before my mother does.
Sire, who could have dabbled in such magic?
Lancelot? Just kidding, Sire.
You're kidding,
but he did wear a white armor.
White armor, black magic.
The ruins of your former fortress
harbor a source,
a pocket of black magic, as it were,
that is still active, and radiates the area.
This cannot be ignored.
Like an unhealed wound.
It must be destroyed.
Do you share that opinion?
What happened here?
Lightning.
Has anyone translated the inscription?
We're on it, Pops.
Gotta admit runic writing and all that
were never my forte.
Having a weakness is kinder for others.
It's clearly a message from the Heavens.
Thanks for enlightening us!
It must therefore be read from the heavens.
For us, it's upside down.
"The King's assassin
"will come from Orkney."
That's what it says.
Is it truly "assassin"
or "murderer"?
"The king's assassin,"
is that a possessive?
As in,
"the assassin hired by the king"?
No, this is more "he who will assassinate the king."
Will come from Orkney.
Sire!
Such an honor!
Shut up.
Of course.
I'm serious. Zip it.
Certainly. Not a word.
I wish, nonetheless, to thank you
for not putting me to death.
It's not too late.
I had a doubt when those two showed up.
"Has the king decided to make me
"limbless, headless, speechless?"
Then I recalled your legendary clemency.
That splendid humanity which makes you
an emblem of civilized governing.
Keep quiet now or this will end fugly.
Absolutely, Sire.
But what admirable modernity.
Bravo, Sire.
Since you braved my orders
and didn't follow the scumbag Orkney bastards into exile...
Not my fault! They said, no room on the boat
and ditched me on the sand like a dead cod.
I don't need to hear it again!
I roamed the coast till nightfall, but not a boat.
Then, wham, the guards!
"Shouldn't you be on exile island?"
"Well, I can't swim there."
Then, bam, in jail!
Have the others come back, by any chance?
The others?
Unless, like you, they stayed.
It's not in your best interest to cover them.
You know my loyalty, Sire: I have none.
If I could rat on those numbskulls, I'd do it freely.
And so?
So they left by boat. I saw them.
By boat, but where?
In exile,
or back home in Orkney to plot my downfall?
How would I know? I've been locked up ever since.
For the last time, jurisconsult,
yes or no, are Loth and his boneheads
on exile island?
I am convinced they are.
We so feared execution when you showed up in Kaamelott.
Banishment was a blessing.
They took a boat as big as this table,
rowed like hell and vanished into the mist.
They'll never dare come back.
Sire,
you and I are solid, audacity's our signature.
Those guys...
Loth and his mutts
don't have the shoulders to defy your orders.
That so?
I'm not so sure.
I think King Loth, though a coward,
when it comes to plotting my fall, always has the shoulders.
Back to the dungeon!
I implore your benevolence. A private cell...
Have mercy! You know my delicate sense of smell.
It reeks! They eat rats and fart!
Yesterday, one threw giblets at me. It's vile!
You have no idea. I can't decently share space
with such half-beasts!
Not ignoring you, but you've thrice interrupted
my livestock inventory.
Who cares about your critters!
The Table, you mule!
We are summoned to Arthur Pendragon's new Round Table.
Great, can I finish counting my goats?
Eat your goats!
Arthur's testing us. We can prove our valor and purity.
You think I can afford
to leave my land and go sightseeing just like that, recklessly?
Since my wedding, I told my father
our business would be under my responsibility.
That didn't fall off dead eyes!
He counts the shop manically three times a day.
Suit yerself!
I'm not lifting a finger.
Not a finger is right,
but it started well before the boy's wedding.
Astonishing, after a long career, to have nothing to pass on
but three half-dead bovines.
And a mole-infested plot!
Do you hear? Waste not your youth on a worthless inheritance.
Listen to the hotshots who dump on the neighbors
but steal my animals!
Can't blame 'em. Their cows look like alcoholic raccoons!
That's right, and you know why?
They're yours!
And we try not to steal the worst ones.
Adventure awaits, Petrok!
Let the elders bicker
and embrace your destiny with us.
My destiny...
- It won't sow my peas. - Good grief!
To the prospect of prestige, you answer vegetables.
I answer prudence.
I answer moderation.
I answer caution.
And we answer...
Cut yer bellowing, youngsters.
It ain't good for you.
Dries up the pipes.
Swish this 'tween yer gums, instead.
Fine idea, Father. A pickup, to get back on foot.
Nope, with this, you go out feet first.
In these parts, we call it snake piss.
Know why?
That's what it is.
Is the cough syrup out?
See? When you open the bottle, it drives insects away
and attracts assholes.
Lucky I'm thirsty!
Drinking alone Will break your bone.
Ya don't say.
Gotta be dehydrated
to toast with you lot of scoundrels.
You got good land,
so pay no heed to Round Tables and such,
it won't feed ya.
Day by day Grain by grain
All needs will wane.
You added arsenic?
One sip and I'm color-blind.
You face a defining choice, Petrok.
Who do you want to be?
Alley-oop!
Greetings.
What the devil, Mehben, are you leaving?
You bet! If adventure called, I'd go too.
'Cause agriculture ain't an adventure?
Laid to rest near this place
Winter'd thrown on your noble face Frost and dew
You have died, dear old fool
'Tis a waste!
- Cameliard! - Round Table!
- But... - But, but.
Grail questing or manure shoveling,
what do you choose?
Manure shoveling.
Well done!
Mehben!
You can't leave me!
A fabulous future awaits us
in the farming business!
I choose knighthood!
Pack some undies and get after 'em.
With no itinerary?
No certainty?
Don't leave! Our marriage is fresh as a spring cheese!
Knots can be untied!
In under five years, we can expect an income
of 65 soldi per semester!
As a minimum!
Field of the Heartless
Sir Lionel! This piece, do we accept it?
