Timelines: What if Spain Failed to Control the World?

June 1, 1581

The fireplace wafted large plumes of ash and smoke upward into the ventilation shaft above it. The militant ascent of the darkened ash was seen off with torches of leaping cinders that celebrated the liberation of those particles from the cinder inferno below.

The gregarious orange glow permeated the chamber and lending a tinge of its colour to the length of its influence. Most of the time, however, orange illumination met golden gilding or velvet upholstery, the colouring of which already possessed the deep richness of the colour of that light. Even the colour on Cardinal DeWitt’s garments rejoiced in being blessed by a visitation of their orange cousin as that old man sat in one of the gold-gilded velvet-upholstered chairs.

The Cardinal’s eyes watched the escape of the smoke with almost a blank curiosity. He listened intently to the crackling which subdued the otherwise quiet room with a sense of repetition you would only similarly find listening to the raindrops upon a window pane.

Despite the fiery element’s reign in that chamber of the palace, crowned at the poles by the fireplace and the lion’s heart of that platinum haired man, there was a bastion of cool watery blue located in a bowl of liquid near the Cardinal’s chair. Next to it were a few sharp looking objects as well as wet cloth. The cloth had some of that prelate’s noble blood streaked across it.

Opposite of the Cardinal on the table where the water lay sat a younger gentleman with the deep blue gaze of the ocean sea. It was these twin glimpses of the ocean that focused on the arm of the older man, guiding hands which applied stitching to an obvious sword wound across the top portion of the forearm.

“You’ve become quite the doctor,” the Cardinal smiled cogently despite the pain he must be feeling from the needle weaving through his arm’s flesh. His eyes turned away from that fire to look at the young gentleman.

The dedicated physician did not look up to his patient’s gaze.

“Thank you, uncle,” was the only reply; a grateful smile emanating from the young man.

Cardinal DeWitt continued to look upon his nephew with an inspecting gaze. Despite being called from Germany, the young man had promptly obeyed. Despite having to tend to his wounds, the young man did not ask any inquisitive questions.

“My brother taught you excellent discipline, Jakob,” Cardinal DeWitt added resisting the urge to wince as the wire around his wound tightened bringing the skin to close upon itself.

“Father taught by discipline, enduring many hardships during the Protestant rebellions. He says he learned it from his father,” Jakob replied cutting the end of the wire before placing the utensils into the water and looking up. “It seems grandpa taught you as much,” he added at the end a small proud grin greeting the Cardinal.

“Oh this?” the Cardinal motioned to his now patched wound and giving a guffaw that, with the crimson outfit, made him look almost… seasonal. “I’ve been through a lot more than a simple flesh wound, my boy.”

Jakob maintained that smile, a genuine sign of attentiveness. It seemed his father also taught him great respect.

“Father always did tell us stories about how you would protect us from the mobs during the rebellion,” Jakob began, his eyes downcast to once again guide his hands into cleaning the bloodied utensils and collecting all the dirtied cloth.

“Your father was a good man, Jakob,” the Cardinal responded looking down at the utensils also. It was a statement to umbrella them both with the memory of Jakob’s father. They both somberly gave a few seconds of silent contemplation disguising it as careful attention to the disposal of the utensils. They wanted to mourn the dead.

“How is your mother?” the Cardinal asked albeit quietly.

“She sends her regards,” Jakob answered raising his head to greet his patron’s face with a smile once again. “Though she does worry about you… Especially now that father’s gone…”

Jakob politely ended it there with a little nervous laugh before standing up to put his utensils into a receptacle near the rear of the room which he had brought with him. The Cardinal on the other hand looked back to the fire, bringing the now bandaged arm closer to his lap and holding his wrist with his other hand as if afraid his arm might fall away.

“Since I am your doctor now,” continued Jakob carefully locking up his luggage and approaching a fresh bowl on the dark side of the room to wash his blood stained hands. “How are you dealing with it?”

“It” was something the Cardinal did not want to talk about.

“I’d deal with it much better once I hear your response to my proposal,” replied the older man.

Whilst the Cardinal engaged his eyes onto the fray of the bustling fire, Jakob stood silently at the other end watching the water glide off of his iron scented fingers. When he had begun a few hours ago that morning working on his uncle’s wounds he thought that was the only reason he was called from his studies at the university in Frankfurt.

“It’s only been a few hours, uncle,” he replied a bit reluctantly turning around to gaze at the fatigued Cardinal. It’s amazing, he thought to himself, that his uncle had already fought in two engagements since three days ago. At first he doubted he could be just as strong.

“But you do understand what I’m asking of you?” the prelate responded turning to the young man. The older man’s eyes almost seemed to retain the fire of the fireplace and transmitted it across the room towards Jakob in an expression of sincere urgency.

Jakob blinked looking back through the darkened half of the room. His uncle was right, despite the complex message he had been briefed with, his astute brain seemed to fully understand all of it. The timepiece, the danger it would pose the importance of Spanish dominance. In fact, he thought to himself, it was as if the entire universe began making more sense since the explanation.

“Yes, uncle, I understand,” he affirmed.

Cardinal DeWitt seemed to sigh in relief as his frame relaxed into the seat, his gaze looking forward now onto the larger table in front of him. There had been a dark bottle of Pinot Noir and two glasses prepared. Jakob had said for him to drink it to ease the pain as he worked, but the Cardinal only drank the intoxicating liquor of the Sacred Blood nowadays. He wouldn’t go down the path of the wine bottle again.

“I still have a few years left,” the prelate began, “but I wish to use that time to train you to succeed me. I know it may be hard to accept right now, but Spain needs you, Jakob. Duke Jimenez and his sons will need you.”

His eyes went up again to meet the faint glow of the young man’s as stillness distilled the thoughts of the two in the room.

After a moment of thought, their proud eyes not once leaving each other’s contemplative gaze, Jakob walked over to his uncle’s chair and kneeled in front of him taking the uninjured arm and pressing his lips to the ring upon his finger.

