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Just an update , sorry for the delay XD I'm sure you can all understand with the Christmas season about and all :D . Wanted to wish you all a Happy Christmas ! update should be up in the next 2 days max ! Look forward to a Christmas theme !
 
Just an update , sorry for the delay XD I'm sure you can all understand with the Christmas season about and all :D . Wanted to wish you all a Happy Christmas ! update should be up in the next 2 days max ! Look forward to a Christmas theme !

I know the feeling, so dont you worry and take your time.
 
I know the feeling, so dont you worry and take your time.

Plus it doesn't help that I somehow contracted a cold =( probably got it from Vegas . Either way , update is almost complete :D expect it no later than a few hours from now .
 
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Chapter CXXVI: New Neighbors​

14 August 1642

Matthijs leaned heavily against the small table and couched his head in between his palms. The dull flame of the candle in front of him spiraled a coil of soot into the air in front of him. They had not been in Amsterdam long, but Matthijs had barely slept or rested on the way north. He had no time to spare, however. He had just met with some representatives from Breda and was planning on what to do next.

“As one of the few survivors of the massacre,” one of the Breda representatives had told him. That's what they were calling the incident at Antwerp now: a “massacre.” “You've been spoken about quite a lot back home.”

“It's amazing how you survived being held captive by those dogs,” the other representative—someone as young as Matthijs was probably—added. By “those dogs” it was obvious they meant the Spaniards, but Matthijs could not seem to convince them of Katarina's idea that they were someone else. To those politicians, Matthijs was a hero and whatever enemy attacked that hotel was doing so under the pay of Madrid.

“As you requested, your family will be taken care of quite well,” the first one enthusiastically proclaimed. “It doesn't matter that you and your family are Catholics,” the man added, “because of your bravery and their example for raising such a virtuous lad, they will have their rights protected.” Even the “lad” had a condescending tone to it. Matthijs knew he was just being used as a propaganda tool.

Matthijs could also detect something in the enthusiasm the two shared in the washing away of age old religious distinctions: the cause of religion seemed secondary to these individuals. Taxes had taken the forefront of the debate, but it was more than that. The way the two laughed at each other at the mentioning of such “archaic” (as they said) distinctions of Protestant and Catholic, Matthijs knew he was staring at a new kind of revolutionary.

“And do we know anything about the assassins themselves who murdered my patron?” Matthijs had asked. “I'd like to seek them out and deliver them... to justice.” Matthijs held back the disgust he had at having to appeal to the revolutionary fervor that was seizing his compatriots. He wanted to get new information about these assassins, but he knew that if he insisted that they weren't Spanish, he'd not only be left without help, but probably considered a traitor.

His two interviewers smiled at his “zeal” and did not even seem at all phased by the obvious dissimulation. Their breaths, smelling of celebratory wine and lager fed the candle in between them and Matthijs. “I did hear something about the description of the assassins you've told us about. I heard from a Spanish merchant vessel that they were spotted making trouble somewhere in Oslo,” one of the two began to recall as if he was telling a ghost story. He even pushed his grinning face forward closer to the light to accentuate the shadows along his face. “It would make sense; that's where the Spanish have their mercenary army. The assassins are probably hired hands.”

“An obvious way for the 'dogs' to try and place blame on someone else and deny any involvement,” the other weaved the rest of the story and slammed his fist on the table like a judge passing judgment.

“Oslo...” Matthijs had mumbled to himself.

It had been that conversation that he was now pondering by himself in front of that lit candle. With the representatives gone to further celebrate the beginning of a new era for the low countries, Matthijs was left to wonder what he would need to do next while avoiding the comforting embrace of sleep.

---​

15 August 1642

The rocking of the boat was making Matthijs uncomfortable, but not to the point of nausea. He leaned a heavy arm against the side of the wooden frame with some difficulty before ascending to the top deck. It had already been a day or so after they embarked from Amsterdam and Matthijs was feeling uneasy about the whole situation. His eyes met the wobbling horizon as he walked up. The sun was beginning to rise on the starboard side. He approached the opposite side of the ship to keep his eyes off the beams of the star and he leaned on its wooden edge. Taking a rope in one hand, he slid his body forward over and craned his head to look at the stern of the ship.