- Who brought that? - Cameliard delegation.
Figures!
Sir Leodegrance, is that all you could find?
You asked for scraps.
Was that hit by lightning?
You must be kidding. It's burnt!
Obviously! He told you why.
It'll weaken the structure.
Come now!
In your crappy contraption,
our board's the weakness?
Poppycock!
Sir Hywel, no representative
for your Armorican delegation?
Why? You can see I'm alone.
Your delegation must elect a representative by show of hands.
Hywel of Armorica.
Sir Girflet, we stick our board anywhere?
Yes, but fast.
Hurry up, we must start!
Sir Lionel, not everyone's here.
We start without the twins?
The twins?
What twins?
Cheeky and Grumbly.
Percival and Caradoc?
They had a tiff.
Sir Percival is questing solo.
And where's Father?
No one's repping Gwynedd?
But for Wales, Percival's brother is here:
Sir Lamorak.
Perfectly, no need for more.
My brother's bumming around somewhere.
The Wales I represent is committed.
The Wales I represent is involved.
No one cares!
Right, take your seats,
if you please.
Wait a sec, did I miss a chapter?
Isn't Arthur Pendragon presiding? What is this hot mess?
I don't like it much!
We're not reexplaining.
Get it or get lost!
- I'm lost. - Me too.
Now, let's go around the table for introductions.
Who gives a hoot?
A convention of nuts and buttholes. Introductions finished!
You're sowing discord at a meeting you called!
No introductions, we know these pigs too well!
I've never seen most of these mugs.
Last time I came, this one wasn't born.
Behave at the Table, Sir Trevor!
He said I wasn't born.
Manners!
You're making us look crazy.
No introductions?
Since nobody cares,
let's begin with the main subject of this first meeting:
quests.
The Cameliard delegation is opposed.
Opposed? Already? Opposed to what?
Opposed to quests.
We're too old for it.
Opposed? Then why are we here?
King Arthur has always required his knights
prove their valor by a great deed.
He should be here!
We elders are rolling in exploits. We're not budging.
Some elders still have the courage to face danger.
And Loth Orkney's son, the traitor,
talks nonsense unrestricted.
Orkneys, out!
Back to their village of turncoats!
Sir Gawain never turned his coat.
I agree my father is a sorry man.
Sanctimonious Scotia! Spawn of Ketchatar!
Respect a dead sovereign!
He was for Lancelot!
Well, only 'cause he confused him with some other dude!
The sons of Loth are like ceps. When you find one,
there's another not far!
I proved my loyalty to Arthur
by risking my life at Kaamelott's collapse.
I refuse to be likened to my crook of a father.
Stop using his magic, then.
That's enough!
We will accomplish nothing through hostility!
Hey there!
Profuse apologies, my bumpkins,
Aquitaine-Kaamelott was already no piece of pie,
but now it's straight up Cameliard?
What next? The North Pole?
This place is great.
Armorica's far too.
Having the Table in Gaunes was more central.
So...
Brought my little board like I was told.
I thought a raspberry tint was nice.
Some I know, some I don't.
I heard somewhere there's a new son of Loth the traitor.
What's the word on that?
Enough!
Didn't mean it in a mean way.
- Peace and virtue reign herein! - Virtue, my ass!
Do not force me to announce exclusions.
Seems I've caused a bit of ruckus. Where were you?
The quests.
What's the deal?
The deal's hell no.
Not voted yet.
I'll admit, speaking for myself,
I'm not that keen.
Every quest has an element of danger...
Why be here without a quest?
You insult the tenets of knighthood.
I don't have time to screw around for charity!
Don't send tourists on wild goose chases.
I suppose we vote by show of hands.
All in favor?
We'll never make this work.
The pain's almost gone!
I can't believe the gods would hurt you.
Hurt what I love most.
You talking to me? Between my bum ears and chewing...
I'll...
What?
I'll try to make an effort.
You'll write a report?
I'll make an effort.
- You'll make an effort. - Right.
You'll kill Lancelot.
Well, sorry.
I thought that was the subject.
I command you to calm down!
We'll have to inflict sanctions!
Can't take names, it's everyone.
Me included.
More latecomers!
Silence!
All rise for the King.
The new Round Table,
back from Gaunes,
with parts from everyone, as requested.
Some brought a board, part of a door,
the seat of an old chair.
As you can see, the tabletop
will soon be complete.
Sire, you don't carry Excalibur?
Percival and Caradoc aren't here?
I wondered about that.
Our friends, what can I say...
They squabbled, Sire.
Right.
We were discussing
the difficult issue of quests.
Honestly, we were this close to arguing.
Our younger members are keen. As for the others,
the idea of going off on an adventure...
The youth want to hoof it, fine. But we lords have had it.
I agree with Leodegrance of Cameliard.
Obviously,
lords and dukes
have nothing to prove.
Then again, in an adventure...
there are no lords, nor knights,
nor peasants.
Nor young, nor old.
Granted, this Table
can be used to rule.
To make laws. The Kingdom needs governance.
Sure. But after its ordeals,
the despotic regency of Lancelot, is it not more
in need
of inspiration?
Of feeling, even.
Why go on a quest?
In order to try to prove
that life
real life, starts
where the unknown begins.
Any kid crossing the stream down the garden,
that he's never dared to cross,
is a lord.
100% legitimate.
Because
the unexplored is his dominion.
He is the unquestioned leader
of a realm he does not own,
a secret land
to which he is foreign,
but that exists solely for him.
A land of feeling.
That said, will kings and lords
willingly become nonentities?
Will they cross that stream?
To roam new hills and prairies
that yield new foes, and new allies?
Will their bounty somehow enable us
to restore feeling?
Will they be knights?
You tell me.
Who's game?
- What? - He got me.
- You, on a quest? - No.
I can still raise my hand.