“I will accept this honour,” the young man said albeit in a humbly faint manner his eyes still looking at the floor.

The Cardinal’s smile broadened his face and he immediately took both hands to his young successor’s shoulders despite the pain on the bandaged portion of his left arm.

“Excellent, excellent!” he exclaimed marvelously pulling the smiling and proud young lad up and leading him to another equally gold gilded chair.

“Sit sit,” the Cardinal continued, “and we’ll have a drink.” At that the Pinot Noir was opened and the Cardinal served them both—it was obviously time to have just a little drink.

After a congratulatory toast, the Cardinal sat deeply in his chair whilst the young man continued to have that proud smile; he had reason to have it. He would be sacrificing his life for the country of his uncle’s. No, he reasoned to himself, for the sake of the world. After all, it was explained to him by his uncle that the Duque de Medina Sidonia being the wily sea admiral that he was managed to run the blockade and escape with a Flyte to try and catch up to the Spanish Armada. It wasn’t the extra soldiers they would bring back to fight for their deposed lords that worried him either, it was the fact that the most important artifact in the globe had been smuggled out of the country.

While deep in thought he had not noticed the doting gaze of his patron.

“It’s astounding,” the Cardinal said; the words being propelled through the air with a swelling of pride tempered by a grimly serious tone, “time is… fleeting.”

Jakob could only look at his uncle with curiosity. It seemed as if the emotional barrier that separated the Lion of Meissen from the rest of the family was now being let down.

“Madness…” the Cardinal continued finally naming the “it” that Jakob and his mother were worried about and lowering his head, “takes its toll…”

“But listen closely,” the Cardinal emphasized to his new pupil raising his head to the young man; his eyes taking on a new trance-like opacity, “… not for very much longer…”

“I’ve got…” DeWitt continued with his eyes dilating back to normal and a sigh leaving his lips; his vision moved back to the glass of pinot noir… “to keep control…”

Jakob watched his fatigued uncle the years of putting time and effort into the projects coupled with the intense secrets he had kept about the keys… the timepiece… history… he understood with a deep foreboding the feeling of his surrogate father figure.

“I remember…” the Cardinal resumed quietly, “doing the time and work… drinking.”

Jakob followed the look of the older man’s to see that he was staring intently at the bottle in a rueful demeanor. When he looked back to his uncle he seemed like a smaller man in that big velvet chair: a man worn away by battle and time yet still willing to move forward despite his physical and mental limitations.

“Those… moments when the blackness would hit me…” the Cardinal continued almost on the verge of tears, “and the void would be calling!” he exclaimed bucking his chin upwards and closing his eyes as if to stop the welling of liquid and simultaneously remembering through that sudden blindness the darkness he experienced from his alcoholic stupors and convulsions of madness.

Jakob absorbed the older man’s deteriorating words but realizing now the vital importance he served. He was now a partner. He reached over to his uncle and surprising him out of his lidded reverie with a gentle press of his hand on the other’s.

“Let’s do the time and work again…” was the simple statement by the young nobleman. At that the old man’s expression lit up; everything was understood.

Despite the pain, the Cardinal brought up his other arm to place his hand over the outstretched offering of his nephew’s as he repeated quietly, “Let’s do the time and work… again.”


“It’s just a jump to the left,” Antonio instructed, as he watched Isabella intently.

Isabella’s tapped her steed in a peculiar fashion before the noble animal hopped a slight distance to its forward left.

“And then a step to the right,” Antonio then said as his own steed began trotting to the right. His eyes were still on Isabella attempting to copy her instructor’s directions.

Antonio had grinned two hours ago when Isabella had requested of him to teach her how to be an expert cavalier. The audacity of the request seemed to both flatter Antonio and fuel some mischief in him. This would be revenge for being duped and locked up, he thought.

“With your hands on your hips!” Antonio barked out as mercilessly as he would to an ordinary soldier.

Isabella complied letting go of the reigns and sat akimbo with the horse trotting underneath her. She began wobbling to and fro.

Antonio snapped his fingers to her to get her attention as if she was some disobedient student dozing off in some daydream. When he saw her bewildered and almost scared face he nearly laughed before pointing down to his legs to demonstrate to her.

“You bring your knees in tight,” he pontificated as he squeezed the saddle with his knees to gain some stability.

Isabella nodded pretending to fully understand. Naturally, her horse feeling her nervous pressure began to trot faster as if bidden by its master to speed up. Antonio watched as the diagonal movement of the horse coupled with her strange sitting position made the horse nearly gallop forward and sideways. At this point he couldn’t help but laugh as he emulated the same kind of disorder on his horse, bucking forward and back with the horse’s movement, “but it’s the pelvic thrust,” he said half laughing and saying each word in between the forward and back motions of the steed’s body, “that really drives you insa—”

Intoxicated by his own amusement he failed to notice that Isabella’s accelerating horse was now barreling sideways towards him. By the time Isabella looked to her right to see him, the two horses hit each other lightly. Unfortunately with both of their hands off the reigns and in such a silly position both came tumbling to the ground, “—aa-aa-aane!” Antonio called out as he fell.

The two horses galloped forward from the sudden impact and left their previous passengers with sore bottoms on the grass.

Antonio shook his head quickly regaining his composure and looked around him to the fallen Isabella on the other side. He suddenly sprang forward from his laid back position over to the motionless figure.

“Isabella!” he called out as he crouched near her body.

He awaited a response but none came and a panic started to well up inside of him. He was about to stand up to call for help but a small laugh started to find its way to his ears. His concerned face turned back to the closed-eye figure who now donned a devious grin and peals of laughter leaking out from it.

Antonio could only sigh and back away resting his rump on the grass once again almost nearly laughing himself.

Isabella’s figure brought itself up and she turned with her golden locks messily blocking some of her face. “Shall we do it again?” she asked still half laughing.

Antonio found himself laughing, but was suddenly interrupted by an approaching horseman.

“My lord and lady!” the soldier called out, “you are requested back at the village immediately!”

Antonio and Isabella both stood, their smiles casually leaving their faces.

