Timelines: What if Spain Failed to Control the World?

Murmurandus: Gotcha XD

Qorten: Haha if someone would volunteer to do it for me XD

Fiftypence & Capibara: Thank you

comagoosie: I smell blackmail !

demokratickid: Haha it's an excellent habit to get away from XD

AlexanderPrimus said:

I smell some AwAARds on the wind...

And they're headed your way!

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We'll definitely try our best , thank you XD

Oh and let's not forget XD



The AARlander is out ! Go check it out !

English Patriot said:

Excellent interview! Cliff notes sound like a brilliant idea!

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Thank you , sir ! Haha any volunteers for cliff notes then ?

10 April 1610

“Not even a guten morgen? I suppose it can't be helped, though you're definitely up early this morning. Huh? News of the Leyla girl... yes, I've heard that as well. I've been having one of our secretaries look through Shahim's records on her although I can't tell if 'the Prince' is either dodging our questions or honestly does not understand what kind of role that girl actually plays in this whole thing. Yes, that's right, we've got some men trying to find her as well. All we know is that her assassination targets were always kept secret even from other officers in Shahim's den here. The Prince himself just continues to give vague references to an old tradition-- something they learned from the Greeks after the capture of this city...

“Yes, the Latins should know something about it as well from one of three possibilities: either the Scrolls had some inkling of it, after the sack of Constantinople, or during the brief reunification before the Turks captured the city. But since you told me nothing came up about it when you brought the records from their Room in Madrid, it's either been lost or kept far more secret than what any of you could merely find out in the open...

“It's her targets for assassination that I'm most interested in although I suppose with your curiosity of the matter, I don't need to explain to you why that part is the most perplexing of all. As far as we could tell just from speaking with her superiors, her targets were relatively random individuals though a common thread might be made that they were sometimes influential men and women, but even then some have reported that she's visited unknown or powerless individuals. What strikes me as interesting about that is why they would send a highly trained assassin for such lowly people?...

“A third option, you say? You can't mean... Well if you wanted to talk about it privately we can talk in the suite although I'm sure we could trust the Turks to-- I see. In that case ... please meet me at my private quarters near the dock... I'll wait there.”


Raul was fairly impressed with the intricate nature of these lower bowels of Renault's labyrinth. Although it was true that once Renault explained the trick to the passageways, they moved swiftly through the traps, Raul could not help but marvel at the almost poetic nature of Renault's genius.

“The grappling hooks should be over here,” Raul recalled Renault explaining back at the ditch of the grafters, “the same kind of hooks that the demons would have used to tear apart anyone who tried to escape from the boiling pitch.”

“So we use this to swing across from the ceiling?” Riku had asked at the time.

Renault had made a small laugh from the statement before explaining to Riku how anyone trying to do that would certainly fall to a painful death: the roof in this portion was intentionally weak and represented another allusion to the deceptive nature of this 8th circle.

“Then how are we supposed to use these to get across?” Raul had asked at that time.

Renault had explained his answer casually as if he was giving a lecture back in his classroom: “Somewhere along the pitch you should find a black metal hook sticking out of the surface. It's very difficult to see because of the black on black, but if you hold your torch high and close enough, you should be able to distinguish it. I wanted to continue to use the light imagery as an antidote to the fraud in the Bolge...” here, Renault had taken an air of an explicating poet.

It wasn't long before the rest became self explanatory: the grappling hooks fit around the hook that was jutting out from the boiling tar; it only took a few throws to catch hook on hook. All of them heaved at the rope and the hook started to move towards them and upward until a stone column rose up from the river horizontally. A small mechanism near the front unlocked a makeshift bridge and opened the column down the middle creating a valley of untarred surface to walk across.

