right... I wouldn't have figured it out before the next update 
Or Kingdom comes, whichever may come first
Or Kingdom comes, whichever may come first
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Haha , I haven't read xkcd in a long time actually now that you mention it XD and well done on the Fibonacci sequence , was verily the key to solving it
I PMed you my solution, Canonized...let's hope it's right...
Gosh , now you have me listening to Still Alive again XD
Correct
now , what does Tom have to do with our story correct also
And the backgrounds will all make sense once the connections are made .right... I wouldn't have figured it out before the next update
Or Kingdom comes, whichever may come first
=P update's in two hours or so from now . It's almost done . Actually maybe three hours since I have to design the new chapter plate
I forgot. Do you honestly think that anyone other than yourself remembers what happened in any of the previous chapters?
I forgot. Do you honestly think that anyone other than yourself remembers what happened in any of the previous chapters?
No , not really I do expect some of you to remember some aspects and hopefully one of you out there remembered one thing about something and shares it XD You get what I mean .
Update is done so it's coming now ! Just gotta finish the new template for the chapter title .
Clearly, he has eaten too much pizzas and his bottom is going to explode anytime soon.
So easy...:rofl:
Chapter CXLV: Night of the Departed
Author's Note: Just another Temporary chapter plate I'm afraid. I couldn't decide on a good looking one yet and this one looks a bit too morbid or too 30s so I won't be keeping this design.
15 April 1643
Woodhouse drew his saber and wheeled his horse around. The pops of gunfire exploded about him as he turned. His regiment turned step with him and discharged their weapons. A line of Spanish pursuers fell forward onto the trodden grass but advancing Imperial irregulars shot a volley of their own at the retreating English line. Woodhouse jerked aside as bullets raced past him. “Steady, men!” he called out as his infantry exchanged fire intermittently.
The Spanish line continued to march on him in force and the steady line of armoured men reflected the moonlight like a silver tidal wave. From the corner of his eyes, as well, he could already detect the encirclement of Spanish cavalry that had just recently crossed into the southern side of the Thames. Escaping through the South was partly his idea: the Spaniards would have expected what remained of the British army to flee northward to join with Fairfax coming in from the north, but Woodhouse proposed to avoid the trap by sallying forth in secret by boats disguised as merchants and civilians fleeing down the Thames while a detachment of dragoons would break northward in an attempt to lure the enemy into thinking that they had forced the desperate defenders north.
“They're almost within striking range of their explosives!” one of Woodhouse's lieutenants was quick to announce.
“Double back quickly! Avoid the river and keep moving backward!” Woodhouse responded before turning his horse. He rode ahead swiftly to rally his men again while ducking the occasional bomb that was now being lodged in their direction. As he rode upward the Thames, he could see the firefight erupting along one corner of the river. Cromwell and his colonels were already engaged ahead of him. The bloody melee could be heard as Woodhouse reached the crest of a small hill where he surveyed the situation. Cromwell's division took up the central location with Colonel Lincoln manning the cavalry on the right hoping to draw off the harassing Spanish dragoons. Colonel Barrett held the left flank which was hampered by the Thames stopping any ability for either side to flank river-side. Woodhouse had been charged with the rear guard which would have been the most important if it hadn't been for the swift encirclement by the Spaniards.
Directly opposite Cromwell, Woodhouse could spy the bristling pikes of Tercios coalescing swiftly into lines to block the British retreat east. The lines would not hold for long against the larger force under Cromwell, but Woodhouse knew that it was merely a delaying maneuver. The real force was behind them with the grenade-throwing heavy infantry that was steadily advancing with a screen of skirmishers. Lincoln's cavalry was stretched thin as it was protecting the flanks and keeping the Spanish dragoons at bay, but it was up to Woodhouse to buy time in the rear for the main force to break through. In essence, the Spaniards were trying to buy time in the front and the English irregulars were trying to buy time in the rear.