“What’s wrong?” Antonio called out brushing the dirt off of his samurai regalia.

“The enemy has found us!”

Tom was glad to see his parents after his interview with Father Xavier. Apparently they had all been briefed of the situation individually to ensure they weren’t collaborators. For their own protection they would be living there at the special station. For Tom, it felt like an old hospital—that kind of sterile feeling. The officers that moved about rarely talked to them either but at least they had comfortable rooms.

A lawyer met with them the day after to make sure they understood that they would now be under police protection for a while and that he would process their work papers while they were gone. The lawyer was a happy reminder for the family that they still lived in the real world.

The idea of being possible targets still shook them. The three of them would often sleep in the same room with the parents on the bed and Tom sleeping on the pleather sofa just to make sure their small family would not get any smaller.

Despite all this, officers had gone to their home and picked up Tom’s myriad documents and research bringing it to the station to sift through and take notes. Tom was present with his parents for most of the meetings answering the detectives’ questions.

It would be the same deal this morning. Tom and his parents filed into the sterile steel lined chamber of the conference room where two officers awaited them; a pile of Tom’s essays, drawings, and notebooks were already on the table.

The officers were always dispassionate about the meetings and simply wrote down notes. Even when asking about insane topics like a world where 53 whole countries allowed abortion on demand the officers did not flinch. Talking about gay marriage did not seem to alter the demeanor of the officers either, although it made Tom uncomfortable and his parents a bit embarrassed.

“It’s not like I want the world to be this way,” Tom had explained to his parents about all of it the other night, “it’s just what I think would have happened if the world had remained fragmented…”

He would desperately try to explain it to his parents who were just simply too dazed from this entire ordeal to absorb the historical nerdiness of their son correctly. Tom felt like they were starting to blame him for all of this.

“And what about this?” one of the officers that morning now asked breaking Tom’s thoughts.

The officer pushed forward a topographical map of the Japanese Alps with boxed Xs and boxes with slashes and dots in them strewn throughout the countryside.

“That’s the Battle of the Akaishi Mountains,” Tom replied. He had gone through identifying a lot of his drawings; it became a bit tiresome after a while.

“According to history,” the other officer began, “the Spanish troops were defeated here but you put down that if they had been victorious, history would have been changed greatly.”

Tom liked the other officer better. He had gotten to know the other officer as “Carlos” although at this point he wasn’t sure it was his real name. He must have been one of those consultant officers who were experienced in a certain field. During the course of the examination of the documents he had been questioned by this historian-officer often. He would have found it almost enjoyable to talk about history if it weren’t for the second stoic officer named “Fernando” who kept the pace a scalding eighty documents a day.

“Well, if Spain failed to produce a stronghold in Asia, they would have had no chance against China. And I figured through my initial timeline,” he pointed towards the notebook that contained the first draft of his historical tinkering. The one that had the crazy 300+ nation drawn map and such silly weak ideas like a “European Union” instead of the iron fisted centralized rule form Madrid.

“But wouldn’t the battle being won by the Spanish at the mountain make it easier for them to take Japan?” the officer inquired logically.

“Actually not necessarily,” Tom replied his eyebrows rising in a scholarly “did you know” kind of look. “If the Spanish had won that battle, it would have merely continued the massive war machine that Nobunaga was assembling. But because they lost, the Japanese thought they had sufficiently prepared for the return of the Armada and would not have continued amassing troops.”

While Tom was explaining, Fernando had felt the soft vibrations of his cell phone in his pant pocket and had fiddled with it while the boy completed his explanation. Through his sunglasses, the others couldn’t see his slightly intrigued expression.

“Excuse us for a second, folks,” he said tapping his partner on the shoulder. Fernando and Carlos left the room through a separate door.

“What is it, Jorge?” Fernando asked the man behind the huge one way mirror who had been watching the interview. Carlos took the opportunity to get a cup of coffee from the back of that dimly lit room.

“We just received this from document analysis. It was in their mail casing on their door,” the other man said his face slightly illuminated by a drag on a cigarette.

Fernando took the piece of paper and read it with squinted eyes underneath a desk lamp near the back.

“We sent out a team to this “Rodrigo’s” address already. We narrowed it down using Tom’s cell phone. If he knows something we’ll bring him in,” Jorge informed the detective.

“Yeah, that’s good,” Fernando replied nodding his head and giving the piece of paper back. He motioned for Carlos to accompany him again back into the room.

When the detectives sat back down Carlos took a sip of his coffee and Fernando returned to his statue-like appearance.

“Anyway,” Carlos resumed, “about the preparations for the Armada, we both know Japan didn’t need to build more troops. All twenty five thousand Spanish troops were captured along with the Admiral Medina Sidonia when he was sent over there.”

“That’s the point!” Tom nearly yelled out his face assuming some silly nerdish grin. “The capture of the troops was the plan all al—”

Before Tom could finish his sentence the table almost seemed to leap up at them along with a simultaneous muffled thud. After the initial surprise, Tom realized that all of them had been moved. A brief Earthquake? He asked himself. A weird sound like five people beating a hanging rug rapidly over and over was heard down the hall. That’s when the light above them went out.

Chapter XI: Infiltration and Capture (coming soon)

TeeWee said:

I'm still reading your AAR, but Real Life is always interfering. I've made a hard copy of your updates which makes it so much better to read. When I've actually finished reading, I'll get back to you but so far, it's looking really good!

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Thanks for your continued patronage ! I'm quite flattered that you've made hard copies ! I hope that my work will continue to be quality reading for you !

This is why i only post once every 2 days at the latest since I know so many people are reading so many AARs I wanted to make sure it was easy to catch up !

grayghost said:

I love the atmospher that you built in the scene between Cardinal Dewitt and Jakob. I felt I was there, sitting in that room of shadows and dancing firelight watching the interaction between the two. Outstanding.

Might want to check your separation between scene one and scene two. Got confused there for a moment. So, "Rocky Horror Picture Show" tunes now. :rofl: Actually, it was quite funny.