We don't really go?
'Course not.
Father?
Incredible!
Gripping!
You?
Did you not see...
What?
A huge...
What is
this new get-up
you've come up with?
- I get few visitors. - Really?
Don't host little picnics for hoboes?
White armor,
black magic.
Did you not, before Arthur wrecked Kaamelott
and drove you out,
try to conduct some kind of
career change?
Have you dropped that idea?
Let's say...
I try things.
I fled the siege of Kaamelott. Couldn't take my work.
I'm lacking...
You are lacking many things.
Starting with
an instructor.
The Quest for the Opalescent Dragon.
That holds promise.
It does make for a snazzy lead.
Not many opalescents left.
Allegedly, there's one. A single one.
That's possible.
But hard to verify.
That's what we're proposing!
We'll travel to its frozen lands,
check that it's alive...
Shield it from possible poachers...
We can't ensure it'll breed,
if it is the last of its kind.
You can, if it's a female.
What do you mean, Sire?
Females lay eggs independently.
- Even better! - Any luck, we get a female.
We'll protect her until she lays!
- The ultimate quest! - The gods bless us!
Make haste, companions!
To the land of the Opalescent Dragon!
Now, now.
Hold the cray-cray.
Sorry, Sire.
We'd never leave without your blessing.
Nice.
Nice. Stylish.
Easy, with dragons.
No reason to rule it out.
Certainly not.
The setbacks you can expect...
On top of the cold, of course.
Right. Don't underestimate.
- Rug up! - Right.
Can't overstate that.
Quit trying.
Poachers who deal in dragons.
Not your typical crawdad peddlers.
You'd be up against...
We'll eat those scoundrels up!
We fear nothing and no one!
Onwards, for the path is long, proud Table mates!
The gods be with us.
I still need a few details
to launch the...
Do we need all the gear?
We didn't before.
Not you, dawdling all day.
But down there,
you cannot be unequipped!
Not counting oil gourds and extra pickaxe.
You want us to move? I can't bend a knee!
Nobody's asking you to.
Also, our extra-sensories
could be disrupted by these contraptions.
Not interested.
La Drille will go along.
He's on loan.
Only after he's cooked the terrines.
He will lead the group.
When we're under, there's only one boss.
Me.
Forget that, and I'll dump your asses,
to find your own way out.
So they're ready, can we set tables?
Give us a minute. For once we're not selling lemonade!
You'll be lost, when I'm at the Table!
But the new Table convened yesterday.
What?
You didn't go? WTF?
Damn! When you read me the rag,
you didn't mention yesterday!
Might I have omitted the date?
He did it on purpose. So you'd stay.
Get a life. I'm not his secretary!
They divvied up the quests,
and I get to teach three crusty old fossils to dig tunnels?
Don't take it out on us.
Crusty fossils can fry your whiskers.
Wouldn't these predicaments be best avoided
by just learning how to read?
No offense meant.
You watch yourself. I still don't get who you are.
Some foul-smelling wench asks for Sir Caradoc.
Foul-smelling?
Says she knows him.
- You know stinkers ? - Not one.
Except Sir Percival.
Get rid of her. It's set-up time.
I dreamt of you!
A dream of you is a sign!
Enough! Calm down!
The hag thinks she's Lady of the Lake.
Not in my tavern. Even less if she stinks.
All your patrons stink, sissy.
I walked all the way from Excalibur Stone, you pimp!
- No time to wash! - Get lost!
She won't!
Strong as a donkey!
And she's fragrant all right!
You, on an island! Fountains, a sinking ship!
It was prophetic!
I get prosthetic dreams too.
I see patrons about to pour in,
and not a table ready!
I'm not loony!
Some dreams don't mean shit, this does!
I'm dreaming these days. Granted.
The same dream.
Underwater,
a sinking ship.
A message from the gods, Caradoc. Obviously.
You see me in rags, reeking hellish,
but I've been different.
Trust me, I know the gods.
That bastard Arthur planted Excalibur again, imagine!
He let us all down!
You, me, the people, the Grail, everyone!
But you...
you have a mission.
I don't know which,
but you have a mission.
Well.
Considering the long faces, you're the ones staying?
Sire, we did have a quest.
Most stimulating.
Finding Ywain, Knight of the Lion,
who's been missing for a decade.
Perfect for us.
New knights searching for the old...
Too good.
Yeah, sweet.
Rescuing a comrade has potential.
However,
don't you fear he'd be, regrettably...
Dead?
Or something?
He's too smart.
We think he's dead.
You can still look for him.
Not that simple, alas.
Because of a certain personal quest of Sir Trevor's.
In addition to the group quest?
What's this personal quest, Trevor?
Killing his brother.
What?
Killing his brother Lucan the Cuttlefish here.
His other brother Bedivere, who took over the farm,
and his half-brother here, they're OK.
But his brother Lucan, no way.
He wants his head.
That's nuts. Why?
He's annoying!
- It's the sword. - No.
Not the sword?
We forged Lucan a fine sword, emblazoned with a cuttlefish,
his totem animal.
Lord Trevor only has a tiny knife.
- Ergo: fratricide. - It's not that!
The only weapon I could score is this lousy bludgeon.
Leave it five minutes, it'll be in the fireplace.
'Cause someone took it for a log.
So hecky-darn shit!
Lord Trevor, do you not see the absurdity?
We look like fools to the King!
You can't be unaware!
Last time, he cooked. Wonder why I puked for 3 days.
- Just me. - And me.
I'd finished your plate.
Lord Trevor,
is there no way to prevail upon you?
Do you realize this prevents you from questing together?
I don't mind if we go together.
- With Lord Lucan? - Sure.
You won't kill him?
I will.
Separate them. Time to split heirs.
I got other fish to fry. Split whatever,
and come back with specific quests to offer.
