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ColossusCrusher said:
Hot Fuzz = God of Comedy Movies.

Haha yes , it's quite good . I'm still trying to figure out any way to reference it XD .
 
Hi everyone, I wanted to belatedly thank everyone for the comments. Been busy with work again, which is why there was no update yesterday, but I do have a chapter for next week. I won't hijack canonized's thread with specific feedback but I did want to quickly address the question raised by ForzaA in case anyone else was curious.

Father Molina's death could not be passed off as a suicide for two reasons. One, the difficulty in obtaining firearms makes it unlikely that a he could've gotten one. Two, and more importantly, Father Molina was a devout Catholic priest in good standing with the Church and the community. Nobody would've believed he committed suicide.

Still trying to catch up, Armi. I'll get there one day! :rolleyes:
 
Have a collapsing spire crush a person's head into his neck...or have garden shears torn into a person's throat...possibilities abound...
 
I want a sea mine... :D
 
VILenin: Oh don't feel bad , old bean ! I'm just very honoured you do this for us in general ! We're all so happy that you do ! Also , feel free to always answer any comments or start any discussions ! There's no such thing as hijacking so long as we're in the Timelines universe XD . As for Father Molina , I can't help but imagine Alfred Molina playing his part haha .

ColossusCrusher: haha ; could have done without those honestly . Story was still great .

Throne: ROFL . Thank you I suppose XD .

ColossusCrusher: Now there's an idea I can put in the story XD .

UPDATE IS NOW !
 
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Chapter XC: The Dead​

26 March 1610

“General, the defenses have been re-manned and the fleet’s ready to set sail back to sea,” the sand and soot covered lieutenant reported to his commanding officer while wiping some blood-mixed sweat off of his eyebrow although as much as he tried to smudge it away, it only continued to bleed. In the fury of the most recent battle against the Egyptian rebels around Alexandria, Lieutenant Benitez could feel no pain from his cut brow—the source of the obscurity against his eye.

“And the Cross?” General Schenkhuizen—easily just as dirty—inquired as he ascended the scaffold to look beyond the wall line of Alexandria to the fields of the Delta.

“Safely with the fleet along with the dead,” was the grim reply. Aside from placing the valuable prize stolen from the earlier Crusaders onto the fleet, the open rebellion everywhere in the countryside had meant that there was no place to bury the thousands of makeshift coffins that conveyed those killed in Jerusalem—part of the deal for the surrender of the city was to be able to leave with the honoured dead un-harassed—and the newly killed in the recent skirmishes with Moslem rebels. With the fleet unloading tens of thousands of ready soldiers as well as provisions, there was some room left to load the dead to return to the Peninsula.

General Schenkhuizen breathed unevenly as he placed a hand against the side of his gut as if the very positioning of his palm against the metallic plate cuirass would convey some osmotic comfort. His grimace attracted the attention of his lieutenant but it was not new to the other man. He had already seen the general worse than this inside the tent of that perfidious Jafar. Nonetheless, Lieutenant Benitez could not help but stare at the veteran general in shared discomfort.

“What do the advanced scouts say?” he asked with a grunt. A small waft of smoke passed them by eliciting a cough from both before the Lieutenant could answer.

“At least Fifty thousand are marching our way—probably more through the Sinai,” Benitez replied. “With the new men from the mainland, we have forty thousand on the field.”

“Much better odds,” the General grinned despite himself, “though I’m sure more will flood in behind whatever is being sent at us… Jafar doesn’t want to starve his men on the march until they get here so he’s splitting them up.”

“He knows we can’t leave the city just yet to meet his incoming army,” Benitez correctly pointed out, “they’ll arrive at the Delta and probably set another corps against us from Cairo.”

“How long until the fleet can return with more reinforcements?”

“Another four months if not more, sir,” Benitez had to find the notes in his pocket. “They’re directing many of the men to the Austrian border to battle the Turks or in Granada and North Africa.”

“The men in the room must be going crazy…”

“The rebellion in England is also heating up and—” Benitez read the paper over again before looking up to see General Schenkhuizen. For a second, Benitez betrayed the shock in his eyes and the General saw it plainly.