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Thanks ! I named Cardinal DeWitt after my best friend and I wanted to channel the deep respect I have for him with that scene .

I also added a little ----- in between the transition to make it easier on people i'll do that from now on . Oh and i'm so glad you picked up on the Rocky Horror comedy I put in ! I wonder who else noticed that ! har har ! That and "Ceylon Base Ship" are my favourite stabs at humour ! Thanks again ! XD

Eber said:

Great update! I love the time warp reference.

I loved the scene with Antonio and Isabella. Such an innocence to the both of them. That scene shows they are truly human. Great job.

I wonder what the "earthquake" really is...*dun dun dun*

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Thanks Eber ! I wanted to portray Isabella and Antonio as relative youngsters so i'm glad that made it through !

Zerch de la Opo said:

I really enjoyed this AAR, even though I do not have EUIII just yet I can still appreciate the skill it took to write such an engrossing AAR. As long as you continue crafting such epic compositions like the little wordsmith you are, THE DOOR IS always OPEN for you, sir.

Kudos!

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Ahh thanks a bunch for your patronage !

I hope you enjoy it and I also hope it encourages you to try out some EUIII !

kleomenes said:

There are only two words that could come close to describing the brilliance of this AAR: Absolutely Amazing!
great writing!

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Thank you very much for your generous words and encouragement ! It's comments like these that I continue to be so eager to write for you all ! Thank you again and I hope to see you around ! If there is anything about the AAR I can do for you or anyone else please feel free to post !

BONUS TIME: That's right ! As you may know once in a while I like to give a bonus ! This time it will be another picture ! Today we will be featuring one of our characters , the Spy Sweet !


For some of you this picture will be familiar , but then again if you already recognize the picture you would have recognized the references since the Far East chapter to Sweet and Grubby ! Enjoy !

Extra Bonus !! Also today since it’s the weekend I’ve decided to add something extra to the bonus section for the readers out there ! Today, Saturday, will mark the end of the gracious prestige of the WritAAR of the Week for me so I’ve decided to let the fans in on a little about myself and the story .

To Celebrate 3000+ views, today’s bonus will be in the style of an interview !

During the week I sat down with Dinvalis, a personal friend and guild leader of the World of Warcraft guild The Scarlet Aristocracy of which I was a former leader. He and I spoke about this AAR, future plans, as well as a little about me for both my friends in the guild and those readers here. I wanted to thank Dinvalis for his kind interview as well as our friend Josh for recording and editing it !

INTERVIEW recorded from Ventrilo 10 March 2007. For the sake of clarity, the recorded voice interview has been transliterated and truncated to fit this format. Formatting and encoding by Josh. Bracketted notes were added for clarity by the editor.

Dinvalis: Thanks for being able to chat today, I know you’ve been busy with lots of reading and schoolwork lately.

Canonized: Thanks for having me.

Dinvalis: I started reading your piece [Timelines: What if Spain Failed to Control the World?] last week when you told us about it on the Aristocracy forums. First off, what got you to start writing it?

Canonized: Well, I’ve had a few writing projects in the past, but I always got tired of writing something alone. I decided to write something more visible almost like an episode by episode format that people might enjoy. I thought that a forum format would be fun so I tried it out.

Dinvalis: I know, for example, that you didn’t have many writing projects on our [The Aristocracy’s] forum, what was it about these [The Paradox] forums that made you choose to write an AAR?

Canonized: Well I’m a lover of history. Writing on the Aristocracy’s forum would have limited me, really, to writing about fantasy things. It’s just not my forte.

Dinvalis: From reading the comments on your thread it looks like you’ve made an original format to your work; why did you choose to have parallel past and future narration?

Canonized: When I first thought about how to write my AAR, I decided that it would be too simple just to be straight forward and do the country’s storyline. I know, at least for me, that deep down inside some players really like to think of how their creation would affect the world. I just wanted to show the natural consequences of historical changes.

Dinvalis: You mentioned to me the other day that it’s also part of the theme of the work, what did you mean?

Canonized: I’ve told a lot of my readers who I keep private messages with this. I think that what we can see from the alternate present and the alternate past will help me send out a thematic message about history in general. I mean, I don’t mean to sound pretentious, but I do want my work to have some meaning aside from mere entertainment.

Dinvalis: What would that meaning be?

Canonized: Well, to be honest I’d really hate to analyze my own work especially since it’s not even finished in my head yet. Obviously it won’t be some end all be all ‘this is the greatest’ kind of deal, but I thought I’d try to add soul to all of it.

Dinvalis: So you don’t know how your story will end?

Canonized: Sort of; I’ve got a killer twist I have reserved for the ending but as to how I get to that point is going to be both challenging in a good way as well as an adventure.

Dinvalis: I know some people have commented on how you give away part of the ending already, since we all know from your title and future narratives that the alternate past succeeds in domination [by Spain]. Does this affect how you write?

Canonized: Oh most definitely. I know it’s much harder to write about something that’s already pre-determined, but I hope that my readers will enjoy the journey more than the destination!

Dinvalis: You’re pretty new on those forums.

Canonized: Yeah

Dinvalis: Does it affect the way you write? I’ve noticed that others have been writing pieces as far back as 2002.

Canonized: I don’t think so. I have great respect for those who have been writing for so long and so much but they’re not intimidating in any way. I think the opposite is true, most—actually all—the people that I’ve met so far have been nothing but gracious to my work and to me. I think that the Paradox forums are one of the more mature and accepting places to write which really helps a new writer. The only uneasy feeling I sometimes get is when people don’t say anything, because it makes you wonder if they secretly hate it or something haha.

Dinvalis: Do you think that’s the case?

Canonized: No, I don’t think so. Most people especially me are really busy so it’s not often that you can read someone else’s AAR, though I’ve been trying especially in searching for a new WoW.

Dinvalis: Have you found someone to name?

Canonized: Yeah, I’ll be announcing today [Saturday].

Dinvalis: I thought it was a one week award, weren’t you supposed to announce Sunday?