Half of you, the...
Trevorians,
will search for Lord Ywain.
As to the other half, the Lucaneers...
well...
The Lucaneers are questless.
Three lone clods at the Table, with nowhere to go.
- All for a knife! - No!
Yes!
No great feat required.
You're young. A small quest, clean and efficient.
A threat, a trip, an antagonist,
swat the antagonist, get home, done.
For the umpteenth time: adventure - yes,
unwarranted risk - no.
On your way!
Howdy, Sire.
What a colorful invitation!
I'll hand it to you: it's stylish.
One could assume you won't be seen with us.
You done?
You don't carry a grudge, that's for sure.
To your good credit, Sire.
And I wasn't in that pack of bitchlets
that hounded you in Araby.
Wasn't your perimeter.
Came into it.
To be clear:
I hire you 'cause you're the best. We're not friends.
Maybe, to be the best,
we need a friendly atmosphere.
Here's the deal.
I'm sending you to Orkney,
to ascertain King Loth and his men
haven't secretly gone home, flouting banishment,
to plot my snuffing.
Do you have reason to suspect...
I do. Stay out of it.
I want it quiet.
Scared you got a rat at your Table...
... who'll tip the Orkneys we're coming?
I hear you got two of Loth's sons.
Of course, I'm not one to gossip.
Yes or no, dammit.
We do appreciate your trust,
and your amazing lack of hard feelings,
but a bounty hunter is not a spy.
I figured your love of moolah
might expand your practice. Was I right?
Yep.
A third now, the rest upon return.
Also,
even if your demise wouldn't drown me in sorrow,
watch your asses.
Sire, are you watching yours?
Aye. You fear assassination,
yet you're in the woods at night...
- Alone. - Unguarded.
Agreed. But you'll be in Orkney. Scumbag-land.
Among scumbags, we go unnoticed.
We blend in.
We're undetectable.
It's the Round Table summons I wanted.
Percival's letters, I couldn't give a tinker's damn.
It's a two-minute read.
Why waste two minutes on that bum?
He's craving a quest without me.
Why should I care about his letters?
And he's not in my prophylactic dream.
Nor in mine.
You can still read the letter.
There's a morsel of moldy meat on it. Intriguing.
Chuck it all in the trash!
Come on, let's read it.
There might be a kind word for you.
I've got one for him. Guess!
Could be an apology.
"Dear all, except the big turkey.
"I am dictating this to a nice lady
"who sells duck fat at the market,
"and eggs, and who can write.
"And duck.
"Such good quality duck!
"I am eating well and I will soon return
"with the Grail.
"Tell Caradoc
"that if he wants a team of bums, I'm fine on my own.
"I am eating well.
"I don't often send letters because people who can write
"say they don't have time
"and sic dogs on me.
"Sorry about the grease.
"I've attached a piece of delicious duck.
"Percival, solitary and tedious knight."
Anything more convincing?
More convincing?
It's my sword.
Your sword is lame.
I know style's not your scene, but still.
My enemy has a sword.
Precisely, confront him with something surprising.
And if it could, in the process,
frighten the masses.
How am I supposed to counter a magic sword?
A rake.
I'll frighten the masses with this.
Lancelot, the Raker of Darkness.
You gotta feel it.
I don't.
- Put some heart into it. - Projectiles?
Look. I could throw magic honey pots?
Shame you can't take this more seriously.
Yes.
Father!
Listen to me, will you?
Ban
of Benwick.
What? You know him? Knew him?
Of course. Who didn't know King Ban?
I can't even get my father's ear.
It's not that simple.
Your father, when alive,
was quite stubborn
and quite stupid.
The worst combination.
Stupid?
Incredibly so!
Legendarily.
One day,
he greeted a Phoenician general here.
The guy says, "Ban, starting today, your fortress
"is my fortress.
"This is my home."
Your father answered,
"Oh, I didn't know."
And he packed his bags.
His warlords caught up with him
in the forest.
He'd have given up the shack.
So, you giant moron?
Come on. Don't waste your time.
But if I could...
- Make him an ally. - Too difficult.
It would require a mastery you do not have.
Go plant this in the ground
and draw a big circle around it.
A circle.
Be warned,
I've drawn about a million.
- None have worked. - A circle will do.
Not with a stick, of course.
With your finger.
Flesh and earth.
Frankly,
don't you miss adventures?
Not at all!
I bitch about the mail, but what do I care about the Table?
I dunno. You've had so many quests.
To get bad-mouthed in the end.
Ten years of Resistance and not a thank you.
Besides, we've got dishwashing.
Sausages drying in the cellar.
Sweep up in the mornings.
An eye on the maturing cheeses.
One underwater dream, and we'd give all this up?
Not one.
Every night.
Let's say I go under water,
then what?
I don't know.
Under water, I ask for whom?
I don't know.
But I think it's the Mediterranean.
That's something.
Who's that? Some hobo girlfriend?
Is there a pack of you?
Impersonating who? Cleopatra? Agrippina Maior?
If a man of my caliber travels, especially under water,
there must be big loot.
You have the dream too, so stop playing dummy.
You know how crucial this is.
No, it's just a dream.
I dreamt I was a gerbil in a shoe,
I suffocated, and barfed salad.
Point is, dreams aren't always crucial.
This one is, because it could be related to the...
To the what? We can't hear you.
Don't bug him, cream puff.
Don't treat me like a birdbrain.
Watch the attitude.
Premonitions aren't an exact science.
They just give you the direction.
That's all I know.
I know it's the Mediterranean,
and that there are fountains. There.
Fountains now!
What on earth?
Yes, fountains.
Three fountains. I think.
Yes, fuzzy.
But if you want my honest opinion,
it could be related to the...
Again!
To the what?
To the Grail.
Sirs Trevor and Rostan,
quest-mates for the Knight of the Lion...
