Idle TAS enjoyer: thou mayest believe me without any oath that I would this movie, as it is the child of my brain, were the fastest, glitchiest, and most entertaining that could be imagined. But I could not counteract Nature's law that everything shall beget its like; and what, then, could this slow, incompetent speedrunner beget but a straightforward point-to-point trek of solid build such that interesting movement techniques and exploitation of game mechanics are nowhere to be found?

While tales of The Ingenious Gentleman Don Quixote of La Mancha are known worldwide, famously in the form collated by Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra, in 2022 the historians at Zosya Entertainment uncovered an alternate telling of these stories, presented in the form of digital entertainment designed to be interpreted via a Sinclair ZX Spectrum with at least 16K of random access memory. I present these such accounts to you today.

My particular presentation relies on the primary interpreter being that of a +3 Spectrum, chosen as its improvements in memory access speed in comparison to its predecessors grants a more efficient education, in addition to the existence of an official disk version approving an expedited encumbering. A secondary decoder in the name of BizHawk 2.10 authorises the creation and storage of this movie.

I expect to keep you no longer than 22958 frames, or 7 minutes and 38.976 seconds; of course, only 7 minutes and 26.701 seconds of this consists of what some may refer to as "gameplay", with the remainder being occupied by the encumbering forementioned. Abbreviating further would be preferred, but I could find no further manner of compression.

Cervantes writes:

While Cervantes paints a vivid picture of our hero with only words, Zosya's renderings appear to reveal some omissions and embellishments. For having visuals, we find no housekeeper, no niece, and no greyhound; instead we find numerous spiders and bats for our man of La Mancha, yet to dub himself with a name suiting his new life, bravely to avoid, in order to collect some armour that had belonged to his great-grandfather. Again, traditional accounts would have it that the armour was eaten with rust and covered with mildrew, and that he scoured and polished it to bring it to life; but here we see that the armour was not forgotten but merely scattered throughout the house, in want of gathering together. His armour being furbished, he found himself the courage to apply his lance to the creatures of his abode, accelerating his adventure.

Hastily naming his hack "Rocinante", and himself "Don Quixote of La Mancha", for reasons sound to him that would require protraction of this already lengthy submission text to explain, he came to the conclusion that nothing more was needed now but to look out for a lady to be in love with; for a knight-errant without love was like a tree without leaves or fruit, or a body without a soul. There was, so the story goes, in a village near his own a very good-looking farm-girl with whom he had been at one time in love, though, so far as is known, she never knew it nor gave a thought to the matter. Her name was Aldonza Lorenzo; and he decided upon calling her Dulcinea del Toboso - she being of El Toboso - a name, to his mind, musical, uncommon, and significant, like all those he had already bestowed upon himself and the things belonging to him.

These preliminaries settled, he did not care to put off any longer the execution of his design, urged on to it by the thought of all the world was losing by his delay, seeing what wrongs he intended to right, grievances to redress, injustices to repair, abuses to remove, and duties to discharge. So, without giving notice of his intention to anyone, and without anybody seeing him, he mounted Rocinante with his armour on, braced his buckler, took his lance, and by the location selection screen sallied forth upon the plain in the highest contentment and satisfaction at seeing with what ease he had made a beginning with his grand purpose.

Writers there are who say the first adventure he met with was that of Puerto Lapice; others say it was that of the windmills; but what I have ascertained on this point, and what I have found written in the annals of La Mancha, and that the accounts of both Cervantes and Zosya are in agreement, is that he perceived not far out of his road an inn, which was a welcome as a star guiding him to the portals, if not the palaces, of his redemption. At the door were standing two young women, girls of the district as they call them, on their way to Seville with some carriers who had chanced to halt that night at the inn; and as, happen what might to our adventurer, everything he saw or imagined seemed to him to be and to happen after the fashion of what he read of, the moment he saw the inn he pictured it to himself as a castle with its four turrets and pinnacles of shining silver, not forgetting the drawbridge and moat and all the belongings usually ascribed to castles of the sort. To this inn, which to him seemed a castle, he advanced, and at a short distance from it he checked Rocinante, hoping that some dwarf would show himself upon the battlements, and by sound of trumpet give notice that a knight was approaching the castle. But seeing that they were slow about it, and that Rocinante was in a hurry to reach the stable, he made for the inn door, and perceived the two merry damsels who were standing there, and who seemed to him to be two fair maidens or lovely ladies taking their ease at the castle gate.