Canonized: Haha yeah, but being on the West Coast of the USA it would still be Saturday for me when midnight rolls around in Madrid.

Dinvalis: Madrid?

Canonized: I decided to announce when Sunday comes European time. I decided to be biased and go with Madrid time since I’m writing about Spain.

Dinvalis: Speaking of bias, I noted that you have a lot of references in your work: Star Trek, Battlestar Galactica, Warcraft III pro-gamers, DotA, Rocky Horror, Fire Emblem, The Pope’s old nickname, All Your Base Are Belong to Us, even the Paradox forums itself. Anyone ever tell you that you’re a huge geek?

[laughter]

Canonized: I guess so. At first it just started as a joke. I was watching the History Channel and they were doing a “Star Trek Tech” show and they explained that “Raise Shields” was an old army term to put up your shields against incoming missiles. I thought I’d try to be clever and insert that into the story somewhere. From there it just sort of became a tradition.

Dinvalis: Ceylon Base-Ship was my favourite.

Canonized: Haha, yeah that and the Time Warp lyrics were really fun to integrate.

Dinvalis: You also added quite a bit of pictures. Most of the work, I hear, you do with paint?

Canonized: Yeah, I also have the help of one of those free trial web graphics presto chango things. I use it to help make some images transparent.

Dinvalis: You kept the Aristocracy’s signatures of the Cross as part of your banner as well as the double-headed eagle motif. Was that on purpose?

Canonized: Definitely. I wanted to give a shout out to the old guild, but at the same time I also wanted to identify the story with Catholicism and the Emperorship. It goes along with the overall pattern in the story of trying to achieve One Emperor, One Pope like Dante prescribed. In fact, that's what I tried to impress onto the guild's identity as well as my story's

Dinvalis: I’m surprised you don’t go by Armitage on this forum. It was always your favourite name.

Canonized: I still use that nick in private communications with certain people on this board, but for the most part I just use Canonized. Armitage or Armi as a name is more personal to me nowadays.

Dinvalis: So what’s in the works for future AARs?

Canonized: Well, I’ll be doing a Victoria AAR and then a HOI2DD AAR once I finish with this one.

Dinvalis: I’m guessing they’ll continue the Timelines timeline, if you’ll forgive the pun.

Canonized: They will, but they’ll also be self contained entities with different characters obviously as well as different foci.

Dinvalis: Anything you can tell us about them?

Canonized: The Victoria AAR will be about a Spanish detective and his young apprentice investigating a few high stakes acts of terrorism that they believe are linked to a Socialist Rebel Group. It’ll follow their adventures as well as the young apprentice growing up. When the apprentice has to take over the job he’s got years of experience behind him thanks to his teacher, but all of that won’t be enough when an even more sinister successor-organization lead by someone who calls himself “Noble Wolf” or "Herr Wolf" threatens global stability in the heart of Europe. And that, for some of you who know your Old High German, will explain what leads into the HOI2DD AAR and what the beginning of this [Timeline’s] AAR noted as “The Great War.”

Dinvalis: Well thanks for speaking with me, and once again congratulations on WritAAR of the Week; any final words for your former Aristocracy guildmates?

Canonized: Sure! Just wanted to wish them luck in Karazhan and all the 25-mans and that I’m with you all in spirit!

You can find out more about the Scarlet Aristocracy whom Dinvalis now leads at www.TheAristocracy.net (Dinvalis’s brother is the webmaster). If you would like to speak to Dinvalis, private message him either on the Scarlet Crusade server on WoW or on his forums at the above link.

Once again thanks to Dinvalis for the interview and thanks to Josh for the recording and editing!

ladybug said:

ROFL I never expected that but I liked it however your interviewer missed Samurai Warriors........

But you know something Paradox and KOEI should get together and make a game that combines DW, SW, and that Hundred Years War one they are making with Paradox’s grand strategy. You end up with a game where you build your army's tell them where to go then take control of some little guy with a spear or something and hack and slash you empire. It would probably make for a good massive multiplayer game.


HEY powers that be you listen to this
*cue the no one is listening sound effects*

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LOL !! So he did forget about Samurai Warriors . Gosh to be honest I didn't even notice . Actually one of the reasons as you know is because Oda Nobunaga and Akechi etc were all historical characters . I guess I just forgot about the reference when Tom was playing the video game XD . Thanks for pointing it out ! And thanks for your kind comment ! I wouldn't mind playing a revised sengoku period by paradox either .

Rcduggan: I'm glad you're enjoying updates ! I try to keep things lively in between chapter posts !

June 15, 1581

Ikari clasped his fan as he sat with his feet underneath him. His fists were stapled onto his knees and he made no move at all. In that deep silence of his motions, he waited calmly for the meeting behind the sliding door next to him would summon him.

It was past this portal that the man who struggled to unify Japan was conferring with his closest aides about the Spanish prisoners as well as the impending return of the Spanish fleet. The two samurai standing by the door had eyed Ikari as he strained to listen. They must not approve of his shinobi ways and its shifting alliances.

“Bring him in,” someone called out from inside the chamber loud enough to be heard outwardly. The two guards slid each side of the portal open.

Within the room ran a colonnade of sitting men creating a central aisle down the middle. There were many noblemen and lieutenants in attendance. He recognized most notably his lords Hashiba Hideyoshi and Akechi Mitsuhide amongst those in line. Even representatives from the other warring factions such as the Mori were present. The Spanish aggression had brought them all together. At the far end of the human aisle sat their overlord.

Oda Nobunaga with his sharp whiskers did not seem like the warlord who had subjugated most of that island nation. Indeed he still looked somewhat handsome at the age of 46. He would be 47 in 6 days. The Lord of central Japan took his seat at the head alone facing the others except with his trusty and loyal page Mori Ranmaru.

Ikari slowly dragged himself inward and gave a low bow to his masters. Some of them looked on, others faced outwardly as if they were incessantly bored of the proceeding; tilting their heads to one side and holding it there with a hand.