Hoping he's not dead.
We have reached a fork!
- Which way? - As we wish.
We have not a single clue!
Zero clues?
Zero as in zero.
Not a one, my old chum.
Last time you saw Ywain, didn't he say anything?
He did.
It was ten years ago, feels like yesterday.
He said,
"Life, Sir Gawain, is like greens.
"The leaf often minced like spinach,
"the stem is eaten steamed,
"fried or casseroled."
Sir Trevor, why hither and not thither?
I'm sick of the talk.
We must move on.
Spirited comrade.
Let us follow him.
All bets on our young friend's intuition!
Come on,
don't sulk.
We're not sulking. We're listless.
I'm sulking.
I have no mission. I'm sulking.
Maybe that's our mission.
What? Laziness?
Guarding the Table.
Shack-sitting while others become heroes. What a mission.
I'm thinking!
The gods aren't helping.
We know what the gods want.
They even told Arthur, and he disobeyed.
Kill Lancelot?
- Are you nuts? - We need a quest!
That happens to be one.
It's not ours.
Ours? It's a divine commandment. It's everyone's.
How could we face Lancelot?
Three against one.
Bumping off Lancelot would be...
And the others, with their shoddy knight,
they'll look like snotbags.
They're after a dude nobody knows or cares about.
Either we stay here and be the Round Table loafers
or we ice Lancelot
and become heroes.
Don't.
Could you haul ass?
- Relax! - Adventure can't be rushed.
If we're late, we won't sail today.
I never sail by night.
Wait up!
I am leaving with you.
Since when?
Three isn't the same price.
What about your precious tavern?
Believe me or not.
This morning, I got up, as usual,
and I ask where my two wieners were.
Braving the unknown, I'm told.
I didn't think thrice, undies in a bag,
I took off like two farts at the starting line.
Yes,
I gave instructions.
I turned over the keys to my prized establishment.
Impregnable bastide risen from its ashes.
Eternal refuge to the exhausted
traveler.
This time, you won't hog the honors while I work to death
feeding all the local tramps.
Wait for me!
Why's she here?
- Everyone and their dog coming? - Dimwits' getaway?
Not classy, stealing off.
Stealing? Not so much.
I get up, you're gone.
Get up before 3 pm.
Can we get going or are there others?
You're not leaving without me!
Why not?
I told you about the Mediterranean. Don't get smart.
But now that we know,
why would we put up with you?
I'm coming with you!
The Mediterranean? If we wanna get there before dusk,
no time to dawdle.
- Really? - Yeah, really.
We do agree
that the Mediterranean isn't the sea around Britain?
We don't know!
We head to the sea that we know.
I wouldn't recognize it.
Spare us.
It's what, a two-day sail away?
What? A month in a half, I said.
We thought you were justifying the price.
You thought my rate was for two days?
Shoulda multiplied by 15.
Ok, my little piggies.
To the boat!
A month and a half on a boat?
If it's too much, go back to your dishes.
I'm coming with you!
A month and a half with you on the water?
Space out the quarrels, sailors,
or you're going overboard.
Let's go!
Kaamelott Foundations
So?
So nothing.
Another gizmo that doesn't work.
I know another that don't work!
Don't get in a tussle.
For the last time, above,
there's a collapsed fortress, it's fragile.
If we're too loud, we could get squashed.
It's collapsed. We can't get through.
Tell me your thingy doesn't point that way.
No.
Lucky us!
Black wax.
Black?
What's it mean?
Someone used this staircase
lighting the way with a macabre candle.
Macabre?
- It could be something else! - Suit yourselves.
Yet more wax.
We must continue
that way.
That way? An anorexic fox wouldn't fit!
You nutjob!
You're talking to Conle-the-Famous. Respect celebrities.
Shut up!
There's no air in there.
Kill the head-lights. Lamps are enough.
Bets are on! Methinks we've traveled...
a fourth of the way.
Ho there, Sister, what spirit! A fourth?
I know not.
We've kept a fine pace. Nonetheless...
So, this tall peak,
must be this one.
The dune field is where we are.
Doubtless we are here.
We started on the blue dot.
Yes, we're right next to it.
And our destination? Is this it?
You wish to see our destination?
Is that not necessary to measure progress?
Nothing simpler.
As to the fourth of our journey...
We're not there.
No. We must verify, of course.
But I think we've covered less than a hundredth.
Not including the return.
Upon reflection, I hope I'm suitably shod.
Orkney Fortress
Thing's abandoned.
Ye, denizens!
We are a group of unfortunate travelers,
three poor devils, lost and caught by nightfall.
Speak for yourself.
We dare ask for hospitality!
We said cunning. Don't shoot them outright.
It's not for them. It's for you.
First sign of fishiness,
you get a bolt in the ass each.
What kind of fishiness?
I don't know yet. Surprise me!
Go play in the yard. Rich folk make me nervous.
You clowns make it worse.
I always work alone. And why? Because I know myself.
I don't have the patience to trail along shitwits.
Good evening!
We'll muck up the house!
Caught by nightfall.
We left a bit late. Bam...
Big mistake.
Your mistake is feeling safer here than outside.
Are you of the household?
King Loth's family, maybe?
I married his third sister 21 years ago out of greed.
21 years of woes.
You know those big books,
very heavy, with illuminations?
Imagine opening one,
sliding your genitalia inside, and closing it
sharply.
Do it five times a day.
That's marriage for me.
What is it?
This place reeks of money.
I don't feel well.
Eat what you were served and keep it together.
May we pay our respects to King Loth?
He's banished.
Exiled since the destruction of Kaamelott.
If you like high society, my pilgrims, you're in for a treat.
Upper crust.
- Crust? - Loth's wife.
Ex-wife. He ended the marriage before leaving.
Anna of Tintagel, half-sister to King Arthur.