After the briefest of rests, he made haste with his scanty pothouse supper, and having finished it called the landlord, who, being a very fat man, was a very peaceful one, and something of a wag, and had already some suspicion of his guest's want of wits, was quite convinced of it on hearing of Don Quixote's request of being dubbed a knight, and to make sport for the night he determined to fall in with his humour. He told him that in this castle of his there was no chapel in which he could watch his shield, as it had been pulled down in order to be rebuilt, but that in a case of necessity it might, he knew, be watched anywhere, and he might watch it in a courtyard of the castle, and, God willing, the requisite ceremonies might be performed so as to have him dubbed a knight, and so thoroughly dubbed that nobody could be more so.

It was arranged forthwith that he should watch his shield in a large yard at one side of the inn; so Don Quixote placed it on a trough that stood by the side of a well, and bracing his buckler on his arm he grasped his lance and began with a stately air to stand guard outside the trough. Meanwhile one of the carriers who were in the inn thought fit to water his team, and it was necessary to remove Don Quixote's shield as it lay on the trough; seeing his shield being taken away, Don Quixote raised his eyes to heaven, and fixing his thoughts, apparently, upon his lady Dulcinea, dropped his buckler and lifted his lance with both hands and with it smote a blow on the carrier to free the shield from his grasp. This done, he picked up his shield and return to his beat with the same serenity as before. Shortly after this, another, not knowing what had happened, came with the same object of giving water to his mules, and was proceeding to remove the shield in order to clear the trough, when Don Quixote, without uttering a word or imploring aid from anyone, once more dropped his buckler and once more lifted his lance, and did of the second as he had of the first.

These freaks of his guest were not much to the liking of the landlord, so he determined to cut matters short and confer upon him at once the unlucky order of knighthood before any further misadventure could occur; so, going up to him, he apologised for the rudeness which, without his knowledge, had been offered to him by these low people, who, however, had been well punished for their audacity. The castellan forthwith brought out a novel of the sort Don Quixote was fanciful of, and encouraged the new knight to continue on his adventure immediately; Don Quixote agreed, but, seemingly receiving some vision of the future, thought it best to steal a key long abandoned in one of the inn's rooms before leaving.

On returning to his humble abode, the illustrious Don Quixote, whose heart burned with the fire of unceasing chivalry, found himself arrested by a sight both peculiar and confounding - a door, stout and unyielding, stood firmly shut upon a wall he had passed a thousand times without ever noting its existence. Surely, thought he, this portal had been placed there by the machinations of some malevolent enchanter, intent on perplexing his noble mind and testing the mettle of his unshakeable resolve.

Don Quixote withdrew from his tattered belt a key - small, humble, and of no remarkable appearance, save for the fact that he had just obtained it from the inn he had recently departed. He approached the door with the reverence of a pilgrim nearing a sacred relic; lo and behold! When he turned the key within the lock, there issued forth a sound most wondrous: a low groan of iron, followed by a satisfying click that seemed to reverberate through the very marrow of the house. The door swung open with a deliberate slowness, as if the hinges themselves hesitated to reveal the mysteries hidden within; at least, this is how he would have it, for anyone watching would remark that the door opened so quickly that it was as good as instant, and certainly it was silent.

The knight, whose astonishment now bordered on rapture, crossed himself fervently. He felt that further exploration was best suited for the future, and instead sought a neighbour of his, a farm labourer, an honest man (if indeed that title can be given to him who is poor), but with very little wit in his pate. In a word, he so talked him over, and with such persuasions and promises, that the poor clown made up his mind to sally forth with him and serve him as esquire. Don Quixote, among other things, told him he ought to be ready to go with him gladly, because any moment an adventure might occur that might win an island in the winkling of an eye and leave him governor of it. On these and the like promises Sancho Panza (for so the labourer was called) left wife and children, and engaged himself as esquire to his neighbour.

Sancho rode on his ass like a patriarch, with his alforjas and bota, and longing to see himself soon governor of the island his master had promised him. Don Quixote decided upon taking the same route and road he had taken on his first journey, that over the Campo de Montiel, which he travelled with less discomfort than on the last occasion.