“This is your spy master, Hideyoshi?” The man at the head asked as the doors behind Ikari were softly glided back into place.

“Yes, my Lord,” Hideyoshi responded turning back to the front of the room and nodding his head simultaneously.

Ikari said nothing but kept his head low and watching the floor with eyes wide open.

“Ikari-san, report to us your findings,” Hideyoshi now bid his spy master with a nod that the other did not see.

“My lords, I have here the exact position where their fleet will unload their men,” Ikari said as he slowly raised his head. He had retrieved a parchment from behind him and passed it to the nearest vassal in the 8 person parallel lines.

“Is this information reliable?” Oda asked once again addressing Hideyoshi and not the ninja.

The paper was being slowly transmitted up towards their master as Hideyoshi turned back to Oda and providing a scooping single nod. “Yes. The documentation we preserved from the fireplaces at the mountain village as well as the testimony of their officers while Ikari was among them verifies this.”

By the time Hideyoshi finished explaining the paper reached Oda and he studied it carefully before passing it on to his page. The pointy whiskers on either side of that man seemed to tighten.

“We know twenty five thousand will be approaching. We will most likely be able to bring as many as one hundred thousand men to the site especially with the contribution of the Mori clan and our new friends in Shikoku. But the toll against these Spaniards will be high.”

That was the moment Akechi Mitsuhide was waiting for and he inched himself forward slightly making him stand out along the right column from Oda. He looked to his master his shoulder hunched over slightly in reverence.

“I believe I have a solution for that, master,” stated Akechi.

“What do you mean?” Oda asked tapping his fan contemplatively on his knee.

“If you will permit me, my Lord, I can have the entire Spanish army surrender without losing a single soldier.”

Oda’s eyebrow rose slightly and the gaze of the entire room met the figure of Akechi. Even the young page looked up from the map in anticipation.

Akechi’s lips couldn’t help but curve upwardly.

July 33, 1581

Akechi Mitsuhide tightened the band around his waist securing both his katana and the slightly longer tachi. He would not have his retainers help him with his armour; today he would put it on himself. The staggered scaling to his sides and shoulders and globing him in the middle seemed to catch the same dark foreboding as their wearer’s eyes.

Today Akechi had an opportunity he could not miss; an opportunity he’d been waiting for since the murder of his mother as a hostage. With every tug of his gloved hands against the strappings, he nearly snapped them as he thought to himself. Each movement was a curse to Oda Nobunaga: an honourless man who killed a rival at the price of the loss of Akechi’s mother as a peace hostage. It was time to seek revenge—no; a time to bring Japan to a better future.

It had been three days since the Spanish fleet arrived and sailed away again, three days since Akechi convinced his master—that wretched man—to allow him to ‘force’ Antonio, Duque de Alba to surrender the troops and wave the fleet away on the stipulation that they would be allowed to return home after a permanent peace treaty was signed—a treaty which Oda would gain gold from. To reward his ‘faithful’ subject, Oda had been willing to give Akechi castles, money, nearly whatever he wanted. Instead, Akechi asked to be put in charge of the prisoners and his army to be given their weapons as a reward.

The request was odd enough in itself and perhaps it was a bit too risky, but Isabella and Antonio seemed to gamble often. Akechi trusted them because he felt in control. In control of the Spanish weapons and their men, he would take Japan with his new friends. All it would cost was Osaka for now. Yes… for now…

“Akechi, are your men ready?” Antonio asked.

Lost in his thoughts, Akechi found himself at the head of a cavalry train; the Duque and Dona Isabella to his left as they rode forward. They had issued from his castle with five thousand of Akechi’s men—and five thousand Spanish.

“Yes,” came the reply. The man was obviously drunk in his vengeance. “Ten thousand here and twenty more at the other two castles plus the prisoners. That gives us twenty five thousand of my people and fifteen thousand of yours under our direct command.”

“And the other ten thousand?”

“In the nearby castles. They will fall easily once we are underway.”

“And where is Oda now?” Isabella chimed in with a voice quite in contrast to her more serious male companions. It was as if that young woman was on an afternoon stroll.

“Apparently,” and this was where Akechi seemed a bit puzzled, “he’s at the temple site in Honnoji just as you both predicted…”

Antonio seemed to look back towards Isabella with a grin.

“Trust us,” Antonio replied, “It will be killing two birds with one stone.”


Mori Ranmaru opened his eyes away from the meditative trance the silent thin atmosphere had given him. Traveling from Kyoto to the shrine seemed like a welcome respite: a victory parade for a victorious ruler.

Both figures of lord and vassal sat quietly in the middle of that wide room. A Buddha greeted them to their front. Their eyes had been closed in simple meditation in the plain environment when the young boy nearly flicked his ears at something.

The burning of incense wafted through the air like a misty vapor encircling them invisibly before saturating their olfactory senses. Again, Mori’s ear twitched as if he heard something in the distance.

“Excuse us,” a voice came from the door behind him.

It was now Oda’s turn to greet the pleasant plain room and the diety in front of him with his ponderous eyes. With a simple application of his fists to the floor, he swiveled himself around. His young vassal did the same.

The white papered portal slid to the left revealing a heavily dressed and heavily decorated tall man who entered and clumsily sat himself down from across the room of the other two. He was accompanied by two guards and another man working as an interpreter.

“Good afternoon, sir,” the man said in a strange tongue and was quickly translated by the helper.

Both the lord and his vassal gave a sitting bow. The foreigner attempted to emulate the motion with some earnest.

“I wanted to thank you for coming and for our kind friend Takeshi for setting up this meeting,” the lord responded with much courtesy bowing both to the foreigner and to his interpreter.

The foreigner couldn’t help but bow again, albeit awkwardly.

“My lord, my name is Alonso Perez du Guzman, Duque de Medina-Sidonia,” explained the Spaniard and the translator simultaneously conveyed the message in Japanese.

“And I understand you are here because you have something of value I may possess?” asked Oda; there was a contrived smile on his face.