He could barely see the Waddenzee now. Only the Frisian islands reminded him of the time he spent in the capital. The low countries was a land ablaze with violence: or so he was told in Amsterdam. News had flocked to Amsterdam ever since the incident in Antwerp and it had become the de facto headquarters of the rebellion. “We have sixty thousand men on the field with twenty thousand already engaged in Antwerp,” one of the gossiping seamen mused when Matthijs was trying to gather news on the docks. The seaman obviously didn't know that Matthijs had seen the fighting first hand in Antwerp.

The rebellion was a popular one; already most of the cities were rising up in revolt and many of the wealthy landowners were joining the nationalistic cause. Matthijs was surprised at how easily the spark of revolt had lit the entire countryside. The movement was so complete that Matthijs could recall from the whispering circles that only a small handful of nobles had sided with the Spanish—but most notably the ones around Jutphaas. Matthijs was not surprised since that was where the Kasteel Schenkhuizen was.

Looking in the other direction, he could already feel a bitter gust every now and then greet him from the North Sea. At least there was perhaps one small reason of consolation to traveling in that direction...

“You look calm this morning,” Katarina stepped up next to him. Despite the dirtiness of ship-going vessels, Katarina always seemed to sport a spotless white dress.

“Just resolved maybe,” Matthijs replied back while turning to see her face illuminated by the sun. Her visage shone like a pearl. “I appreciate what you and your father have done to help me.”

“We're heading back home to Russia anyway, so it was on the way,” Katarina explained with a quirky smile. She leaned against the railing of the ship and let the breeze animate her bangs. “Plus, he was rather impressed with you last night.”

Matthijs remembered the interview he had with Katarina's father. He was an imposing man of little speech who seemed more content in letting his daughter play her little games while he was busy managing the affairs of a diplomat. Matthijs did not say much, but at least made his intentions clear as to his mission to find the assassins. The older gentleman nodded and wished him luck and promptly excused him for his work chamber on the ship. Katarina had to explain away the brusqueness of her father to a winter's temperament and that he was used to his daughter's ability to fend for herself.

Katarina's father, aside from his generosity at procuring the vessel, was one of the last things occupying his thoughts. “I don't even know what I'm going to do once I find these people...” he said quietly.

The young lady next to him pushed some of her brilliant golden locks away from her eyes as the wind tried to ruffle her hair. “I'm sure we'll figure something out.”

“We?” Matthijs felt a bubble of laughter burst in his throat, “I'm heading to Oslo, Katja, and you're heading back home to Russia. Plus... Oslo is still occupied by Spanish forces; it wouldn't be safe either way.” Matthijs looked at her with an amused grin, but the more she intently stared at him the more ridiculous he felt. “You can't, Katja,” he said with a more stern voice. It only precipitated a smile from the young lady's face.

“First of all,” Katarina straightened up and turned to face the sun. She rested her back against the edge of the boat, “Oslo is Russia. My father has already given his assent, I'll be staying with my aunt and her husband: Helena and Sergey Rozhenko.”

“Still, I can't have you--”

“Without me, you'll never catch them, Tijs,” she said matter-of-factly. She particularly allowed her Russian accent to play thickly on her tongue as she chided him. Matthijs watched her with some surprise. Katarina had always been sprightly, but this seemed more like a fact than an exaggeration.

“What do you mean?” Matthijs approached cautiously. If she had something that could help, Matthijs would rather take the chance of looking foolish to seek it out.

“I asked my father's contacts about the incident you heard about in Oslo while we were still in Amsterdam,” she said quietly. “They gave me a name of someone who seemed to know about these assassins.”

“Who?” Matthijs stood up straight.

“Now, if I tell you, then you won't take me along with you, now will you?” the young lady grinned wickedly while standing akimbo in front of him.

Matthijs looked at the elvish expression on her face and grimaced. He stared long enough to fade the smile off Katja's face and then he turned to the sea again and leaned his elbows against the side of the boat. “That's alright,” he said with a sigh, “I'll find out myself.”