“It takes a lot of effort to pull this thing out of the tar just as it is to drag yourself out of this kind of sin,” Renault further continued while walking across the bridge. Renault closed the column on the other side and they pulled the metal hook-anchor towards the opposite shore thus sliding the mechanism to sink the column once more. “Usually we would use the hooks on this end so that others can follow behind us using the hooks over there, but since we're trying to avoid being followed...” Renault let the others finish his thoughts while he grinned at the secure plop of the stone contraption hiding itself under the surface once more.

It had been at that time that Raul had recalled asking Renault how he knew which of the stone fonts on the ground of the Simoniacs' bolge to go into to crawl into the next partition, but Renault had merely explained how he memorized the location. Raul had not said anything further, but it was Willem who nudged Raul on his upper arm while saying to Renault, “Raul's just too stubborn to admit that he's curious on how you solved that riddle.”

Raul had attempted to ignore Willem up until that point but even when Raul had placed his ice cold stare on Willem's energetic face, there was no fear in the other's eyes. Nor was there any resentment or annoyance at Raul's usual rudeness. It was a strange feeling for Raul to see Willem smile at him. It was then that he had suddenly felt ashamed. Renault went on nonetheless.

“When Dante expressed his righteous indignation at the Simoniac pope, he said, 'Therefore stay here, for thou art justly punished,/ And keep safe guard o'er the ill-gotten money.' Some scholars took that idea literally and thought that it was perhaps part of the contrapasso that the simoniacs were buried with their gold. You all probably did not have time to see it, but there were some metal pieces buried in the fonts near the bottom and sides. To an untrained eye, they would seem like gold-- the loot that Dante may have been talking about. They're ringed around the inside of the hole and they're set to trigger different traps associated with each wrong hole if someone touches or moves it either by accident as they crawl down or if they're foolish enough to take some of the 'gold'.

“The problem is that the gold is not real... it's a false gold to keep with the theme of fraud in this entire circle. There is one ring with real gold, however. Only the person who knows what real gold looks like in comparison to all of the false metals will make it through-- and if they guess wrong, they're dead.”

As for the Bolge of the Hypocrites, that had been relatively easy as well if not a bit annoying. There were indeed white robes with lead weights just like in Renault's explanation, but instead of avoiding them, they were apparently necessary to get through the bolge alive. “The floor seems to be triggered in a strange way,” Madeleine was explaining for them, “a small or regular weight would trigger the trap by depressing the floor, but if we don the white cloaks, the combined weight would press the floor down enough to trigger a suppression for the trap.”

“What's to stop everyone from merely staying together and avoiding the lead cloaks?” Raul had asked.

“It works through the tiles on the floor,” Madeleine had explained furthermore, “no two people could fit on the same tile at the same time unless you planned on carrying each other on the shoulders so each tile measures weight independently. We'll have to wear the cloaks across.”

“Some of the tiles are also traps regardless,” Renault had explained with a grin, “but like I told you before, the positioning of the cross,” and it was then that Renault pointed to a terrible caricature of a man on a crucifix, “will show us where the mechanism shifted the trap tiles today.”

Raul recalled such things with some humour now, despite himself. By comparison, it seemed as if the previous partitions were like games one played testing one's cunning. But now, now it was different even after he recalled the previous events. Perhaps it had something to do with the constrictor slowly squeezing the air out of his lungs while Willem shouted desperately somewhere above his dizzying vision.

“Snakes,” was the next memory he had as if the voice in his head tried to mask his gasping breaths with something more humorous, “why did it have to be snakes...”

“It fits the perfect profile of the thief,” Renault had answered him when then entered into that bolge a few minutes ago. Renault had also explained the process of getting these exotic creatures. “We had to ask every village in the entire province for them under the guise of a cleanup. Most were reluctant to disturb the forest until we started offering a reward for each capture. There's a narrow tunnel that connects this bolge with the surface just like those steam vents connected the boiling river to the jungle. To keep the snakes alive, the men at top were supposed to drop food for them every now and again as well as drain water down there, but considering the state of the soldiers... I'm not sure they are exactly the best people to count on having fulfilled their obligation.”