And her three bitchy sisters-in-law, including my wife.
Damn, Arthur's half-sister.
May I remind you you met King Arthur in person.
Outdoors.
You can't stand the rich, but only indoors?
Night is falling.
Here they come.
They sleep by day and pester by night.
Like mosquitoes.
Three lost travelers.
Caught by nightfall.
Our deepest thanks for your hospitality, Lady Anna.
How do you know who I am, if you are lost?
This gentleman here explained
to whose door providence had led us.
Please continue your meal.
I don't feel well. I'm gonna face-plant my grub.
Say something polite.
You're going to attract attention.
Polite?
Your friend doesn't like roe deer?
Roe deer, speak you in jest? I love the stuff.
I'd eat it off a dysenteric's crack.
The beans are exceptionally tender.
You add a hint of baking soda to the soak, right?
Lost travelers.
You cackling like a goose?
What?
It's been an hour now. What's in there,
a poultry stand?
What's this loony ambush? I just got here!
Whatever. The ruckus is coming out of your quarters!
There.
Why's there a guinea-hen meeting in your pad?
Like the Kaamelottian debauchery of old.
I thought you'd lost all desire.
Affirmative, especially that kind.
So what, then?
So piss off!
I don't want to talk about it. With you even less!
Surprise!
Wow.
I found them for you!
That's nice, but I wasn't looking.
Even though I'm very pleased.
- Us too. - Delighted.
Keep the rejoicing down, or do we need to get nasty?
- Easy does it! - It does not!
Shut it, or we sic the dogs!
I'm serving the future of the Kingdom.
I did have to booze up some.
Come and join us!
Don't stand there like a toadstool!
Come on! What a doofus!
Wait.
What do you have in mind?
The heir.
What heir?
Since I can't quite rouse you,
I've invited your former mistresses, who allegedly can.
We're a bit worse for wear.
Sorry: less than he.
At any rate, they're willing to carry
the heir in my stead,
and hand him over at birth.
Carry the heir?
What's this new-fangled mishmash?
Our contribution to the Quest.
We're happy to serve.
Though it's unclear why you'd need us.
Why they can't get it done
is the riddle of the ages!
What's this new invention?
Excuse me. I invented nothing.
Roman history is brimming with similar shenanigans.
Every other Caesar's illegitimate.
What matters is having an heir.
Roman shenanigans empowered generations
of inbred morons.
Lancelot's out, no need for Caligula!
Can't you honor your queen,
instead of ordering take-out twins?
- I didn't. - No, I did!
For the last time,
you're not the problem.
I am.
You're no less rousing.
But we do have that magic vial
from your Mom and Auntie.
Mildly offended that you'd need it.
We don't need it, ourselves. But we're not as old.
Lands of the Dragon
By the gods,
where have we landed?
The sky itself is bewitched!
Green, celestial smoke!
Curses, curses, curses!
We should never have come.
We're no match for these perils.
Don't start! Remember Arthur's words.
If we're up to it, it's no adventure!
If we die outright, it's not either.
Let's camp, my feet are freezing.
Camp here? Under that?
The cold has numbed your brains!
- We're spent. - Famished.
Icicle-toed!
We'll get no further tonight.
What if that sky-blazing snow-witch lands on us?
Fool! Speaking of witchery aloud!
You'll attract evil!
Friends,
discord looms.
We must be twice as vigilant.
Care to tone Granny down?
Granny'll slap you.
Slap me, or give me honey?
Our equipment's inadequate.
I'm so hungry.
I'd trade you all for a few blueberries.
lagu!
It's true, Gareth.
If cold and hunger don't kill us, the wolves will.
Or worse,
one of the countless demons swarming here!
What say the maps? Are we nearing Dragon land?
Hard to say.
Holy rotten bears, don't tell us we're lost!
No, it's hard to say because my mouth froze.
Who the hell cares!
So?
The Opalescent Dragon lives here.
In this rather vast region.
By the gods, what's this?
Our impending doom.
Curses!
Well.
A band of young travelers.
So lost!
Who are you?
A trapper girl.
Like you.
Hogwash!
Who says we're trapper girls?
Share your campfire...
I'll share my bread.
So, dear youths,
why so far from home?
Who says we are?
We seek the last Opalescent Dragon.
You just spill the beans?
Beautiful beings.
If any are left.
Of course there are.
Yesterday, one was spotted over its lair.
What?
Beware, trapper girl. You'd be foolish to prevaricate.
Where's the lair?
Please say it's close!
It's no secret.
For a few coins, I'll take you at dawn.
Are we finally in luck?
Quarto!
Quarto, goddammit!
What?
My door's locked!
The fuck do I care?
We're in a loony bin!
It's our last night!
Then don't waste it bugging me.
Alzagar!
What?
I'm locked in my room!
Me too. It's bolted from outside.
What? Holy infected nanny-goats,
we can't just sit here and get euthanized?
What does Quarto say?
"Piss off."
There.
Who do you serve, you sons of stinking she-dogs?
We're lost travelers, caught by nightfall.
We'd established that.
We might serve,
and be unwilling to tell.
We might serve someone who does not
want it known.
At a certain Table.
The shape of which ain't necessarily square.
It's miraculous,
that you've enjoyed a decent career
being so damn dumb.
Arthur sent you?
Pendragon pissant!
Guys,
some self-evident things
can be stated anyway.
We're clear that I'm coming with you?
Weren't there three of us?
There are.
When you arrived?
I thought the guy was behind us.
That fool's a liability.
I was against bringing him.
What?
What now, you clodpoll?
What are you lugging?
- Dunno. Can't read. - Why bother?
There was pricey shit in there!
It was dark. I took what I found. On principle.
So you steal paper?
Move your asses! Enough jabbering.
You'll carry it home! Don't count on us!
Arthur Pendragon
sends me spies.