A detachment of Lincoln's cavalry screened his view southward for a moment as they raced along opposite their Spanish counterparts. Woodhouse swiftly trodded down to his men below and shielded his face instinctively as a cannonball erupted on the ground a few feet in front of his men. “They've turned the city guns against us!” one of his lieutenants cried out. Woodhouse cursed under his breath. The fire which was engulfing the city hampered most of their ability to prepare for an orderly sally. Most of the guns were left in tact not only because there would be no manpower to dismantle them, but also to avoid making it clear that they were attempting to escape at that moment.
“Bevan!” one of the other captains suddenly came up next to him.
“Russell?” Woodhouse recognized the mounted officer, “I thought you were attached to Lincoln's brigade. What are you doing here?” he barely asked while dodging another volley and yelling over the cannon fire.
“I've been sent to relieve you!” the officer shouted back.
“Relieve me? What for?” Woodhouse was exasperated.
“He wants you and your skirmishers to break across the river and make for Fairfax's army. My detachment will cover you.”
“But what about the line? They'll be crushed!” Woodhouse was quick to ask.
“They're already crushed, Bevan,” the officer said in return. “The Spaniards were too quick: we knew this might happen anyway. The regulars cannot make it across the Thames in time: your regiment is the only one who an make it and Fairfax is going to need all the help he can get. The General... the General has decided to surrender shortly afterwards.”
Woodhouse stared at the Captain, astonished for a few moments. Cannonballs continued to explode around them before he finally looked towards his men. “Company to me!” He spurred his horse and made his way to the river while giving a long stare to the captain. He shot a glance towards London still burning and still aiming its guns at them. “What a horrible night... to have to depart London like this,” he said quietly to himself before funneling his men to make the crossing.
---
The cold chamber of the Papal apartment caused goosebumps to appear along the exposed portions of Van's skin. The silhouette on the bed expanded and retracted in the tired sways of night-breathing. A dull silver hue encased the entire room in what seemed like an icy stasis as the moonlight strained to pass through the windows. Van's covert hand reached for his weapons and the poison dipped pins rotated in his nimble fingers.
Van's eyes, wide with concentration, soaked in the image in front of him. Sliding his bare feet through the air, he reached the side of the bed and sliced through the air with his hand to land the blow with no more delay. The pin fell, his wrist suddenly caught in what felt like a vice. His head turned quickly to find that men had burst into the room and some out of the closet like the dead rising out of a tomb. They had been silent, Van wondered if they had even breathed: they were undetectable and they had begun to surround him.
By the time Van could see the would-be victim below him, lamps had been brought in and the grim image of a prelate looked at him with a terrible expression while gripping his wrist like an iron fetter. As the blanket was thrust aside, it was clear that the “sleeping” figure was not the Pontiff, but a Cardinal still dressed in his scarlet regalia. Van could not wait: he kicked the edge of the bed with his foot and somersaulted in mid-air, forcing the Cardinal's grip to twist and release. Pins flew from his fingers at the same time only to be easily deflected by drawn swords or otherwise dodged by the six men surrounding the bedroom.
He made for the window as the men closed in quickly around him, but his kick could not break the glass. Pushing off from the surface, however, he rotated and flew above the circle of men and landed back at the doorway. He opened the portal and ran into the hall. Too late: a firm grip snatched at his arms and he recognized it as the prelate's stone-hold. One of his feet came up again hoping to leverage out of the attack by hitting a vital area, but a second arm reached out and grabbed the ankle with precise ferocity. Caught!
Van hung in the air for a second of despair. With no balance, the Cardinal held him up into the air by wrist and ankle as if ready to break him in half. His other leg could not gain any counterbalance to make any maneuver. It was then that a flash of gold and blue collided with the red figure. A short tumble and Van landed on the ground like a dropped cat. All he could hear was “Courez!” before taking the opportunity to dash off, to the balcony and leaping away.