“What is it, Benitez?” General Schenkhuizen asked attempting to diffuse his friend with a cordial smirk—they were used to bad news after all. The more the question hung in the air, however, the more the General understood that this was no simple reverse.

“The Austrian Diet and the Archduke have voted to seek unification with Spain in face of the Ottoman threat that has now surfaced on their border,” Benitez reported slowly without losing eye contact. He was trying to sound as undisturbed as possible.

“Well this is good news then, Benitez! What’s got you so worried!” the General tried to laugh at the same time but his chest would only give him a sharp pain every time he tried. Benitez handed the rest of the dispatch from the fleet over to the superior officer for him to read. General Schenkhuizen took it quietly and scanned with his eyes as quickly as he could.

“It’s…” Benitez tried to say, “the part after that, sir.” Benitez watched the eyes of his commander collapse into a squint as General Schenkhuizen gripped at the paper. “I don’t understand, sir,” Benitez said out loud after he knew the General had read the last portion.

“I don’t understand either…” General Schenkhuizen admitted.

“The Cardinal’s Secretary signed it… not the Cardinal himself…” Benitez noted while catching the General’s swift glance at him. Both knew something was strange about all this.

“It still has the Cardinal’s seal…” General Schenkhuizen said more to himself than to Benitez.

“Will you answer it?” Both the General and Benitez began moving away from the parapet towards one of the holds along the ring of Alexandria. “The men need you here… it would be premature to go back now—”

General Schenkhuizen re-read the words in his mind: “General Schenkhuizen: Return to Madrid immediately. Urgent. Signed, Alvaro de Guzman.” He worked to hide his face as he walked. At first the note made very little sense to him, but soon it began to dawn on him that such a call to return could only mean one thing. “We’re going to get them back…” the General whispered to himself. It had been years but as he bore his eyes on the piece of paper, he could still discern what Antonio and Isabella and Sweet and the Panzerkardinal looked like—all of their faces seemed to take possession of the outlines of the letters written in dark ink.

“Sir?” Benitez said from behind him.

General Schenkhuizen stopped and turned around swiftly enough to nearly have Benitez crash into him. “Bring me the colonels,” he said with a quivering voice. “I’m heading back to Madrid.”

---​

27 March 1610

“I’m sorry to have had to ask you to do this, Alvaro,” the voice clicked. The German accented Spanish was still something Alvaro had to get used to especially when it came from the shadows.

“It’s alright—I know what these people have done to my father,” Alvaro replied as he looked in a different direction from the voice apparently washing his hands in a basin. The one talking to him had that strange quality of sighing when he spoke as if something deathly was whistling through those teeth.

“Now that we’ve properly given account to why all of them that you lured into the Room are dead or captured, we can move forward with the next part of our scenario,” was the reminder.

“General Schenkhuizen should be arriving in the next few months,” Alvaro replied allowing some of the basin water to pool in his palms. The reflection that met him seemed too old—too jaded. There was a disturbance that he saw that was greater than the mere ripple of the water in his hand. “Our agents will also soon retrieve the Timepiece from the Americas.”

“You’ve done well, Alvaro,” the voice tapped once more in the darkness as if the ceiling and walls contorted into a funnel so that words could slowly spill into Alvaro’s ear from the shadow behind him. “I’m impressed that you were able to use the Silent Room the way you did. I will not forget your service now that we have it in our complete control. I shall leave you, then, to move forward…”

Alvaro let the water cascade out of his hands. “Jawohl.”

---​

Madeleine felt a little bit awkward in the leather attire that she had been wearing around. The tight cured hides made sure that the softer portions of her clothing were kept secure against her body. It was not that she was unused to more rugged attire—in fact it was a point of pride that she could be as independent and rugged as other Californians, and she displayed it whenever she could. It’s certainly true that she would much rather be in the finest dress that the Peninsula was making at the time—she definitely understood the quality of her good looks whenever she looked in the mirror at the way the fine dress accentuated her blonde hair—her peachy skin. No, it was the oppressive heat of the jungle that assaulted her. It even brought a film of sweat to the gentle curvature of her skin. She glistened like a polished ice sculpture melting in the sun.

