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Congratulations DerKaiser! Thumbs up
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comagoosie said:
Congratulations DerKaiser! Thumbs up
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It's definitely a pleasure to finally have DerKaiser with us ! :D
 
Just a status report: We'll be having another update tonight and we'll also be announcing by late tonight who we'll be interviewing so please look out for that !

Upcoming week we do hope to induct our last candidate from last month's pool and , two updates as usual next week , and hopefully a bonus by VILenin on Tuesday as well ! Please look forward to that !

Also , if anyone would like to get their INSTRUMENTALITY articles in to me early or would like to write one for the first time please contact me and I'd be more than happy to help out :D
 
canonized said:
Also , if anyone would like to get their INSTRUMENTALITY articles in to me early or would like to write one for the first time please contact me and I'd be more than happy to help out :D

Okay...sigh...I'll see if I can come up with something. I don't know what yet. Slave driver. I might have to start singing "Where there's a whip, there's a Way" here pretty soon. :p
 
grayghost said:
Okay...sigh...I'll see if I can come up with something. I don't know what yet. Slave driver. I might have to start singing "Where there's a whip, there's a Way" here pretty soon. :p

Haha looking forward to it , verily !
 
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Chapter XCI: The Living​

28 March 1610

Credo in unum Deum,” the chanting began.

Although most of the soldiers and inhabitants of the Third Holiest City in Islam had evacuated, most of the Latin clergy of the churches around Jerusalem had refused to leave. Jerusalem-- Al-Quds--was now a ghost town. If it weren’t for the thousands of Persian and Turkish soldiers that roamed her streets, she would be just another deserted desert town.

Qui propter nos hómines et propter nostram salútem descéndit de cælis,” the chant, by and by, went on.

Jafar could hear the singing even as he passed by on the road inspecting his garrison defiling through the streets. He had promised freedom of worship for those who stayed-- but it was something they had barely needed to ask of him. Anything to get the city, he thought to himself. Conversions can come later when the Spanish threat was completely pushed out. He did, however, personally hold a bit of respect-- like he did for the Dutch General-- for the rigorous piety of the believers that stayed-- those that were still alive.

Et íterum ventúrus est cum glória, iudicáre vivos et mórtuos,” was another part of the chant he heard. He had learned some of the tongue they used in their worship for the sake of his continued acumen. For Jafar, he was more in tuned with the speech of the westerners than his Arab speaking counter-parts, even. But for this reason, he enjoyed Greek the most. However, he could still discern pieces of Latin here and there.

“He will come again in glory to judge the living and the dead,” he translated the last line he heard to himself. “The Living and The Dead,” he repeated more inwardly. It was not an unfamiliar idea to him-- Allah too would judge all at the End. Even his heathen ancestors believed that Ahura Mazda would sit in judgment at the End. But what did the Latins’ chanting mean to him? Al-Quds was now back in Muslim hands as well as Makkah and Medina.

In many respects, he had always lived a life of judgment. When he used to have what that Spaniard spy stole from him, he would sit in judgment of different politicians and agents, judging them with the power of the Aslaheye Talaee-- The Golden Gun. He wished that so many people did not think him ruthless. Ever since he ambushed the Russian patrol along Persia’s northern border that was holding the Artifact, he had always used the weapon against the most corrupt of politicians. Indeed, he thought to himself raising his chin higher as if daring and challenging the Christian spires with his tall stature, he always used the weapon for good intentions. He rid Bagdad of its scum and ruled it with a benevolent yet firm grip.

Nonetheless, the chanting that was slowly fading behind him as he trotted along with his entourage only seemed to crescendo higher in the ear of his mind. The Christians will never give up until they are completely defeated, he thought to himself. This was why he must travel to Alexandria himself. The Caliphate must be restored from Damascus to Cordoba!