As the night air grasped at him, Van's heart could not slow down. As he scaled wall after wall, he could not help but replay those glimpses in those short seconds moments ago. His mission was a failure, but his life had not been forfeit... Because Étienne saved me he thought to himself... again. Even as he flew from wall to wall, avoiding patrols and finding his way back to familiar alleys, he curled his lips absent-mindedly. He was reveling. Reveling in being right. For once, he used the blue pin and not the red... he showed someone kindness and wasn't hurt in return.
---
“Do you think your Captain Marco expected this after granting those men mercy?” Farazdaqi asked his guest as he watched the gallease approach his lines.
“I'm sure a part of him did,” Ossel responded a bit despondently, “though I think he was hoping against hope his good deed would go unpunished.”
“Do you believe in good deeds in times of war, mein Admiral?” Ossel was questioned by his Persian counterpart.
Ossel, at first, did not answer. “Many don't,” was the only response he gave as he watched uncomfortably at the fireships approaching his fleet. “I don't know if I would have the courage Marco has.”
“Courage should be tempered with prudence,” Farazdaqi sighed. A moment of silence passed between the two. “Do you think me a bad person if I told you I had let my men plunder the seaside cities and desecrated your churches?” When Farazdaqi looked back to hear the answer to his question, he could tell that Ossel was looking out onto the horizon as if the question was coming from some cloudy prominence miles away from where Ossel stood in the sea.
“You did terrible things,” Ossel finally said in return, “but I couldn't hate you for it.”
“Why is that?” Farazdaqi troubled his eyebrows to ask.
Ossel sighed and his forehead creased painfully. “Then I would have to hate myself, too. I haven't desecrated churches, but I've desecrated enough temples of the Holy Spirit. I've ruined my body and I've thrown away women after I was finished with them. If there is no redemption for you, then there is none for me either.”
Farazdaqi gripped his teeth soberly together for a moment before turning his head back to the ocean. “I don't think there's any redemption left for me, mein Admiral. I've done too many things to earn redemption for my boy and in the end it may not be enough even after this victory in Cadiz. No, mein Admiral, I will forfeit myself for my son.”
A shuffle amongst the Qubtans on the ship interrupted the exchange. “Sir, I'm afraid the gallease is cutting straight towards us, it's going to get in the way of our ignition cannon,” one of the Qubtans addressed Farazdaqi.
Farazdaqi mumbled tiredly. “Fine... re-adjust the cannon. Those slaves on the gallease probably don't know what our plan is.”
“Yes, sir,” the Qubtan acknowledged before returning to the bow and beginning the recalculations. Ossel watched the engineers working the machine with some awe. This amazing technology was being prepared and soon it would be unleashed upon his ships. An image of the Armada in flames and men jumping overboard for the temporary relief of water haunted the inside of his eyes. Perhaps because it was of German design, Ossel could see the similarities with analogous long range cannons from the Netherlands and, in some ways, he might know how to work the machine better than its Persian foster owners. It was a simple mechanism... the notches for distance were already present on the cannon and all one needed to do was accurately guess the distance and account for any wind. In the confusion of realigning the machine, Ossel saw something.
Before he realized what was happening, his feet were moving forward. Before he could wonder what it was that he was trying to accomplish, one of his hands reached the Qubtans and alleviated him of the firing rod. Before he could realize that Farazdaqi was screaming behind him, he was ramming his shoulder into one of the engineers next to the cannon. Before he could feel the Sardaukar's scimitar pierce his back, he had lowered the burning, cindering end of the rope onto the cannon's fuse.
As the cannon ruptured a blast, Ossel keeled backwards and his face faulted in agony as the scimitar rushed through his organs. As his head cocked back, all he could see was the trailing end of the blazing fireball that arced through the air. He felt as if he was falling back through the ocean seeing only the dim light of the moon above him somehow obscured by something liquid. Those around him seemed to move faster than he did as they watched the fireball move ahead. Ossel could barely hear them: “If the fireship is lit too early, we will lose all surprise!”