Having girded himself with valor that knew no bounds, the knight and his squire entered a forest of most peculiar nature. The trees stretched upward like the spires of a cathedral, their leaves whispering secrets to the wind, while the forest floor was alive with sounds both strange and familiar. Yet, scarcely had our knight ventured a few paces into this verdant labyrinth than he found himself beset by an enemy most unnatural.

From the shadows of the trees and the distant fringes of his vision emerged a host of hogs—squat, bristling creatures whose beady eyes gleamed with an unholy malice. They appeared not as ordinary swine, destined for the humble work of plowing fields or filling a peasant's larder, but as emissaries of some dark sorcery, for no sooner had Don Quixote struck one down with a jab of his lance than another sprang forth to take its place, as if conjured from the very air.

But, undeterred and unswayed by reason, he pressed on, dispatching each hog that dared cross his path. At last, as if walking in a straight line in two-dimensional space, he arrived at a clearing where the hogs' unending assault abruptly ceased to be unending, by ending. There, in the heart of the glade, stood an object both humble and enigmatic: a simple pail, its wooden sides weathered by time yet emitting a faint gleam as though imbued with some mysterious significance. With the pail secured, Don Quixote mounted his steed, the ever-faithful Rocinante, and set forth from the forest, his heart swelling with triumph. And though Sancho followed behind, shaking his head and muttering words of bewilderment, he could not help but admire the unyielding spirit of his master, whose adventures, however inexplicable, always seemed to continue with an air of undeniable grandeur.

At this point they came in sight of thirty or forty windmills that there are on that plain, and as soon as Don Quixote saw them he told his squire of his sighting of monstrous giants and his intention to engage in battle. So saying, he marched directly towards them, heedless of the cries his squire Sancho sent after him, warning him that most certainly they were windmills and not giants he was going to attack. He, however, was so positive they were giants that he neither heard the cries of Sancho, nor perceived, near as he was, what they were, but made at them.

A slight breeze at this moment sprang up, and the great sails began to move, seeing which he commended himself with all his heart to his lady Dulcinea, imploring her to support him in such a peril, with lance in rest and covered by his buckler, he charged and fell upon the first mill that stood in front of him; but as he drove his lance-point into the sail the wind whirled it round with such force that it swept him up and into its internals. Having done this, Don Quixote wondered why it was only afterwards that he was able to travel further afield, but assured himself that it was probably in accordance with some grand narrative, and perhaps the windmills would be relevant, if not even useful, later, and set off for the next village.

No sooner had Don Quixote entered the goatherd's village when he encountered the goats, and noticed immediately their uncanny resemblance to the hogs he had previously fought, in both movement and endless number; and so he strove to deal with them in the same way, marching forwards and thrusting his lance as needed until reaching a well, at which point he cast his pail onto it and, noticing the lack of a handle or winch with which to lower it, explored the nearby shed to look for one. Inside there were no mechanisms with which to manipulate the pail, only another key, not dissimilar to that which was found in the inn.

But the goatherd's village was merely a temporary resting place on the way to El Toboso, the home of Dulcinea; quite why Don Quixote found himself travelling here is unknown to all, for he certainly was in no condition to meet his lady. Instead, as though feeling the pull of destiny itself, he found a resting area locked but for the key of which he once again found himself in possession. Being far less astonished now that this remarkable coincidence had become a regular occurrence, he pilfered a stool and made a note that there was a second he might take later after freeing his hands of the first. Sancho watched the knight try to climb his trusty horse Rocinante whilst holding the stool, and thought it best to simply ride alongside him wordlessly, lest the squire be dragged into whatever delusions up of which his master might be dreaming.

Don Quixote asserted to himself that keys and doors by chance find themselves in matching pairs around him, and in doing so, logically deduced that the door in his home must hold secrets meant for his continued development as a knight. Thoroughly exploring this area, using the stool he had taken with him to ascend where a staircase should be, but inexplicably isn't, he found two more novels telling tales of knights, and again finds himself bewildered and confused; how were novels going to help him, and if they were, what would such a thing say about the purpose of his quest? He thought back to the line of logic that had led him here: the room must be important because he had found the key to it by a chance exploration of the inn he had stayed at; and the stool must be important because he had found the key to the room they were in by a chance exploration of the shed next to the pail. The pail! He needed a winch to lower the pail, and he could reach the winch in the windmill by standing on the stool, important by itself but made moreso by the mere fact that it was now located in the important room.