Mori, on the other hand, observed the Spaniard with intense suspicion. He held his lips in tightly to suppress his feelings about them. It would have been enough to squeeze a lemon’s juice out.

“Yes… as you know my country is on a long quest to control many facets of this world…” the Duque began. His words gave a slight hint of hesitancy and his tone was almost guilty. He would be selling out his country for the sake of his nobility. Despite the language barrier, the two astute noblemen in front of him used their years of experience to ascertain that from his expression. “My country is also on a quest for strange artifacts called keys… and a central object called a timepiece…”

It was a long explanation and especially the word timepiece did not translate as correctly as one might have imagined. It was for that reason that for a moment, Oda seemed a bit confused and his young page seemed dispassionate. Mori tried to decipher the translation in his head over and over. What did it mean the ti--!

“You have brought a timepiece here?!” Mori suddenly cried out standing to his feet.

All the eyes in the room and even the guards followed the young man as he jumped to that standing position. The translator translated the exclamation while still staring at the young boy.

“Mori-kun, what is the meaning of this?” Oda suddenly demanded, obviously embarrassed by the stark lack of decorum his vassal was displaying.

The Duque only looked up in half amazement and replying with “Yes.”

“Where is it?!” cried out the young man almost in a scream.

At this point Nobunaga himself stood up ready to place a stern hand on the boy’s shoulder when a messenger’s successive thuds down the hall alerted them to something else.

“Masters!” the messenger called out almost out of breath.

“What is it now?!” Oda asked sternly, his frustration showing.

“Lord Oda! Akechi’s forces have surrounded the temple grounds, they are demanding for your presence!”

The contracted pupils on Nobunaga’s eyes would have been priceless to see. It was a pity Akechi was outside starting the fireworks by tossing torches onto the walls and buildings of the temple.

Deep down, Oda knew it was over for him. With only his honour guard in the premises of the temple, he would be captured. A dishonour with only one way out. The Duke, on the other hand, could not at all keep up with the commotion as the translator had been watching the scene closely with obvious suspense.

“Where did you hide it?!” was the sudden eruption from the young one. In all the commotion, Mori’s thought remained on what the Admiral had said. When the translator would not respond he yelled it again directly in front of the young man. “Ask him quickly! Where did he put the timepiece?!”

With a slight nod the translator asked with the only response from the Duke with a shaking of his head. Oda was still in a daze almost stuttering when he ordered his messenger to prepare his armour and forces. The din of a surging mass of people was suddenly being heard from even within that sanctuary. If only he had the hearing of his younger days Oda may have sensed it as much as Mori did.

“He says he’s hidden it, my Lord; buried somewhere where no one can lay claim to it without his knowledge.”

“This is NO time for games! You must get it away from here!” yelled out the young man; he almost squealed it out. He grabbed the nobleman’s dress by the collar while that taller one was still sitting down.

“I’m afraid that would be impossible,” came a voice from the western wing of the room. Everyone turn their heads. Even the seething Mori had to take a look.

From the window casually tumbled in the samurai clad figure of Antonio followed by the graceful horizontal one handed leap by Isabella.

“I’m afraid we have you all surrounded,” added Isabella.

“How did you get in here!” shouted Oda as he motioned with his other hand for Mori to grab his sword.

“With all the confusion Akechi is causing outside, the gaps in this temple would put swiss cheese to shame,” replied Antonio as the younger one put aside his craziness to fetch their weapons.

“Suisu Chizu?” Oda asked with a threatening contraction of his forehead. It didn’t sound friendly considering that it had something to do about putting it to shame.

The Admiral now completely disturbed stood up to escape through the door, but at that instant the hand of the translator extended to his throat. A metal curve greeted the chin of that man, immediately holding him in his half standing position.

“If you make a move, Admiral, I’m afraid I’ll have to ask Sweety here to finish,” Isabella proclaimed with a hauty grin. She would have nearly laughed.

The two guards stepped slightly away from the captive Admiral as Sweet slowly guided the man towards the other two.

“So this is why you’re the one who set up the meeting between Oda and me,” the Admiral said slowly and ruefully.

When Mori had retrieved the swords and given one to Oda, he gave out a lugubrious sigh.

“This is not fair, Janus. I thought I dealt with you already,” quipped the young man.

Antonio gave a large exaggerated sigh in return as well while the others looked on, the chaotic situation reaching some critical entropy mass.

“Well, Ginji-kun, maybe if you had paid more attention…”

It appeared that the “diplomatic” nicknames extended to Japan. The holder of the Silence here went by “Ginji.”

“Enough!” Oda said, his frustration and confusion boiling over. The old soldier drew his blade. So did Mori and the guards stood at the ready.

“Looks like we’ve overstayed our leave. Since we have the admiral and you all surrounded by Akechi’s men, I think we’ll leave you to your fate,” Antonio arrogantly pontificated.

Oda responded to that arrogance with a roar and a charge. Mori merely watched as the guards and his master approached the young nobleman and Isabella. Swords clashed and metal raced, Antonio’s own katana rising to the occasion as steel and steel-eye worked a weaving brief history of their battle. The elegance of single strokes meets with balance and posture, the nobleman and the doomed man raced each other to a forced finish.

It is not that one does not understand the moves and strokes of the sword, but that it is lived. For Antonio and Oda, the autobiography of their encounter exists in the brightness of the sparks from their frictioning blades and the cherry blossom-like precipitation from it.

Antonio was entranced by his own movements, the parry and thrust, slice and counterpose was like a running chord, an unfinished record, a never ending story. But Oda maintained the pace. He hurried the final chapters with the flicker of his metallic instrument. If he had been more careful one might have seen him draw the kanji for death with it.

Antonio fought to keep it longer. That the last page never be written, that the sudden thrust of the opponent only met with passive anger deflecting it to the left, the right, upwards, and back. He became like the forest where the wood never end. He was the obstacle between Oda and satisfaction. This is the nature of sword fighting.