Perhaps it was also her constant worry about her uncle back in Veracruz. She had taken the necessary precautions: they had moved Renault to a more secret location in the acting constable’s house and posted the crew of their vessel as guards along with the captain. Secrecy and security should be providing Madeleine with some peace of mind, but she could not help but think back to her recovering uncle.

He was very insistent on them leaving immediately as well. “The more you wait here for me…” had said to her but could not be bothered with saying much more. The poison was still working inside of him and although the antidote was showing signs of more progress, Renault had to strain to stay conscious and let out every word. It was as if each syllable was a chained ghost escaping from between his teeth. Madeleine understood the imperative, however. They had to move forward if they were to complete the mission and staying behind would only help their enemies. She had to risk moving forward.

The trees provided some shade from above as they walked along the paths. The sketch on the papers she had provided their only guidance and she led the pack of uneasy horses and men with the vigilant Willem only a step behind her on her right. On her left was the half German boy that insisted on coming along. “He knows the jungle as well as I do,” Arturo had vouched for José, “and between us there isn’t anything about where we’re going that will be a mystery.”

Mystery was the proper word for it: along the way, as was correct to her uncle’s scribbles, were markers that showed the troupe that they were in the proper direction. The markers chilled Madeleine at first. It was not that the sculpture of the ancients of that civilization were necessarily crude—naturally they were not as refined as the baroque sculptures she was used to—but they had a kind of latent power that seemed to emanate from their dominating, monolithic presence.

tezstatue.jpg

“These are statues of Tezcatlipoca,” Arturo informed Madeleine whenever they would pass one of the brush-shrouded figures. “He is the god of the North.”

Madeleine checked her notes and counted down the various statues that they had seen and passed. Appropriate, she thought to herself, as they were going in a southerly route. The statues did give her an unkind feeling inside of her gut whenever she saw them, however. Unlike the more docile and naturalistic cultural remnants of the tribes in her home viceroyalty, these statues were as dark as obsidian and the mist surrounding them were like smoky screens to their corpulent and uninviting faces. Whenever they passed them, she did not bother looking back to see their faces a second time. In her mind, she recited the verse: vade retro me, satana.

Madeleine led her horse by the reins through the bumpy jungle path. They only used the animals in the open and clearer areas or to carry their supplies; for the deep jungle, it was better to lead them. In the dark wooded area in the middle of the journey, it was easy to get lost or be scared off by beasts—everyone had to keep their animal tightly restrained.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been this far south,” José commented out loud. It seemed that most of the others were accustomed to traveling in silence, but José could not help but break the slow buzz of the leaves and insects with his observations. There was something greater to his anxiety however… “Everyone in the city always told us to stay away from here. Even my father—the man that he is—wouldn’t go this far into the jungle.”

“Only the soldiers supplying the outpost where we’re going to travel this route,” Willem said over his shoulder.

“Still,” and here, José stole a glance back to where Arturo was walking as if wondering if he was being watched by him, “I heard it was not safe to go here… If the animals don’t get you, the spirits of the forest will.”

“Don’t be silly,” he immediately heard Arturo laughed from behind, “there’s no such things here… just old Indian folk tales—” José looked back to catch a glimpse of the one who spoke though Arturo seemed to quiet himself as soon as he caught José’s stare like being suddenly aware of a trap.

“What is this place anyway?” Madeleine asked from the front.

“There used to be an Aztec village here,” José responded quickly as if anticipating Arturo to dismiss the history of the place as unimportant. “Two Spaniard brothers wandered into it and were captured…”

“I’ve heard this story,” Riku chimed in from near the middle of the train, “some of the townspeople told me about it when I gathered the horses. They all swear it’s true.” Riku recounted the tale briefly for all of them—the Aztec Elder and his powers of persuasion; the bloodied rock and the dead brother. “Everyone at the city is familiar with it… apparently the soldier who survived even has descendents to this day.”

“That’s not all,” José added as if hoping the more he could tell the adventurers the safer he’d feel, “Arturo here is a matrilineal descendant of the Elder.”

Eyes turned to Arturo although the pace of their walk did not slow. Arturo seemed to shy away and as José took a glance towards him, he suddenly felt ashamed.