“Look, it's going to miss!” Ossel could hear one of the engineers say as he swayed backwards into the grip of the Sardaukar who skewered him. His eyes could barely see the fading brilliance of the projectile as it finally landed somewhere beyond the horizon of his vision.
“It missed—but...” he heard another say, but soon his eyes were burning with a sudden illumination. The fireship had been ignited. “It bounced off the gallease!” the others around him shouted.
Ossel finally succumbed to the pain throughout his frame although somehow his body was starting to become numb to it. He could see the hazy view of Farazdaqi hovering over him reaching down to him and looking at him, horrified. But there was a hint of held back admiration there. Ossel could see small reflections of himself off Farazdaqi's gaze and it was as if the man holding him off the ground was in as much pain as he was. “You old fool,” Ossel could barely hear the man above him say while a tender smile began to form on the Persian's trembling face. “You've done it now... you've saved your sons,” Farazdaqi said to him softly as the Qubtans around them frantically stepped about the deck.
Ossel struggled to reach out and pointed weakly to the Sardaukar standing in attendance. Farazdaqi, noticing what Ossel was motioning towards beckoned the soldier over. Ossel painfully tapped the sheath of his officer's sword and Farazdaqi was quick to order the Sardaukar to hand it to the dying man. Ossel gripped the weapon still sheathed and for a moment jolted in pain and pressed the weapon to his chest. His mouth coughed up blood, but he looked straight into Farazdaqi's eyes. “Now...” he said while gurgling a mouth filled with dark red liquid and pushing his sword against Farazdaqi, “go save yours...”
As Ossel expired in his arms, Farazdaqi looked up at the burning line of ships ahead of the main fleet. The Spanish vessels, realizing the trap from Ossel's sacrifice, had fired on the remaining ships and stopped them dead in the water forming a line of fire bisecting the Gulf between the Spanish and Persian lines. Some of Farazdaqi's lieutenants buzzed around him with questions and frantic pleas but they all seemed to be drowned out. Farazdaqi looked down at the officer's saber he now held in his hand. “Prepare to set sail for our supply port in Tunis,” he said quietly.
“But sir--”
“The Battle is decided, Qubtan! We've achieved our objective and you know very well that we have dealt the damage we needed to against the Armada. They will retreat as well, but not to Cadiz. Let them return home a different way. Admiral Van Ossel has earned this stalemate. I will not bother his children any more.”
A moment of hesitation hung in the air before the Qubtans began making the preparations. “And what of the gallease?” one of the lieutenants asked, “Shall I order one of the other Qubtans to take command of her?”
“No,” Farazdaqi replied firmly. “Those criminals have betrayed their last master. They are cursed.”
The lieutenant frowned visibly and looked out at the burning firewall before sighing: “What a horrible night to have a curse.”
Interlude
“You must be tired.”
“I don't think I can sleep.”
“It's already morning outside the facility. Want some coffee?”
“Thank you...”
“You've had quite a night.”
“I'm glad I wasn't shot at least. Are you going to be alright?”
“I'll be fine. Can I get you anything else while you wait?”
“Something to get rid of my nightmares maybe?”
“Hmm... how about: the morning sun has vanquished the horrible night.”
“Too... medieval.”
“You're a good friend to him, Randall. Waiting for him like this.”
“...Thank you. What was your real name again? When we first met I laughed that someone had a name like 'Jim Orson Edinger.' What a mouthful.”
“Rodrigo Jimenes. Just had to shuffle the letters around a bit.”
“Wasn't that the name of the guy that was killed in Seattle?”
“Yes, yes it was. He was supposed to be bait, but they got to him before we could do anything.”
“I still can't believe most of what you told me...”
“I know, but our friend will soon verify it all for me.”
“Though I don't know if he'll be happy to see you.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Well... you did shoot him after all.”