---​

Madeleine closed her eyes and then re-opened them only a moment later. Trying to decipher all of her uncle’s notes was a tiring occupation but a necessary one. She looked downward toward the strewn paper trail that she left on top of a simple mat that she placed over the rude ground below. She fanned herself incessantly in silent frustration over the terrible heat and humidity. It had almost become unbearable and the soft fabrics of her gear clung to her skin unsympathetically.

Morning had just come around in the campsite but Madeleine was already up earlier than the sun. She had used the fading blue haze of the pre-dawn as light enough to muddle through the materials her uncle left her to guide them. She knew she should not be straining her eyes that way, but her youth gave her the illusion of temporary invulnerability.

Perhaps because Renault knew who he was writing the instructions for, many parts of the legion of papers entrusted to Madeleine were left vague or mysterious. They were meant for Madeleine’s sharp mind to fill in the gaps. It was no easy task, however. She was attempting to decipher code and symbolism created by the one who taught her everything she knew about such things and she was spurred on by a strange drive that deprived her of sleep. Even her youth was straining against the long hours: her face was not as beautiful as yesterday.

Riku was the only person who had awakened earlier than Madeleine. The sturdy young Finn seemed to be strangely energized in the warm climate which was something even he did not expect. Being used to the Finnish cold, he had expected to be more lethargic in the sticky climate of the New World. Perhaps he was just adept at living in any kind of forested area. Ironically, he always noticed that he slept the most in cities.

That new day, he had decided that he would relieve the morning watch a bit earlier and allow them to freshen themselves up and ready breakfast. A simple breeze rewarded his good deed and brought him tidings of the approaching sun. As he ladled some water to his mouth, he caught some movement first with his hearing and then seeing it plainly in the direction of one of the tents-- José’s tent.

At first it struck him as curious-- what in the world was José doing up this early? He turned his head back to take his second sip when another disturbance from the same direction robbed his attention. José was exiting his tent and stood for a moment in the pre-dawn aquatic light looking around as if he was searching for an exit to quickly spring away to. When José’s eyes finally met Riku’s, the Finn already began walking towards him calmly.

Perhaps Riku startled the young man, but he saw José visibly jump when their views connected. José was frozen as Riku came up to him. “Are you alright? You look like you‘ve seen an apparition” Riku asked him with a laugh to try and diffuse the anxiety present in José’s features.

“No!” José was quick to respond, “No ghosts; no such things!” was the frantic response. Despite the boy’s unstable mutterings, José could not dislodge his eyes from Riku; they were wide enough that Riku felt he could reach out with his hand and one of the eyeballs would leap into his palm in fright. “I…” the boy continued to say, “just had a bad dream…”

Riku nodded slowly at first but beamed a smile onto José fraternally. “We probably should not have talked so much about those old stories the other day,” Riku offered.

José was quick to accept that and laughed along while massaging his own shoulder with a casual hand. “Yes, I suppose so,” José added.

As the rosy fingers of the dawn began rising above the horizon, Riku adjusted his weight and turned towards the treeline and easing the lock he had on José’s stare. “I was meaning to ask you some more about what you’ve heard about the local stories here. They’re quite fascinating--”

“Just stories,” José answered once more with a swift tongue. It did not bring Riku’s gaze back; the Finn hid his surprise at the sudden change of José’s demeanor. “I wouldn’t put anything to them, really,” José added as if what he said was too vague.

Riku nodded quietly as he turned back to José. “I suppose we have more important things to be thinking about anyway,” he conceded though he scanned José’s features stealthily. José was quick to nod and used it as a cue to retreat back into his tent.

The engendering of the morning light finally stirred Raul into action as well. He had taken one of the first watches of the night so he had the longest out of any of them as far as continuous rest went. When he opened his eyes within his tent, he could watch the strange dark splotches on the fabric of his enclosure blush at the touch of the first sunbeams making their way across their clearing. It had not been the first time he noticed the pattern of his tent; they had been traveling for days now. Indeed, it was just another reminder that he was on the move once more.