“If you're serious about catching these people,” Katja began with some frustration, “then you have to accept all the help you can get.”

“It's not that,” Matthijs was quick to respond. “As much as I loved my patron for everything he's done for me, none of that is enough to put you—to put anyone else I care about—in a dangerous situation.”

There was a moment's pause. Katja tried to cut away the awkward atmosphere with a short laugh: “I didn't know you were that sentimental,” she chuckled.

“I would have thought you would have realised that when I let them stab me in the back so that you could get away.”

Katja's laughter fell back into her throat. For almost a minute it was only the quiet slosh of waves hitting the side of the vessel and the howl of the fading summer wind. Katja could only see the back of Matthij's head as he looked out to the water intently. “He's the head of one of the mercenary divisions,” Katarina said quietly. “El Sid they call him.”

“He's their superior?” Matthijs asked sedatedly.

“I don't think so,” Katja replied pensively, “They say he knows things from his training in Constantinople. He used to be a Turkish soldier working on special missions for the Sultan.”

“And he's head of a Spaniard paid mercenary army?” Matthijs seemed surprised while rubbing his fingers across his cheek as if he was effacing a spot of dirt thoughtfully.

“They say that with the Sultanate abolished, he's just working for money now and that he's abandoned his past, though he still knows of certain... secrets. I hear he even changed his name as part of his break with his past.”

“Then he'll be the first person I'll meet... this El Sid...”

---​

20 August 1642

“Lope here, coincidentally,” Amatallah was explaining, “was the one who arranged through his contacts to allow Zeren and I to change our names and live relatively peaceful lives. Although I doubt anyone would call Zeren's 'business' now very 'peaceful'.” She had said the last part of that sentence with an obvious twist of resentment. For a moment, one would have thought her nails snapped into a fist—but only for a moment.

Arturo nodded with a smile and sipped some of the beverage that was offered him—it appeared that Amatallah—or should he say, Leyla—seemed to make coffee better than anyone in Madrid. “Well I hope you're all getting used to your new accommodations here,” Arturo said as he passed his glance not only to his hostess but to Lope as well who had been looking out of the window of the suite.

“I don't think the apartments you gave my boy and I is as spacious as this one,” Lope said with a playful huff before closing the curtain. “Though I'm more worried if this will be a safe place.”

“You can rest assured that you're safe here,” Arturo replied swiftly after hissing a sip through his lips, “this is the 'normal zone' of the city. This is where security is the tightest and where most of the workers of the organisation I belong to live. If we trust it, so can you. In fact, I only spend my nights soundly down the block. We're practically neighbors!”

Lope let Arturo's enthusiasm linger in the air like the residual scent of fireworks after crackling. “It's good to rest for a while,” Lope eventually said with a sigh as he stretched down onto a chair like a huge, old tree falling down, “but if it's alright with you, I'm not looking for an early retirement.”

Arturo gave his pacific smile at that once again and placed his cup on the table. “As I've already told Señora Amatallah, you all will be actively involved in this matter.”

Lope nodded absently while looking away at the roughly hewn edges of the apartment walls. It may have been secure living—but it seemed like any other city apartment. The ordinary nature of it belied its strength and fortification, he thought—he hoped. He had come to trust in Arturo. He had made sure they felt safe and he had already given Diego enough information that that restless mercenary was already prowling the streets that afternoon looking for more clues on the lead they gave him. Amatallah seemed very comfortable around Arturo and Íñigo seemed oddly at ease.

Nonetheless, he knew that this lull would soon come to an end. It was just as Amatallah had said: once something extraordinary enters into one's life, one can never go back to the regularity of their previous lives. They have to face the reality of what is happening or actively revolt against it—or perhaps numb themselves enough into disbelief of what's happened. Lope closed his eyes and thought of those possibilities: he thought about how easy his life would be if he could just close his eyes like this. He knew, however, that such laziness would only mean that once he opened his eyes again, they would have taken Íñigo from him and he might already have some exotic weapon piercing his gut from those ghastly clad assassins. In his musings there was something that still bothered him.

