sup butt munches

So here's an announcement from the royal court whatever im supposed to be? This seems pretty offensive or whatevs but my shoes have bells on them so I'll go with it. But stuff is totes different and a buncha you haven't noticed??? like um okay

But it looks like this is the kingdom of New Moore. Which is weird cause last time I looked we were an ISLAND with no political representation but now it turns out this is a monarchy and the goofball principal is the king?? Only he's kinda taking a breather bc his son is awol or something so we have this pint sized cutie as a queen. but shes RUDE AS HELL and doesn't laugh at my awesome jokes!!

So is there anybody out there that knows what I mean when I'm talkng about democracy?? and ice cream sandwiches i miss those too. But yeah shits weird, somebody help make this bizarro fairytale land ok by telling me you get the weirdness too.

[The video opens with on a short woman, dripping with burgundy and gold robes, walking calmly in a circular chamber that was surprisingly well-lit. A great shallow pool some fifteen feet across lies centered beneath a wide occulus that cast wavering glimmers on the white stone walls. The little woman's hood comes down over her eyes, surely blocking most of her vision, but she doesn't seem terribly bothered by it. In fact, she's smiling as she turns her head to smile at the camera and gesture for whomever is holding it to follow her.]

There are so many questions out there today. All buzzing around, busy as a hive of bees, but none come to my garden!

[There's a bit of a laugh in her phrase, though whether it's sorrow or motherly exasperation or something more brittle is hard to tell. The light is growing steadily brighter on her face as she walks - perhaps getting closer to the doors of the building?]

You may ask your questions and receive answers, here. Granted, those answers may just spawn more questions... [A warm smile lifts her lips.] ...but so it is when the gods must speak through a mortal vessel. You're all welcome! Here you can rest!

[She spreads her arms, and the camera turns to be briefly blinded by sunlight before the lens compensates and pans over a terraced garden full of trees and flowers, with a little stream burbling quietly as it winds its way between raised garden beds. Paths peel off from the main thoroughfare, paved not with stone but in smooth, hard-packed sand bordered with more white stone. Down the sloped path, there's a wall of darker, more forbidding stone, set with spiked crenelations and a huge iron gate. The camera comes back to the woman, who stands with her arms outspread basking barefoot in the sunlight.]

It may not look like much, but we do provide wine and refreshments for those who come seeking, and you may stay as long as you like! They tell me that we are near the western edge of the city. So you would like a question answered, please, come and visit. The Oracle always accepts guests.

[Suddenly her smile vanishes as though wiped from her face, and she freezes in place. A man dressed in lorica and a crimson cloak comes from off-screen to take one of her outstretched hands and place a supporting hand in the small of her back. She grips him as though she is drowning, her lips moving on unheard words, and he tries to lead her off, but she won't move. A voice, strong and terrible, deeper and more powerful than her earlier tone, rolls from her like a tide. It breaks against the cameraman and they stumble, trembling before its weight.]

Wait not for the brightest night, when the moon shines full upon the wine dark sea. Stars, stars, where is your great mother gone? Stretch forth your hands and seek her, for she has been taken away. Stave off the greater darkness, search out soul's cleansing, beware the wroth of the spider and the sea!

[A shudder shakes her and her head bows to her chest. The guard waits patiently, undisturbed, and after a moment she takes a deep breath and raises her head, putting a hand to her temple.]

Ah... I've done it again, have I? I'm sorry. It must have been important. The gods usually wait till I'm in the sanctum, at least, before using me so roughly. I shall rest, now, and wait for the bees to come. I think they'll like my garden, don't you?

[The guard speaks in a soothing murmur to her and gives the cameraman a curt nod. The video clicks off.

 Belike you've nothing better to do than roam about the Moore engaging in brigandage and outrage, but I'd beg a moment's grace for a humble address.  I've been mocked often enough for having no liege and no arms to hang upon my shield, and 'tis true I've no lands, no squire, no one to vouch for my patents but my steed, Ducati.  And a love of song and merry color has lead a wag or two to christen me the Red-Breasted Knight, or the Red-Robin for those who doubt my horse's testimony of nobility.

For myself, I say gramercy, and count the name a feather in my cap, for if my deeds gave you nothing to speak of, you'd need no name, for you'd know naught of me.  And yet, it seems I'm spoken of often enough.  I've never failed in honest test of arms, nor in the tilt or other such hastiludes.  Perhaps that's worth a little speech.  There might be one or two other feats of which mention is made as well.  But my point is thus: speak of the Red-Breasted Knight as you will, and be welcome.  But if your own ignoble deeds pass so far as to bring your own name to my lips -- why then, have a care.  Not every knight athwart this isle will wait the King's good word to ride you down.