Winch in hand, Don Quixote fought through goats to attach it to the well and lower the pail to get water, fought through more goats to get back to his trusty horse Rocinante, fought through hogs to water a plant, and fought through more hogs, flower in hand, to get back to his ever-faithful steed. This, in the story of another adventurer, might be a passage worthy of more details, but such skirmishes had become routine to our knight and only served to slow down his progress.

Battle-hardened and florally furnished, now is the time, Don Quixote thought, now he should meet his fair lady, Dulcinea del Toboso; surely she will be impressed with his victories against feral beasts, and will accept his gift of flower and his undying loyalty. I hasten to mention at this point that he had never seen Dulcinea until now, much less spoken to her, and certainly had no idea of her fondness for flowers, or, as he was about to discover, or at least he would have were he not imagining fanciful adventures, her complete indifference to them. In his haste to present his gift to her, he knocked down a bell; fancying this as gift in kind from his lady, he pondered what ought he to do with it. It makes a noise when it is shaken, he thought, and keys also make a noise when they are shaken, at least when they are in multitude, therefore this bell must be a key. And so, he did what he had done after finding every key he'd found so far: he mounted his horse, rode to a random place, and inserted the key in the first locked door he came across.

The castle portcullis opened immediately upon Don Quixote installing the bell. Of course, this was exactly as every key had functioned thus far, and so he unthinkingly walked in and explored the fort. When he found another novel and another key, it was clear that he should repeat his previous steps, leading to his unlocking of the inn backroom door and finding another novel. Briefly disappointed and confused, he again thought back to the line of logic that had led him here: the castle must be important because his lady Dulcinea had led him there; and he remembered the second stool that had, as of yet, gone unused. Why would fate present him with two stools if he only needed one? With no need to check the feasibility or sensibility of such actions, he found himself dropping a stool in the castle and returning to the windmill to collect that which he had earlier abandoned.

Naturally, his actions once again led him to find another novel and another key. Don Quixote was procedural at his point: Rocinante, random place, first locked door he found. Some may find themselves questioning their reality when, deep inside a castle many miles away, they somehow find the key to their own shed lying there; but Don Quixote was merely doing what he had already done, guided by the hand of fate. In his shed there were no novels, no keys, and no stools; only the blacksmith's hammer. Why was the blacksmith's hammer in his shed? It didn't matter, for the next destination was spelled out for him.

The blacksmith was surprised to see his hammer returned to him; it had escaped his inventory many years ago, and he'd long ago had it replaced. But he was grateful to have it regardless, and went into the backroom to find an unused and unsellable item in exchange. Don Quixote, now finding an old grappling hook in his possession, proceeded to navigate his way to the nearest wall to test its effectiveness, and climbed it with ease. There he found another novel, but this time when he picked it up it, along with the other six novels he'd found, started glowing and letting out a loud, harsh demonic screech. This, for the first time in a while, truly startled him, and in a fit of sanity decided that books should probably not be screaming, and that to restore order they should be destroyed.

The journey home was tense. Rocinante sensed his unease and rode quickly. Sancho said nothing. Don Quixote had to act fast, for the parchment was likely tainting him with evil every moment he still held it. Arriving home, he burst through the entrance, charged towards the furnace, and cast the novels into the flames, each book screaming as it burned in the fire. Finally rid of them, he decided that it was enough excitement for him, and he took off his armour and relaxed without any future adventures.

This transcription of the tales of The Ingenious Gentleman Don Quixote of La Mancha could not have been accomplished without the prior work of Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra and the English translation thereof of John Ormsby, whose words I have used under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License, with apologies to any perceived ruinment of the original texts. Zosya's contributions should not be diminished, for their literary archeology permitted the telling of this variant of these stories, and in a most unique and entertaining form too; in addition, Sir Clive Sinclair should be recognised, as the architect of the interpreter used. I shall conclude my writing today with regards to the Speedtrum Specrunning community, who continue to maintain and promote these ancient devices.