He wanted to say something to the tentwork. He wanted to say how unfamiliar it was-- or at least how it should be unfamiliar. Nonetheless, he felt as if his life lately had always been about travel. He rolled over on the rough sheets that separated his stiff body from the ground and dirt underneath. On his side, he could see the miniature horizon that held the side of the tent close to the floor of the jungle. The ocean of dark green grass still only slightly illuminated by the incoming day was like some familiar horizon.

Vertigo attempted to step in, but Raul closed his eyes fast. No-- he immediately recalled-- that wouldn’t work. He needed to reopen his eyes and look at something stable-- a far off horizon; something greater than the unstable vision that he saw in front of him that morning. He braved a push to sit up and pressed aside the flaps to his tent letting in the treeline in the distance and the yellow disc ascending the green tops. Immediately, he felt better and his breath slowed enough for him to rest his chin on his bent knees.

He could already see Riku awake and, deciding not to waste his consciousness, Raul stepped out of his tent as well. Raul felt the compulsion to yawn, but he suppressed it hoping to gain an advantage over the already receding imbalance. He took a few steps towards where the fire was cooly whispering orange signals into the air. Both of his hands found their way up his boyish frame and grabbed hold of his shoulders hoping to jump start the warming process of his entire body.

As he extended his arms to the dying flames, a voice from his side surprised him like an icicle catching his skin. “Raul!” a young girl’s voice called out in a hiss that was only a hiss in name; if much of the camp was still sleeping, Madeleine de Fronsac had just crowed them all awake.

Raul was too tired to even bother wording a response. Instead, he forced a sigh between his tongue and the ceiling of his mouth and walked towards Madeleine’s tent. “What?” was his terse question.

“Stop complaining and help me with these charts,” Madeleine ordered in her high pitched French accented Spanish. The hours of sleeplessness were apparent in the edge of her voice.

“Get Riku to--”

“He’s busy fixing up camp; you didn’t look like you were doing anything,” she said with a sour face, “get in here.” Raul groaned and acquiesced passing into Madeleine’s tent.

Willem Van Axel woke up to Madeleine’s crowing with a bit of a laugh. Perhaps it was because as soon as he heard the noise of her hiss, he had instinctively reached for his rapier before realizing that it was the young lady being her usual self. Being her usual self-- now there was a concept that had a paradox written all over it. In Willem’s mind, Madeleine de Fronsac is filled with apparent contradictions: a prissy yet practical girl from California; rich yet reliable; beautiful yet brave. Willem though his soldier mind might actually make poetry some day. It was then that he chuckled again to himself and started to get up.

As he stepped into the morning air, he gave a quick nod to Riku who was making his rounds, checking the horses and securing the packs. They were almost to their destination-- an outpost he was told-- at the deep heart of the forest. The outpost was the site of a small self-sufficient village of hardy frontier folk, apparently, and that was where a small fort was built with a garrison large enough to hold off small armies.

“Jungle Fighter Weapons School,” the colonel had written to the traveling group in advance. “We get veterans all the time and bring them in here to guard the underground Aztec complex while formally being under orders to train in jungle warfare,” the letter continued, “We constantly rotate guards so that we can store up a veteran corps of jungle fighters in the regular army.” It was only the Silent Room that would ever think of hiding the Timepiece in a complex disguised as a tactical training school, Willem thought; how clever.

---​

“You again,” Colonel Hector grunted as he rose from his seat just as his guest was taking his in the other side of the small headquarters room.

“Yes,” the other man mocked a cordial bow in return, “It’s good to see you again Colonel Hector. How did my last shipment fare?”

Colonel Hector looked at his guest with a kind of dejected resignation masked behind the hardened exterior of rugged and tanned skin. Wiry grey tendrils protruded form his chin like ebony lightning strikes ready to rend any tree apart just by their touch. His uniform was faded and the cuirass that hung on his wall had enough dents in it to hold a week’s supply of water in its curves.