Renault was right, the first cell they encountered already featured a serpent that had died of starvation. “Usually snakes can last for a long time without food, but this one seems to have died from dehydration...” Madeleine had explained.

“Each room was supposed to have a different snake or snakes along the circuit of the bolge,” Renault explained, “and each room required the person to know what kind of snake he was dealing with... but without food or water, I'm not sure how they would behave...”

Apparently, they had almost made it to the next corridor. Just one more room, they had said. The next before hand seemed clear as well and had no particular sign of the serpent. It was only when the giant boa dropped from a niche above onto Raul that they realized just how hungry these poor animals were.

It had taken them a few minutes but Raul was eventually freed at the cost of the large beast's life. Despite some bruised ribs, Raul was able to grunt at the ordeal and decided to move on. The final chamber before the doorway was much more different from the others. Like an Egyptian tomb, the walls were more regular and slightly bent inward. The strangest thing about this room, however, were twofold. First, a layer of light and dark brown sand speckled the floor in a miniature desert carpet. More significantly, two sets of columns connected to the walls at their center by a perpendicular rod now rotated like corkscrews set on their sides. What was strange about each column was that they narrowed in the middle and, once fully rotated, a soft hiss issued from them.

“The mechanism only moves when the doorway is opened and turns them up-side-down allowing the reservoired sand to move from one container to the next...” Renault explained looking about hurriedly with his torch. Like large hour glasses, the columns created a palisade on either side of the curve and directing the path towards the corridor along the inside wall.

“I don't understand,” Riku said aloud, but Renault quickly shushed him.

“The columns are not here to look pretty,” Renault said quickly as he held out his arms on either side making sure that the group walked slowly through the room, “It's so that it's harder to tell where they are...” he explained looking back to the group. As he stared at all of them, he could see that they could hear it as well: the soft clatter of the sand transferring from the top reservoir to the bottom. Somehow, it seemed to get louder.


Jafar leaned on his staff as he exited his windblown tent. The Mediterranean breeze kept the canopy in a flutter-- and kept the billowing smoke of Alexandria moving away from his army. “How goes the siege?” he said aloud as his commanders flocked to him.

“We've managed to set fire to some of the buildings this morning, but their main wall is withstanding most of the bombardments,” one of his lieutenants reported, “We've tried to send some of the Turkish cannons closer, but the garrison is using their cannons in return.”

“And our blockade?”

“Cairo will fall within the next few months that is for certain,” another commander informed the General reluctantly. Jafar could easily infer what the real answer was: Alexandria was being supplied by the sea too often.

“This may take over a year at this rate,” the man with the scarred face said behind the shadow of the General's imposing height. It was like a whisper although given in a formal style; like a man used to talking only in the darkness of an umbrella. “And by then...”

“They might land more men or finish off the rebellions before we could take full advantage of them...” Jafar completed the thought while narrowing his eyes at the horizon of the city bearing the name of the Conqueror of his native land.

“There is some good news, however, General,” one of the men in Jafar's periphery spoke up. By the tone of the voice, it was yet another man used to speaking in the safety of darker places; a spy master.

“And what would that be?”

“We know for certain now that General Schenkhuizen has quited the city,” was the reply from the man with his head bowed to cover his face with a cooling shadow.

“He's gone?” Jafar checked his voice from becoming any louder, “how did you know this?”

“It was relayed by one of our scouting vessels. The Turks have also told us that their 'guest' in Constantinople had it arranged to lure the General back to Madrid.”

Jafar snapped his head back towards the view of Alexandria. “I had been hoping for another opportunity to combat that great man,” he said quietly. The others around him turned their heads downward and remained silent. “In any case,” Jafar finally huffed turning back towards his tent, “if General Schenkhuizen is not in the city, I will leave the attack in your hands. I expect the city to be taken in the next two weeks in a direct assault.”