---​

The jungle night air was more refreshing than the humid day heat, but it still retained a kind of stuffiness that was hard to extinguish especially in the breathless wind. They had struck three campfires and set up camp for the night with makeshift tents to keep out the insects. José had waited until most everyone except for the night watch was asleep before he stepped out of his tent.

José looked around at the clearing where they chose to spend the night. It was almost regular—almost a circle as if every now and then a tree was jutting towards its center like the beginnings of a spoke. José figured out which one of the tents was Arturo’s—ever since that afternoon with the talk of the destroyed village in that forest, he had felt a weight on him that stuck with him the rest of the day. “I shouldn’t have said anything,” he rehearsed to himself as he approached the tent. “I just wanted to apologize…” he tried to re-assure himself before finally standing in front of Arturo’s enclosure. “Arturo?”

There was no response from within. That was strange, José thought. He called out Arturo’s name again but was requited with nothing. He decided to take a look inside of the tent. The campfire light barely illuminated the interior but his eyes were able to discern an object sitting in the middle of the tent with fresh dirt trailing from the opening where he stood as if it was recently dragged within.

It was a stone, with a tapered top and a fat bottom except it had a strange marking at the top of its egg-like structure. A darkened spot adorned the crown like a birthmark and as José entered Arturo’s tent, he reached out to touch it. It was only when his hand came closer did he realize that the mark on the rock was in the shape similar to his hand like some messy imprint left behind by some kind of dye—some dried liquid! His eyes widened and he circled it and pressed his hand to it morbidly as if attempting to ascertain its mystery—the enigma of its power that the Elder supposedly gave to it to compel brother to kill brother. When he came upon to the other side, he could barely breathe at what he now saw on the stone’s surface and it was then that Arturo slipped a hand over José’s mouth.

“You must keep this secret…” the young man hissed from behind him.

interlude2.gif


Interlude​

“And that’s the secret of the trick box, Thomas,” Tom remembered his father telling him. “You have to put the pieces on top of each other… like a three dimensional puzzle,” the memory of his father continued to tell him.

Thomas Royce could hear the memory speak to him like a hazy afternoon glare; a whitewashed picture; a meandering thought ready to merge once more into the white noise behind it. There was still a bit of darkness in the corner of his mind’s eye. Like a spot dressed in black and covered in makeup with the face of a woman but with the name of a man lying her way into a spiral of deceit hoping to tug his view from more pleasant memories.

“There’s a trick to everything, Thomas,” his father’s memory continued to explain to him in some kind of ethereal and ivory classroom; “there are no such things as spiritualists or magic. We all have to use our heads.” His father tapped his finger against Tom’s forehead gently. However, it felt more real and intimate than that as if, in each tap, his father was imparting some synapse of wisdom into his brain. The whiteness of that apparition in his head faded once more and in its dissolution it took the darkness from the corner of his eye with it.

As Thomas Royce opened his eyelids after so many days, he could see the bright light of the ceiling above him. The dark spot at the far reaches of his sight turned into the warm brown of Rodrigo’s tanned skin. The boy to his left greeted him: “Welcome back to the land of the living, Tom.”

Chapter XCI: The Living (coming soon)
 
Madeleine... leather attire... no words, really...

:D
 
Murmurandus said:
Pictures however... ;)
QFT :p

Question is, if Tom's father was right, what are the timepieces than?
 
The Living, eh? That's a titillating title.
 
JimboIX said:
The Living, eh? That's a titillating title.

Sounds to me like too much "Hellgate: London"..."Remember the dead, but fight for the Living!!!" Hooyah!
 
FELLOWLOGO.gif

YEARBOOK ANNOUNCEMENT​

Ladies and Gentlemen, now that February has come to a close it's time to once more announce our next candidate that we had chosen in the last month and we are very happy with our next pick. He is a rising star in the Vicky forums and at the young age of 17, he's already shown signs of being one of the best writAARs out there. Today we honour DerKaiser author of The Golden Nation - an excellent tale of a glorious new path for California.

DerKaiser's style is both epic and displays his amazing control of characterization and dialogue. When I first started reading his AAR, I was very impressed by his fluid understanding of both the motivations of the characters and their relief in perspective with the going-ons of the world around them. His work more than qualifies him to be honoured by our society and we look forward to his active participation!