To me!
Vengeance.
Vengeance!
Pillars of Hercules
Say...
No pressure, but you need to decide.
Where are you going?
- You were told 40 times. - The Mediterranean!
This is it. Ocean behind, Pillars to the side,
Ahead and under, Mediterranean.
Well, we can't just dive in.
Land us, you seaman-stain?
I'd be thrilled. But where?
Massilia? Syracuse?
- Thessaloniki? Alexandria? - Wherever.
Wherever?
Maybe not. What's your take?
Nothing. Long as I get paid, I'll sail to China.
So you only care about money?
What else?
What's your own worthless opinion?
Apart from the three fountains, I got nothing.
We should sleep,
try for a new dream.
You sleep all the time.
I won't scour the seas for fountains while you snooze.
Well?
- We can't turn back. - No.
Portus Albus then. I'm sick of you, we need food.
Find your shit, or get lost.
You'll walk. After you pay me.
So you only care about money?
Already asked that.
My belly!
Such discomfort!
Throbbing, stabbing.
Awful!
Only my elegance keeps me from... Damn!
Our food wasn't...
- The bread! - Witch!
My purse is gone!
And mine!
That diarrhoeic goat stole all our money!
What will become of us?
We can't even buy a radish!
We'll die!
She can't have gone far!
Halt!
Schemer! Trying to poison us
with your diseased shit-loaf!
You failed!
It only caused intestinal clogging!
You won't get off so lightly.
Yeah? Go ahead, you filthy poachers!
Kill me, if sowing death is your only talent!
Say what, shrew?
You call us trapper girls,
and now poachers?
Wrong guess, sweetie. We are knights
of the Round Table.
We're from Logres, sent by Arthur Pendragon!
To protect the last Opalescent Dragon.
Too late!
The last Opalescent was slaughtered.
Slaughtered? How can this be?
What demon committed this heinous deed?
Alfarn.
Who?
Alfarn!
Famous dragon hunter.
He hates "poacher." Finds the term demeaning.
Show us his hideout, we'll eat him up!
You?
You'll hunt Alfarn?
Absolutely.
This rescue mission is now retaliation!
lagu?
I'm not sure vengeance is in the knight's covenant.
What's that?
I said, I'm not sure that vengeance
is in the knight's covenant.
We'll add it on.
Give up and go home, elflings.
You're not cut to face Alfarn.
You could help!
Forgive our excesses. Join us!
Lead us to him, we'll do the rest!
Get yourselves home!
How do we find you?
We don't know your name!
Surface route mighta been better.
What surface? You said the forge was underground.
We said...
Black magic is often cloaked in darkness.
Hence the tunneling.
Or you guessed, and the forge is up a tower.
Or there is none.
Now we're here, let's look.
Are you dicking around?
You have any idea how dangerous this is?
At any given moment,
the whole shebang could...
Dunno what we've found, my peckerlings, but it's big.
Good grief, the smell.
What reeks like that?
Do we proceed, or is it stronger than you?
Common sense says we turn back.
Black magic forge?
Black magic?
My poor dear,
methinks it is far worse.
What's the hanging thingy?
Bad news, friend.
- We thinking alike? - Yes.
It's not a black magic forge.
It is a forge of necromancy.
- Necro? - mancy.
Raising the dead. This, my oldie-moldies, is a matrix.
A matrix that took years to make.
So urgent was it to flee the siege
that the sorcerer abandoned such an advanced opus.
That there's advanced?
Near-completed, even.
It feeds the curse on the ruins.
Do you measure how valuable this is?
This is still about the hanging rotten meat?
We must get across this accursed grating!
Across?
That is a task fit for a wizard!
You athletes warm up, it's gonna bounce!
Whaddya say? Teleportation for grownups!
Calm down!
Want out of the bog? Tele-sphere, by yours truly!
You didn't make it, you bought it!
Lies! Slander!
Made it from scratch!
We'll piss around later.
Destruction of the foul source.
How...
How does one destroy this kind of place?
We good? Curse gone, we're out?
- Quickly. - The spillage can poison us.
Go ahead, Merlin.
Where?
Another sphere.
I don't have another.
What?
You zap us in here, one-way?
You think I can afford two spheres?
We're trapped?
Yes. We will die.
They're not there.
- Your sister... - Half-sister.
Three crazies, wife included.
No Loth, no Dagonet, no jurisconsult.
They could be in the Kingdom, just not in Orkney.
A bonus.
What's this?
Dunno why he took those.
Real estate stuff. Deeds and shit.
Dunno how useful they'd be.
Paper holds mystery.
Right. When you can't read.
What's my batshit sibling's disposition?
Her disposition has seen better days.
Diplomatically, I doubt
we've warmed your relationship with Orkney.
Our mission of observation
impelled us to give her
an ass-kicking.
Admittedly, she was already sore with you.
We didn't fix that.
And for me?
A small tip, for services rendered?
Take a guess.
I guess not?
Venec!
- A clue! - We have a clue!
Why the clown costumes?
We went shopping. We're entitled.
We look Mediterranean.
Mediterraneans look like bozos?
Who gives a shit? We have a clue!
A clue for what?
We know where to go.
Bought food, at least?
Hang your errands! Listen to us!
I bought this.
What the hell? We're out of supplies.
We were on the job, then we found this old dude.
He was eating squid salad at the bar,
he heard us talk.
We were squabbling like senators.
Like finding fountains would be so hard.
It's true!
I screamed, and lobbed my sausage
- I'd bought a sausage - at this guy.
I ducked, it bounced off her mug.
So the sausage lands in the old crow's salad.
He gets up, we're ready to roll.
He explains, through a thick-ass accent,
that he knows a village with three fountains.
And he wanted another salad.
'Cause half of it got knocked on the floor.
Says he.
"What's the village called?" we ask.