“I'm wondering why Sid wouldn't try and help us if he already knew...” the nagging question found voice. When he opened his eyes, he saw that Arturo's smile had disappeared and Amatallah's eyes were beginning to blaze a hole onto the table.

“I'm afraid it's a lot more complicated than that,” Arturo said with a little sigh.

interlude2.gif


Interlude​

It was supposed to be a simple dropoff, Trey thought to himself; it wasn't supposed to be this complicated. Somehow, as he stood in front of his new neighbor's door, he did not feel like knocking. Maybe he's not even in... he thought to himself. What was he so afraid of? was the better question he asked himself. A moment's more hesitation and he finally decided to kneel down in front of the door and stuff the folder through the gap underneath the portal. He nearly ripped the manila folder in half as he hurried to shove the piece through the small slit.

Once the deed was done, he quickly sidestepped to his own doorway and made his way inside. He closed his door behind him quickly, but quietly. The more he wished to avoid meeting this new student, the more he could feel the adrenaline rush in him. The rush only accelerated his fear and fed on itself. What is going on with me? he finally asked himself as he made his way to his bed.

That's when he heard the footsteps. Trey remained sitting on the edge of his bed as stiff as a board as the steps came to his door. The shadow underneath the portal stopped and he held his breath painfully. He forgot to lock it suddenly raced across his mind as the knob began to slowly turn. He wanted to get up, he wanted to stand, he wanted to prepare himself, but his legs were frozen to the side of the bed as the door swung open. He would have called out if he had any voice left in him.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” the familiar voice laughed at him. “Don't tell me you don't like it,” came the concerned addition.

“W—what?” Trey began to calm down as Randall closed the door behind him.

“The new style! I thought ever since I had my hair dyed that I should style it differently from before. I thought maybe I had offended your 'aesthetic sensibilities' with it,” Randall said with a laugh.

019.jpg

Not only was Randall's hair dyed, but he adopted a new style

Trey merely stared and was trying to catch his breath. He managed to shake his head at his room mate. “I—It's not bad,” Trey stammered. “Could be better,” he added as he gained some more of his composure. Randall was obviously catching on to Trey's anxiety as he crossed over to his side of the room and began to change out of his clothes.

“I'm guessing you're still shaken up, huh?” Randall asked while rifling through his drawers. He didn't wait for Trey's response. “My mother always told me growing up that if something extraordinary happens to us, we can never go back to just living regularly before.”

“Is that so?” Trey asked almost in a whisper while nodding and looking about as if he was still lost in his own room.

Randall stood up as he found the proper attire and smiled at himself in the mirror. “Mom would always say that that's why the world changed after Christ was born. An extraordinary event had entered our timeline and everything changed... That's why we couldn't keep living on as sinners if we knew that there was salvation right there for us and Hell right behind us. She always made sure we remembered that every Christmas.”

“Thinking of Christmas already? It's still a few weeks before we're on break,” Trey tried to laugh hoping that perhaps he could anchor himself again through small talk with Randall.

“It'll be my first Christmas since I came here to the University,” Randall replied as he swiftly changed shirts. “After being away from home for so long, it's been on my mind a lot. Plus—I think I'm getting a Manzana iFono G3 for Christmas.”

Trey smiled and took a moment to take it in. Randall had always seemed to impress him. He always seemed like an energetic mix of the spiritual ethos of a properly catechised Catholic; that is, he was faithful, but he also knew that the material world was there for a reason and that it wasn't evil in itself. It's why Randall could recognise the extraordinariness of Christmas while still being able to enjoy his presents. Randall probably got that liberality from his once Puritan English ancestry—the same he shared with Trey. The rebel Cromwell was probably cursing them from the grave. “I don't know,” Trey spoke up while turning his head to direct his playful banter directly at Randall, “for me I'll stick with my zarzamora-bravo.” It was times like these that he was glad to have Randall as a room mate.

Then there was the knock on the door. Immediately, Trey's eyes raced to the shadow underneath the slit on the floor. “Would you get that?” Randall requested while quickly putting on the last of his clothes.

“Who--”

“It's our new neighbor,” Randall explained, “I met up with him in the hall earlier and told him to come over and pay us a visit.”