The young man himself I've had the pleasure of being friends with for a while now and he has shown his intelligence and candor in our communications that makes me believe, as his sponsor, that he will be an amiable and friendly addition to our roster. Despite his busy schedule, he has made it a point to keep his promises and to stay responsible to his friends and readers; for this DerKaiser I do hope that today finds you well and that this celebration of your induction into the Tempus Society be the beginning of a greater friendship and greater adventures together!
 
Congratulations Der Kaiser! Welcome aboard!
 
An absolute honour! I’d be willing to bet that almost every acceptance speech starts with something similar to those three words, but I really can’t think of a better or truer way to do so. It means an enormous amount to be recognised for an AAR that up until a few months ago I had grave doubts over the survival of, and the fact that it seems to be going so strong now really gives me huge satisfaction! Perhaps this induction into the Tempus Society is a reflection of the growing popularity of The Golden Nation, or perhaps it was the interest of a few well-placed Tempus members that made it more popular (particularly canonized if naming names here is kosher), I honestly don’t know which way around it was, and nor do I care to find out! I’m just delighted to be considered for membership, delighted to be accepted and delighted to join this undoubtedly illustrious AARland institution! I hope I have an opportunity to give back some of what has so unexpectedly been handed out to me!

I say “unexpectedly”, and at the start I mentioned my previous worries over the long-term health of the AAR. Both of these feelings stem from a problem that I believe an enormous number of AARland’s writers suffer from: namely a lack of active interest in their work. I know personally that my enthusiasm to write another update goes up exponentially when I see people commenting on my thread (as stnylan says: “To comment is divine!”), and I know for a fact that almost all writers feel the same way. Without comments, an AAR is all too likely to wither and die, as the author is left feeling isolated and unwanted. It seems to me, particularly from my early experiences of it, that one of the great virtues of Tempus is to combat this problem. I’ve had the good fortune to be described by canonized as a friend, and I think that in that lies the key to the best possible experience for everyone: if AARland becomes a community of friends, writing for and with each other, it will surely be to the benefit of everyone. Organisations like Tempus, as well as longer-standing institutions such as the SolAARium, contribute to that feeling, and what I like to feel I’m joining in the Tempus Society is not an exclusive clique of the “best writers” (which I don’t think it is, and I think would be awfully hard to define), but rather a group of some AARland writers, who take it upon themselves to try and ensure everyone else is given the time of day. That’s certainly what I felt when I was first approached by canonized, and it would be fantastic if we could try and give as many people as possible that kind of opportunity.

Well, whatever the Tempus Society serves as (and God knows- it’s not for me to decide!), I think it’s still a remarkable sign of how far AARland has developed since it was just a forum for comparing how much of the world one had “pwned” with Prussia (I apologise if my gaming lingo isn’t quite up to scratch…). The idea that writers’ communities, alternative historical academic societies and even poetry journals, all of which have proven so creatively rich, could be started as a result of a few computer games is a massive testament to the imagination, dedication and ability of those who have been around the forums to write their AARs, comment on those of others, or simply be part of the community. The fact that there is a “Tempus Society” at all says an enormous amount about the uniqueness of the Paradox Forums and the writers of AARland, and to them I can only say (while once again thanking all and sundry for this honour): more of the same, please!
 
comagoosie: Yes , General Grubby might indeed have some trouble when he returns XD

Kurt_Steiner: Haha I wasn't even thinking of that when I wrote it . I like Madeleine in her prissy dresses better . Nia on the other hand . Mmnnn leather is so excellent on her .

Murmurandus: If only I can get someone to do a leather picture of her XD

Avernite: Yes , the Guzmans are indeed always quite cunning . We'll have to see how it unfolds XD

Grubnessul: Ahh , now there's a good question ^_~ . Lots of good guesses so far though .

JimboIX: Hope to have that update done by Saturday :D

grayghost: absolutely great line XD . I still have that song you sent me for Isabella and Antonio too from the music video of that game !
 
Congratulations DerKaiser! A very good addition to our roster! I shall add you in on monday when I return from my birthday celebrations!
 
English Patriot said:
Congratulations DerKaiser! A very good addition to our roster! I shall add you in on monday when I return from my birthday celebrations!

Hope you have a good weekend , old bean ^^