The commanding officer of the Fighter Weapons School, however, had a blankness to his stare that one might have said he was blind if they were standing too far from him. He was not physically blind, however… something else gave the colour of his irises a ghostly hue. “When can we expect the next shipment?” Colonel Hector asked his guest.

“Now, now, Colonel,” the guest retorted while seeming to play with a silvery metallic box in his hand. At first, the Colonel had thought the apparatus that his guest had used was some kind of miniature lamp-- it lit up whenever it was handled. However, he soon realized that his guest used it more to ignite his various smoking instruments. It was at this time that his guest did the same ritual of lighting some wrapped tobacco. “Opium is a very hard commodity to get from our friends in Asia… and then our processing facilities here in Mexico take a very long time to--”

“I don’t want excuses, Señor Gehirn; I want to know when the next shipment will come!”

There was an edge to the Colonel’s voice that pleased Herr Gehirn. Perhaps it was the sudden violent rush of the speech that excited him, but probably more so it was the fact that Herr Gehirn had effectively taken over the school without a single bullet being wasted. “The next shipment will arrive in two weeks,” the German said, “then you will once more feel… ‘heroic.’” There was a condescending chuckle at the end of his statement.

“Two weeks is too long,” the Colonel protested, but there was a weakness, a crack in his voice as he spoke further. “Is there… any way we can accelerate the schedule?”

Herr Gehirn grinned happily. “As you know, there is a delegation from the Peninsula coming this way.”

“Yes, what about them?” the Colonel grunted as he found a seat for himself within his headquarters’ office.

“Until recently we did not know to which area of Mexico where they were going-- and can you guess my delight when I found out they were heading here to the School? I want you to… be ready for their arrival…” Herr Gehirn gave one of those looks that the Colonel quite fully understood. It was not often that the German would give them assignments in return for the substance; however this was a Peninsular delegation. Worry was wrapped all over the Colonel’s face.

“At first you just wanted the leftover Aztec gold in the underground temples, but now you want us to kill our own delegates? What if--”

“Trust me,” Herr Gehirn soothed as he inhaled from the wrapped tobacco, “I did not come here unprepared. You‘ll get your heroisch, I get my prize, and the Silent Room back home will remain just that… silent. ”

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Interlude​

It was not that Tom was tired although that was there as well. Perhaps it was all those days of moaning and screaming in his sleep that had robbed him of all his words for now. Only his expressions and movements of his arms could communicate to the attentive Rodrigo what it was that he was trying to say. As if in deference to his hushed demeanor, Rodrigo was similarly silent most of the time.

“The doctors said that most of the treatment has worked… you’ll be back to normal in no time…” Rodrigo said to him reassuringly. Tom could only give him exploring eyes in return. There was a small bit of confusion as if it was not yet making sense to him.

Rodrigo had felt that keeping the explanations vague would help Tom more rather than telling him everything at once, but he also attempted to hide the fact that a little bit of his chest ached at the prospect of having to tell him all that had happened to him-- all thanks to Rodrigo’s oversight.

Tom spent most of his time looking here and there as if he was only enjoying this most lucid and most recent of his hallucinations; and the most pleasant most likely. He brought a curious hand for a moment to his face and he could still feel something rough on his cheek rub against his fingers. His eyes searched Rodrigo for an answer as if they were asking, “What is this?”

“You were… cut there,” Rodrigo answered reading those irises, “don’t worry… the doctors say it won’t scar--”

Rodrigo was interrupted by a slowly approaching Lara. Her figure quietly shifted into the room and her smile-- both genuine and anxious-- greeted the resting patient. “Lara…” Tom managed to whisper out—one of his first few sounds since he awoke a few hours earlier that morning.

Lara found a spot next to Rodrigo and reached out to wrap her warm hands around the coldness in Tom’s fingers. If her hands were not enough to bring heat back to Tom’s palm, her smile was sufficient.

