Frightknights in Series 5: Sorry, Lord Fear! We'll keep still and be quiet right away.

KMDF: There is no way that exactly twenty years on Fidjit would ever come back to the forum!

Happy 20th anniversary, Glenn. Thanks for remembering us and Knightmare. We certainly remember you! Not forgetting that you weren't named Fidjit in the beginning.

Treguard: "No."

Dungeoneer: (standing by the Sewers of Goth "Did somebody fart in here?"

Greystagg: It's my time of the month and you bring me Witch Amber?! Where is the chocolate ice cream and my Twilight box set you ignorant fool!

Advisor: We can't see anything it's too dark!

Treguard: Alexa! Turn on the lights in Level One!

Alexa: Okay.

Dungeoneer: I'm not touching THAT, I'm a vegan!

Treguard: Play fair, or Fear play foul, all begins again at the allotted h- no, wait, that doesn't rhyme. Play fair, or Fear commit crime, all... no, that won't do. Erm... take care of yourselves. And each other.

Treguard: And Pickle... write me a version that scans and rhymes.

Pickle: At once, master.

[A few moments later, Pickle hands Treguard a new parchment to read from.]

Treguard: 'Play thee fair, or Fear play foul / Game on's at the allotted owl.' Allotted owl?! What manner of nonsense is this? "Ah, here's the designated nocturnal bird, good, we can resume play."

Pickle: Well, if Fear's playing fowl...

Treguard: Are you trying to make an oaf of me, elf? Explain yourself. What kind of twit would allot an owl? Who?

Pickle: Twit... who...

Treguard: This lady team is Mellisandre, the village mule, everyone has has a ride except the local jester.

Treguard: Are any of you three epileptic? Yes? Then I suggest you tell Julian to put the bottle down and just leave team.

Pickle: Coming through the door holding a parcel Your Amazon package has just arrived master.

Pickle: Wow! Either The Great Rift of Angar

has got longer and bigger... or Smirkenorff is having a bad diarrhoea day!

Pickle: Looking up at Treguard, almost a whisper Shall I fetch a can from the fridge master??

Pickle: Team approach Doorkis Well, I've already shown you what to do here team, I'm just popping off for a quick shower. I should be back before you finish, but if not, go through Dunkley Woods, watch out for Ariadne, and don't get killed. Won't be a tick...

Pickle: Christ, I feel a big dump coming on here!

Smirkenorff: Romanha, in the advertisement I specifically asked for a guardian, not a nanny!

Lissard: To Lord Fear No offence lordnesssssss, but if you're so clevernesssssss why don't you come up with a plan and do it yourself!

Lord Fear: The Sewers Of Goth! Miles upon miles of the filthiest stench and sewage. Impenetrable, except for a single rowing boat I conveniently left in the open!

Greystagg: Over a sort of tannoy system Good morning, this is a sister announcement, could whoever is leaving the front door open please shut it as dungeoneers, fruit sellers and double-glazing salesman keep getting in. Thank you.

Greystagg: Well WILL have revenge on you Fear! Witchaven, as you well know is all but destroyed...

Lord Fear: Oh it was me! Sorry I got so wasted last night I couldn't even remember if it was me or Raptor who defiled Heggartys' drawers. So glad I reminded him to bring a bag!

Merlin: Understand that those steps were needed. The builders weren't available on time to finish the room so we had to improvise

Gretel: silence (Unconscious, surrounded by her own teeth with a broken nose and a baseball bat sticking out of her mouth!)

Hordriss: Patience my young adventurer, one needs to light this joint before continuing...

Hordriss: WHAT IS THIS ONE DOESN'T EVEN

Ogre: I know you prefer the poo of rams but I could only find female sheep. Is that alright, Fatilla?

[Fatilla is very glum and not really listening properly.]

Fatilla: Didn't catch all of that.

Ogre: Ewe OK hun?

(Lying awake in bed. Every night. In vain.)

"Great work team. We certainly cast a shroud over our opponents with our triumph in the Annual County Spelling Championship. This will put us in fine fettle to take on the Knightmare dungeon."

These characters would never say...

Sir Hugh de Wittless: Tarah! Tarah! Haloo! Haloo!

I've had enough now I need the loo!

Hordriss: waves hands around WICKED! WICKED! JUNGLE IS MAHSIV'!

Rothberry the Apothecary: wanders around J-J-Jive you a spell? No way foo'.

Aint nobahdy gat tam fo dat.

Gwendoline: Yeah I know I have a 4x4 and it burns petrol, but do I even care!?

Gretel: >:-] Muahahahahaha! AHAHAHAHA! cough! Cough! Wheeze! ><

Advisor: Don't take the chicken Leo... It's past its use by date!

Treguard: Make haste team, I'm dying for a dump!

Apologies for bumping this I really missed all the fun times

Oracle: 'Near a tree by a river, there's a hole in the ground, where an old man of Aran goes around and around... The third step is the-'

Dungeoneer [replacing helmet and muting the Oracle]: 'Ah, crystal clear! We can work with that info. Let's make a move, guys.'

Oracle: "The first step won't hurt at all. The second only makes you wonder. The third will have you on your knees. You start bleeding, I start screaming. Screaming. Screaming. Screaming..."

Treguard: "That sounds like propaganda, team." [It is.]

BROLLOCHAN: What are tarts made of?

DUNGEONEER: Pepper, mostly.

BLOCKER: Password!

DUNGEONEER: Mornington Crescent.

BROLLOCHAN: What is that root?

DUNGEONEER: Mandrake.

BROLLOCHAN: I hunger!

DUNGEONEER: Lemon curry?

BROLLOCHAN: I hunger. You will give me knowledge. What is your name?

DUNGEONEER: [insert name here], the Dungeoneer.

BROLLOCHAN: What is your quest?

DUNGEONEER: I seek the sword/shield/cup/crown [delete as applicable].

BROLLOCHAN: What is the air-speed velocity of an unladen Smirkenorff, the Dragon?

DUNGEONEER: Too quick for you, mate!

Mrs. Grimwold: Never mind that, dearie. I've got a quest for you. I can't seem to find me cooking pot in all this mess. Can you 'elp old Mrs. G and find it?

Offscreen Voice #1: Don't bother, dungeoneer. The ogre's looked all over for it and it's not here. We're inclined to doubt its very existence.

Offscreen Voice #2: Yep, Mrs. G's pot is a myth.

Mrs. Grimwold: SHUDDUP, FESTUS!!

"GET TO THE CHOPPER!"