“Lieutenant, have Commander Georgiev's men assault the installation directly as a distraction; we'll infiltrate this location here and make our way in,” Rodrigo pored over the translucent maps while drawing fierce lines with his marker. He had learned from earlier practice during the trip that the rocking of the dropship wouldn't affect his writing if he merely pressed hard on the pen. It also helped to avoid making squiggly lines from being too nervous...

“You don't need to worry, sir,” the Lieutenant looked Rodrigo in the eye. Rodrigo was still getting used to having the older gentleman with the stern grey eyes call him 'sir.' Lieutenant Richard “Grayghost” Burton was a new face to Rodrigo, although he apparently had served his father during the course of the Duke's tenure as Janus and was a veteran of the Falklands campaign. The kind face was reassuring like an uncle who always spoiled his nephews.

“I'll leave the rest of this operation in your and your men's hands, Lieutenant,” Rodrigo said in return while taking a moment to also look down the line of men who stared attentively at the mission briefing ahead of them, “as well as our getaway to our lovely Miss Pharaoh,” Rodrigo smiled at the Warrant Officer who smiled back at him by pinching her lips tightly; Rodrigo could swear liquid nitrogen flowed through that woman's veins.

“We'll make sure to get you in and out safely and save your friend and mom and dad,” the Lieutenant said easily.

Rodrigo had almost forgotten-- or was it perhaps he had hoped it wasn't true?-- that he was told about how his mother was involved in the whole ordeal as well; stowing away in the House of the Rose plane and secretly following the Wolves and Ming as they worked together with the Schwarzschild CEO. “Thank you...” Rodrigo managed, “did we learn anything else since we passed over the waypoint?”

“Nothing more than the blueprints the embedded agent sent us earlier,” Lieutenant Burton offered.

“The embedded agent...” Rodrigo repeated. It was interesting, he thought to himself, that she was there too.

“Also, what would you like the secure channel to be set to?” Lieutenant Burton interrupted Rodrigo's thoughts. “The ones we use for the ship and interpersonal communications run from 1000 to 5000.”

Rodrigo took a moment to ponder his choice before deciding, “1984.” Lieutenant Burton seemed to smile at the number. Did he know? Usually, when people decide on combinations, they'd choose birthdays. For Rodrigo however, it was similar to a birthday. It was the year his parents got married.


The red cloaked one once again assumed the seat in front of the myriad of screens displaying news from around the world both in the format of the universal news channels as well as private feeds that only the Imperial government had access to. Most important at the moment , perhaps, was the display of a young Janus prepping his men.

“It seems that the Jimenes boy is adjusting well to his new position, Your Eminence,” an aide to the side of the red figure commented. The prelate on the seat nodded silently.

“We'll leave it up to them now,” the clergyman said while pressing a button on the chair switching some of the screens to a different feed. Gunshots rang through the speakers as desperate cries of reporters attempted to rise above the noise while explosions annunciate their words. It was downtown Baghdad.

“I'm afraid despite the air strike, underground cells and more help from the east are flooding into the city...” the aid soberly reported, “we control the west bank, but the east area is heavily saturated.

“Have the local Imams come to a decision to condemn this yet?” the Cardinal asked into the dark atmosphere of the cold room with some hint of disdain.

A shuffle of papers followed the question before the aid once more said with some difficulty: “I'm afraid they're still split on the matter...”

Chapter CXI: Malebolge Pt. 5 [Sowers of Discord and Falsifiers] (coming soon)

Capibara said:

Haha, now it's easier that Renault it's with them, and 1984, the year Rodrigo's parents were married? Very interesting

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Yep XD any light bulbs starting to pop in the brain about all that ? XD

English Patriot: Yep Thank you for all your help listening to the wacky ideas XD

RGB said:

You know, Münchhausen could pull himself out of any tarpit. By his own hair, too. Didn't need no black hooks

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Who ?

Grubnessul: Yep on both counts XD