He kept at it, "Three fountains!"...
We were about to choke him on his half-salad, when it clicked.
It's the name of the village!
- What name? - Three-Fountains!
We gather it's on the Isle of Sicily.
It's in the Mediterranean, don't get pissy.
I've never heard of it.
Ok, I'll check the maps.
While you go back to the market to get chow.
Not a tambourine or earrings.
Sicily's far. You're racking up the bill.
You are serving the quest for the Grail, goddammit!
Leave money aside for once!
Putting money aside is my passion.
So Grail or not,
I bill all the same.
You ain't nothing but a...
What's going on?
What on earth did you do?
What do you mean?
I did what you told me.
Sabnock.
You conjured Sabnock.
Who? I conjured no one.
Sabnock doesn't come for a circle or a buried spade.
A scythe!
Take shelter now!
You nutbag!
You better hope he doesn't come flush you out.
What?
- Why would he flush me out? - To kill you, buddy.
You think Sabnock...
You think Sabnock has the leisure
to put charms on garden tools?
If he finds you, you'll be wiped off all Planes.
I didn't specially invoke Sabnock.
It's not my fault he's showed up.
Yet he's here. And your tushie is in for it.
- What can I do? - Go apologize.
Stay here, you imbecile!
Hide, and pray he leaves without taking you.
Good grief, why?
Why a major demon answers your call? I do not know.
But make no mistake, this is a rare visitation.
My father's ghost might help me.
Your father against Sabnock?
Expect a speedy showdown.
It would be your father's chance to vacate the Middle Plane.
We're totally out of our league!
We come beat up a guy in rags
and there's a 12-foot demon.
Bum luck.
From the get-go, actually.
This is next-level.
It didn't work.
He just came to punish my arrogance.
Didn't find me,
so he left.
Another failure.
Sabnock left his Plane for you.
Even if he came to murder you, don't call this a failure.
Call it what you will.
All in favor of attacking Lancelot at once?
Very well.
All opposed?
There's a town called Three-Fountains.
Can't be much to do there.
We're not going on vacation.
She keeps ranting that the Grail's there.
That's not quite what she says.
To summarize,
you're telling us...
Hey...
What's wrong?
She's pale as a butt cheek.
Periwinkle indigestion?
What now? Still up for it?
We did vote.
Besides, Sir Lucan too has a magic weapon.
I don't.
It just has a cuttlefish.
We're here, might as well.
You ready?
Three, two...
Have you lost your marbles?
Your quest was to walk into the lion's den?
You think King Arthur
sanctions attacking Lancelot?
It's a recent project.
And not really a project.
We didn't have a quest, so we thought, let's kill Lancelot.
Spur of the moment.
We were regretting our decision
when you busted us.
If we hadn't spied on you,
right now,
you'd be slain by Lancelot's new accursed weapon.
Now get out
and find a quest that's appropriate.
Reckless idiots!
Scram!
And return the snack baskets!
What's gotten into you?
You kooky?
Well?
If the grub still doesn't suit you, go to the tavern.
Sorry, must've dozed off.
I know our meals aren't gripping,
but in the name of decorum, you could stay awake.
Read it!
Your mail...
Say what?
What what?
I didn't get what you said.
What I said when?
Just before.
Didn't say nothin'. But now I will.
Put your head on ice if you're hallucinating.
You must read your mail!
Do I...
Do I have mail?
As in recent?
I don't know.
You have back mail, you never open it.
Can I have it?
Now?
With back mail, comes a point, you just read it.
I don't know why we bother.
We eat, chilling at the table,
he jumps 3 feet, I choke on my peas,
then he wants his mail fetched.
Housing a sloth is one thing, but a nutcase
isn't the same gig.
So make an effort.
That one's grease-stained, and it stinks.
I think it's from Sir Percival.
And this?
Arrived this morning. No idea.
Venec.
I have to leave urgently
for Portus Albus.
Why the hell would you go there?
Watch him cut out without an explanation.
You shoulda seen him. A demon taller than two men.
With lightning bolts.
Dunno how we didn't shit ourselves.
We got scolded for taking risks.
And you? Any perils?
Nope.
- Yes, there was. - No, there was not.
- Plenty of peril. - Nothing at all.
We came across countless junctions.
Constant decision-making: left, right,
left...
Bullshit.
And we slept outdoors. The other night, we heard nibbling.
We didn't go see, but we think
it was a badger!
We think it was bullshit.
Fat chance we'd go check!
- And the Knight of the Lion? - Making progress.
Little by little.
Nothing at all.
Why is my food different?
Who prepared this meal?
Sir Trevor.
Not a team player.
You think they're dead?
Dunno.
Who were the guys who jumped them?
Dunno.
Can't we go faster?
No wind.
But we're getting there. Look, Carthage.
We'll soon be nearing Sicily.
Why not read Percival's letter?
Wow!
It stinks a lot.
There was a piece of cheese in it.
Really? Where's the piece of cheese?
I threw it away, of course.
With the others, Percival's name was banned.
At the slightest slip up, Lord Caradoc lost it.
Doesn't explain the cheese.
Read the letter, maybe he explains.
"Sire, I hope everything's jammy
"like a little doughnut at the Round Table.
"Yesterday, I swam in the river
"and all my clothes were stolen.
"I continued my adventure in my boxers,
"but at the village, the old dude selling cheese
"was wearing my clothes.
"I tried beating him up,
"but he's nice so he's writing this.
"He sends you one of his fresh-tasting cheeses
"to enjoy in the morning, or with friends,
"even without bread.
"Tomorrow, I'll go to the Stone
"to keep an eye on the frauds who try to extract your sword.
"Not a chance, but you never know.
"I will bring back the Grail
"in two weeks or, at latest, in 15 days.
"Percival,
"solitary and regional knight."
Step back.