---
The chamber gave a sterile hum. The only light came from the center of the large, circular room which housed the cylindrical glass column at its epicenter. It gave off a kind of orange luminescence thanks to the colour of the water within. As Rodrigo stepped forward to the tank, he could see the large machine hanging overhead which connected to the liquid filled tube like a colony of worms electrified together to form a Rorschach pattern on the ceiling. Rodrigo tapped on the glass and the naked person inside jolted to life.
“How's your headache?” Rodrigo asked quietly. There was no response. “I brought Randall with me... I hope you don't mind.” There was a quick jolt from the body within. The person's eyes looked out through the liquid and onto the approaching shadow of Randall stepping carefully along the floor.
“Hello... Tom,” Randall said carefully.
Thomas Royce did not answer, but he was aware of them.
Chapter CXLV: Awareness (coming soon)
Oh, no, you couldn't-
...You did.
In any case, it seems Ollie Cromwell isn't going to become any sort of Emperor this time around. And the battles finally ended... of course there's still more to come, as always.
What!? erm...ah? Suprise!
At least Ossel has found his peace. Despite his gruesome death, I found that he died serenly. And Farazdaqi is lucky to retreat when he did as with the dead emperor...
Very engaging.
At least Ossel has found his peace. Despite his gruesome death, I found that he died serenly. And Farazdaqi is lucky to retreat when he did as with the dead emperor...
Very engaging.
Oh, no, you couldn't-
...You did.
In any case, it seems Ollie Cromwell isn't going to become any sort of Emperor this time around. And the battles finally ended... of course there's still more to come, as always.
I just *had* to do it since you were taking the other route in your AAR XD glad you liked the reference !
Yes , Ossel's death was quite square with what he needed . I think although he was a temporary character , he certainly was someone i liked to push a lot of my imagination into as far as his motivations and history went .
Guess what, guess what... I've caught up for the hundreth time! I hope I can keep up this time. It was a superb naval battle and the conclusion you gave it was a very good one. More of those would be appreciated (Along with some shower scenes ) England is getting more bloody and things in the "future" are as confusing as ever.
) England is getting more bloody and things in the "future" are as confusing as ever.
Guess what, guess what... I've caught up for the hundreth time! I hope I can keep up this time. It was a superb naval battle and the conclusion you gave it was a very good one. More of those would be appreciated (Along with some shower scenes
Huzzah
caught up again great ! Thank you , the naval battle was rather fun ! There's more of course I'll make sure to give a good explanation in the next update vis a vis the contemporary scenes
Not to complain or anything, but how and when do you think to end this epic tale of confusionness?
Not to complain or anything, but how and when do you think to end this epic tale of confusionness?
I would say "When Vicky 2 is released" but now, unfortunately (fortunately) that's no longer possible, so let's canon give the answer.
Alas, London is lost, the dark night heralding darker times for this sceptered isle.
Not to complain or anything, but how and when do you think to end this epic tale of confusionness?
2 years more I think . Then you'll have an epic ending XD It'll be satisfying . AT least when I think of it in my head it really satisfies everything .
Man , I do wish for Vicky 2 honestly XD
speaking of which I was hoping to talk to you on MSN . As you know Calipah's been doing guest pieces for me and I was wondering if you wanted to do something as well for Woodhouse and/or Englishness in the future XD
ROFL I was looking for you yesterday, may have a way to get rid of writers block, which would be nice..
But yeah, I don't mind guest spots at all..
2 more years... good gracious...
And wait, after that there's the Vicky and HOI sequel
2 more years... good gracious...
Yep XD still have lots of ideas to use yet !
I'll search you out then XD Like ships in the night sometimes you know !
And wait, after that there's the Vicky and HOI sequel
And I just learned that Vicky II is coming out ! Long Live the Queen !
What about the Crusader Kings Prequel?
Wait, that would turn out like the Star Wars Prequels...flashy but (mostly) empty.
Wait, that would turn out like the Star Wars Prequels...flashy but (mostly) empty.