So I’ve been stuck at home for the past two days, running a bit of a fever, so the line between real and hallucinatory isn’t the taut exacting thing that we’d all like it to be. I had a (fairly one sided) conversation with a stoic Russian man about the state of the world and the Eric Garner case, which is made only slightly less practical than my usual social media grousing by the fact that the Russian in question is a poster that is on my wall. Imagine my joy, then, to discover this
whilst in such a confused state: An entire Lego version of Colorado University
. Have you ever seen a blurb that is more click-baity then “Partial nudity, death by nuclear accident and dozens of free-roaming buffalo named Ralphie.” + “Lego”? Cause I sure haven’t. Although – and I say this with all the love in my heart for NPR – a story about a specific Lego creation, where you can’t SEE the Legos and are stuck describing them over the radio, leaves a little something to be desired.
Anyway, I was at home today, so Jen got to open the box again, and was good enough to send me the pics. The good news? We’ve got our first victim! I mean, second mini-fig! The bad news? He comes with two more weapons! Do you remember when Legos was all about building new things with a set of fairly generic pieces? Yeah, neither do I.
And what do we think he’s holding here? Hmm. Well, at first, Jen identified them as maces
. Which, you know – not inaccurate, given that mace is a subset for basically any weapon you use to bonk people with. But I, thinking I was gonna be all kinds of clever, tried to get things a little bit more specific. Given the spiky bits on the ends of his weapons, I suggested, perhaps they are more like morningstars
? Well, rookie mistake, Smith. Jen game back at me, hard. What that gentleman is holding, folks, are twin Flails
Man. I got owned, y’all. Lets see what this knowledge can teach us about this fine gentleman.
From Wikipedia: “The two-handed flail is a hand weapon derived from the agricultural tool of the same name, commonly used in threshing. Only a limited amount of historical evidence exists for their employment in Europe during this era”. Well, the dude could be Germanic, but he’s using two of the things, so that can’t be right. Lets look down to the (very few – could it be that Lego is not totally historically accurate?) examples of the one handed maces on display at the Metropolitan museum of art:
- “One of these is a Swiss “morning star mace” dated to approximately 1530, consisting of a relatively long handle compared to the others, a long chain almost as long as the handle, ending in a large spiked ball.” First of all, I want Jen to note the name of this particular tool. Second of all, that could be right, but “spikes” doesn’t sound totally like what this dude is rocking and the handle isn’t all that long.
- “A second is 16th-century German, having a medium-length metal handle, a short chain, and a small iron ball with large spikes.” Definitely not a short chain, right? those things are SNAKEY amirite? Lets keep pushing.
- “A third is 15th-century French, having an unusually short handle, a chain nearly as long as the handle, and an iron head lacking spikes but having several angular points.” Spot on. Shit. I think that means he’s French.
Leslie’s vision swam as he tried to focus on the world around him. What had happened? How had he lost so much time? What was this gigantic lumbering form that was standing right next to him? He tried to focus, and then immediately wished he hadn’t.
Towering over him was the largest man that Leslie the Unready had ever seen. His beard looked muscular. The twin flails strapped to his back would have been cartoonishly large, except that there was no doubt in Leslie’s mind that he was the kind of man who could make their tricky geometries work even in close spaces. Leslie had surprisingly vivid and unpleasant image of the Giant using the things on a watermelon with a glee that would put Gallagher to shame.
It – he – rumbled: “Qui êtes-vous?”
Leslie, true to his namesake, hadn’t the first notion of what to do with this new piece of information. He gaped.
“Hé,” the man’s fingers snapping in front of Leslie’s nose evoked twin redwoods crashing together, “Crétin . Qui diable êtes-vous?” Leslie gawped. What strange sounds!
“Merde. D’accord. Viens avec moi, imbécile, laisse aller voir le duc…” the Giant muttered, and reached out to grab Leslie’s shoulder. And, like many of the Unreadys before him, Leslie only then knew what he needed to do. He turned and fled, hooting in fear.
And, much like his ancestral heritage and bloodlines would suggest, he immediately tripped on the battleaxe that he vaguely remembered forging, and fell heavily to the ground.
“Merde! Attendez! Il n’y a pas de problème, idiote, pourquoi courez-vous?“
The Giant was gabbering like a madman! This was it. Leslie was sure his 30 some odd years had come to a end. He scrabbled around for something, anything, to hold of the inevitable crushing swing of the giant spiked head of that terrifying weapon. He imagined his brains spattering the anvil that he was pretty sure he’d just used. His hands found a spear. He swung around wildly and…
“Je suis… tellement… confus… ” the big man grunted.