Before he could react, however, Trey watched something slip into his room from under the door's gap.

Chapter CXXVII: A Visit (coming soon)
 
Of course it's complicated. It's always complicated. :p

And "new neighbours"... I can't help but think of the Biblical command to love our neighbour (and Jesus' broad interpretation of that). Knowing the themes of this story I'd bet that's involved somewhere in there. ;)
 
Aliens...please...I had high hopes when I first saw "new neighbors" thinking these were the aliens.But ignore I've gotten
obsessed with UFOs and the like...Also are those the real in game days?
 
Of course it's complicated. It's always complicated. :p

And "new neighbours"... I can't help but think of the Biblical command to love our neighbour (and Jesus' broad interpretation of that). Knowing the themes of this story I'd bet that's involved somewhere in there. ;)

Perhaps XD Haha , though I'm honestly not sure where I'll tie that in just yet . For now I focused on the Christmas theme of the extraordinary event of the Incarnation .

Aliens...please...I had high hopes when I first saw "new neighbors" thinking these were the aliens.But ignore I've gotten
obsessed with UFOs and the like...Also are those the real in game days?

Haha , well the dates aren't from the real game , actually , just arbitrary dates that I've used as we move forward in time . One of the things you'll notice , though , is that despite how we jump from timeframe to timeframe , we actually have never moved backward in time in any of the timeframes .
 
Hmm, I wonder what Matthijs will find. Is there a Russo-Turkish conspiracy to capture him? :eek:

And what would the Spaniards do? ;)
 
Hmm, I wonder what Matthijs will find. Is there a Russo-Turkish conspiracy to capture him? :eek:

And what would the Spaniards do? ;)

A Russo-turkish conspiracy XD It's happened before last season , remember ? XD
 
“I'm afraid it's a lot more complicated than that,” Arturo said with a little sigh.

Arturo is lucky I'm not a character in this AAR, otherwise he'll be dead. Bearing in mind that August 20th, 1642 was a Monday, and I'm too sensitive on Mondays, had Arturo told me something like that, I'd rip off his guts right there.

BTW: I had a horrific nightmare last night. Peti had become a vampire-dog which was terrorizing New York. What this dream has to do with this AAR goes beyond my mental capacities.

But I had to tell thee.:D
 
Arturo is lucky I'm not a character in this AAR, otherwise he'll be dead. Bearing in mind that August 20th, 1642 was a Monday, and I'm too sensitive on Mondays, had Arturo told me something like that, I'd rip off his guts right there.

BTW: I had a horrific nightmare last night. Peti had become a vampire-dog which was terrorizing New York. What this dream has to do with this AAR goes beyond my mental capacities.

But I had to tell thee.:D

Have you forgotten already XD i did name a character after you ! He was Arturo's friend too XD
 
Hmm .. I wonder how it connects as well XD A sub-conscious analysis might help .

Hey, Ghost of Freud, can you help us around here?

"Clearly ze dog is ein symbol for his repressed lofe for his mozzer."

...Okay, Freud was a bad idea. :p
 
Hey, Ghost of Freud, can you help us around here?

"Clearly ze dog is ein symbol for his repressed lofe for his mozzer."

...Okay, Freud was a bad idea. :p

o_O

We really didn't need to know that... On the other hand, Freud seems to explain everything with repressed lust...

Anyway, is it just me, or am I the only one who wouldn't give Randall more than 12-13 years?
 
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Hey, Ghost of Freud, can you help us around here?

"Clearly ze dog is ein symbol for his repressed lofe for his mozzer."

...Okay, Freud was a bad idea. :p

Haha , Poor Kurt

You know, I considered reading this, but then I realized that War and Peace would probably take less time.
But great AAR anyways.

Haha , I like to think of it more as a volume set . Like LotR . XD Thank you , and I do hope you take it up someday ! We're always happy to see new comments !

o_O

We really didn't need to know that... On the other hand, Freud seems to explain everything with repressed lust...

Anyway, is it just me, or am I the only one who wouldn't give Randall more than 12-13 years?

12-13 years ? o_O what do you mean ?