In the dark grimness of the far future, there is only…


"Yes my lord?" A filthy pile of mobile rags that might have hidden a human underneath them scampered out of a trench to prostrate itself at the feet of the Lord Blackadder, commanding officer of the 23rd Percian Light Infantry Regiment, the famous "Rowan's Raiders".

"Baldrick, you could make Nurgle himself heave and throw up out of all of his 8 stomaches if he caught a whiff of you.

Now, Sister Elizabeth of the Nuns of Battle are coming to assist us in rooting out heretical scum, so I ordered the men to clean out their trenches and prepare for inspection a full week in advance of their arrival. And yet I notice that you, Baldrick, have the apparel of a plaguebearer, and the smell of something that crawled out of Slaneesh's underpants after a long night of degradation and depravity. Have you anything to say before the Sisters come here and try to burn away the protective layer of filth and dung you have managed to accumulate on your person?"

"Oh my lord, come on now. I'm sure the turnip garden I've planted out front will brighten their spirits!" Baldrick grinned. "Who doesn't like turnips?"

"Baldrick, 'out front' is a minefield designed to blow up the heretics with great prejudice." The Lord Blackadder paused to clean his gloves, dreading the inevitable explanation.

"Yes, me lord, and while you told me to lay the mines, I found that I had dug extra holes, so I went back to the trench, got some of my turnips, and planted 'em so I'd have something nice to look at." Baldrick answered proudly.

"Good thinking, Baldrick. Why, if you planted the turnips all over the mine field, you'd probably make everyone happier."

"Cor, thank you my lord! I knew you'd come around!" Baldrick bowed in pleasure, something hard to do as he was simultaneously trying to keep in his prostrated position.

The Lord Blackadder turned to walk away. The rumble of approaching transport vehicles had reached his ears. The Order of the Blazing Roses of Painful Agony was no doubt arriving.

"Oh, and Baldrick, could you do me a favor?" He asked. There was one last thing on his mind.

"Yes my lord?" Baldrick asked eagerly, ready to please his master again.

The Lord Blackadder carefully wrapped his boot in a towel and kicked Baldrick into a puddle at the bottom of the trench.

"Try to master the art of drowning for the Sisters, will you? We could use some entertainment."