“How is Taguchi?” Rodrigo whispered to the young lady.

“He’ll be fine,” Lara replied without taking her eyes off of Tom’s slowly brightening face. “The blow wasn’t fatal or even too dangerous so long as they stopped the blood--” Lara did not finish her words as she could see Tom’s face growing darker at each mention of such violence. Relenting, she retrieved her smile and attempted to reverse the lugubrious look in Tom’s expression.

Rodrigo similarly watched Tom’s face recover from the words, but he could not help to think to himself about this new challenge. When would they be finally be able to rest? The Keys were now back in the hands of the enemy-- but… but at least now Tom was back with them and that was progress.

Chapter CXII: Progress (coming soon)
 
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Credo in unum Deum, Patrem omnipotentem, factorem Caeli et terrae, visibilium omnium et invisibilium. Et in unum Dominum Iesum Christum, Filium Dei unigenitum, qui ex Patre natum ante omnia saecula. Deum de Deo, lumen de lumine, Deum verum de Deo vero, genitum, non factum, consubstantialem Patri: per quem omnia facta sunt.

The Caliphate must be restored from Damascus to Cordoba!

You, filthy heathen, will soon be praying in the true faith. Let's hope that the Lord may be merciful with your sinful flesh.

Expecto resurrectionem mortuorum et vitam venturi saeculi. Amen

I feel quite religious today, dunno why... beware, Canonized, beware...

Confíteor Deo omnipoténti et vobis frater, quia peccávi nimis cogitatióne, verbo et ópere; mea culpa, mea culpa, mea máxima culpa. Ideo precor, vos, fratres, oráre pro me ad Dóminum, Deum nostrum. Amen.

Scaring, isn't it? That's my other side, not so light.

Don't worry, I'll give some pizzas to Peti and I'll strike back.

I love this update.
 
Nice update. The I guess they use of opium is the magic trick the Aztecs pulled of?
 
Or maybe it's just what the Germans pulled off ;)

Interesting update, I wonder how our band of heroes will survive the trap, and how much that will help them.

And as to Jafar: he's gonna need some very good luck to get his wish. :)
 
Hmm new thought, what if the germans, who apperantly have time travel mechanics, financed the Great War with Aztec gold?
 
Kurt_Steiner: Amen ! We shall see how far the stretch of the eastern military might can spread . Especially with General Grubby returning back to Madrid ...

comagoosie: thank you :D . Makkah = Mecca , yes . But not so much nowadays as that's how Jafar would call it in his tongue .

Grubnessul: A very good guess , actually . But no , the older brother was not drugged XD .

Avernite: Certainly the german antagonists are very clever . Attacking at several key points at once .

Grubnessul: That is another interesting assumption , but unfortunately in one of the previous chapters it was stated that the usage of the Timepiece was usually a 'one way trip' according to one of the German officers .
 
Also would like to give you all a heads up on who will be our interviewee tomorrow ! It'll be our newest friend TreizeV so please tune in tomorrow night for the interview ! For now , let's keep the comments rolling on the previous chapter XD - shameless comment-mongering ! -
 
comagoosie said:
Looking forward to the interview.

btw, I like the quote in you sig ;)

Haha , thank you XD . I thought I'd add a preview-esque quote for each chapter :D
 
Hmm the Muslim rebellion is really gathering speed!
 
canonized said:
Haha , thank you XD . I thought I'd add a preview-esque quote for each chapter :D

So, what's next? Commercials? :p
 
English Patriot: Yes , largest rebellion so far !

Murmurandus: Haha , I wish !! wouldn't that be cool to make a youtube commercial for Timelines ? :D :D
 
Murmurandus said:
So, what's next? Commercials? :p

I smell a special!
 
English Patriot said:
I smell a special!

ROFL ROFL . Maybe ! Specials are fun !