But all that was quickly coming to a favourable close, Sweet had coaxed the admiral out of the window and the guards were quickly held at bay by the cunning Isabella. But tragedy may have been the ending of the story. Ikari had been waiting outside of the door for his chance.

In the time it took for a dew to reach the earth from a blade of grass, Ikari’s shadowy figure met the incensed air of that room in a great tumult. He sped across the room and with tachi in hand, drove it to where Antonio’s ribcage would be. His sword was sideways, he had meant to slide it right in between the bone.

Antonio was still standing like a tower, holding against Oda’s sword with his own as the moment came. That was when lightning came to earth. From the window came a terrible bang and a bullet lodged itself into Ikari’s thrusting chest. His body fell and the noble Nobunaga stepped back.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Jakob announced holding a discharged hand arquebus.

“It’s not that hard to sneak by, you know!” retorted Isabella as she began climbing out of the window.

“I’m a doctor, not a ninja!” Jakob replied helping the young lady across the threshold.

Nobunaga could only watch as his future slipped away. There was truly no other choice.

“Come with us, Ginji. I’ll make sure you retire peacefully,” Antonio said in between pants, his eyes still focused on the other swordsman in the room.

“It’s not over yet, Janus,” the other replied. “You forget that you’ll only be winning Osaka with this. Japan will still survive. And so long as it survives, even if you kill me, I will always return…”

The ominous response coming from such a young boy did not deter the young nobleman from his stance but he did slowly back away reaching the window and finally going over it. Without any other words, the party snuck away. They would leave the two to commit seppuku in peace.

As they rode away, pressing distance between them and the burning inferno behind them, the Admiral was tied up and bound.

“As I said in my report when I arrived, we were able to follow the Admiral and find where he hid the timepiece since he landed,” explained Jakob. “We managed to dig it up and send it back to the fleet shortly after. Eduardo should be taking it in safe keeping until it reaches my uncle in Madrid.”

“We? I thought you came alone?” Isabella asked curiously.

At this Jakob only gave a hefty proud smile as several riders suddenly appeared from the thickets. They came up to flank them. At first Antonio instinctively reached for his katana, but Jakob gave him a shake of the head. Upon closer inspection, Antonio recognized the familiar emblem emblazoned upon these knights’ standards.

“My lords and lady, I present the Lions of Meissen."


Tom’s heartbeat filled his ears. Indeed, he was almost deaf to the pattering of sound outside the door. Huddled in the corner of that make shift bedroom together with him was his family. It had only been two minutes ago since the two officers had grabbed them out of that conference room and through the back door. They protested at the manhandling but at the same time it was hard to do so in near complete darkness.

Once they had gotten into the hall is when the emergency lights switched on. The red glow made them uneasy. The hallways took on a sinister attribute. That’s when the heard the second explosion. Another mini-‘earthquake’ shook at the ground and the group stumbled slightly towards the wall.

It was now within that room of theirs that they waited. The two officers had since got up to leave, hoping, with guns drawn, to stave off whatever monster it was that had suddenly entered into the building.

They had not returned. It was not long, however, until the popping sound of the carpet hitters returned again. It was unmistakable, Tom thought, it was rifle fire. Rifle as in guns. Guns as in instant death. His parents were holding him in between them. They would be a sandwich of corpses. He would have cried if he wasn’t so frustrated.

That’s when popping turned into banging and the hallway was filled with a spray of noise. People were screaming.

In that darkened room, Tom Royce and his family said prayers together in the whispers of desperate believers. Only the red light gave them their comfort, it told them the colour to expect.

After a minute, the shooting had stopped. For a moment there was a peace and calm that even made the sound of the light bulb buzz with hope. It was that same minute that the door came crashing down.

Tom nearly broke his teeth clenching his jaw as his father came in front of the two of them shielding them with his back. Instead there was an immediate chatter behind them as all three closed their eyes. They would be prepared for the stabbing pain of bullets in their bodies.

Five quick thuds and a masked and heavily armoured man grabbed the shoulder of Tom’s father pulling him away. The surprise of the motion brought Tom’s father into quick attention to the soldier as he debated whether or not to fight the man or to submit to his mercy.

Tom’s mother screamed and Tom held onto her as if wishing their bodies would meld and then disappear behind the wall.

“Come with me if you want to live,” was the muffled almost radio-like voice of the tinted black visored individual.

Tom opened his eyes slowly and saw his father and the man standing there, his father was still in shock. What was going to happen to them?

“Don’t be alarmed,” came the stupid suggestion. “We’re here to help you.”

In that dim light, Tom’s dreary eyes focused on the man in front of them and the soldiers near the door as if guarding it from intruders. On the shoulder of the one nearest him was what looked like a black lion clawing at a tower.

Chapter XI: The Lions of Meissen (coming soon)

Happy Update: Preview of Upcoming Features !

Starting this upcoming Weekend I will be unveiling my latest project called You've Been Canonized ! . Each week on Saturday I will be posting an interview that I will be giving to one of the various authors who post here on this thread . It will be a discussion of their thoughts on this AAR as well as a way to get to know more about their personality and persons as authors as well and have some information on their AAR ! I got the idea after the interview my friend Dinvalis did for me and so I wanted to extend it to those wonderful patrons here on the thread .

I wanted to do this also to help encourage the flow of readers and their interest in multiple AARs as well as hopefully shed some light on what readers think of this AAR ! I hope you will all enjoy the idea . Our first guest for this week is grayghost the current WritAAR of the Week ! So expect the interview to be up this weekend and then more interviews each subsequent Saturday with more authors !

grayghost said:

Some interesting intrigue in Japan, with surrendering Spanish armies that become part of Japanese armies. Makes me start thinking of "The Malazan Books of the Fallen". Great stuff BTW. These intertwining threads between past and present are also intriguing. Be interesting to see where this next one goes, especially the present portion.

Click to expand...

Yeah I really wanted to find a new way of working around a country's defenses . Japan especially is so difficult being so far away so I thought of aiding rebels to make the government fall . An update should be coming later on this afternoon thanks again for your patronage !

March 22, 1582

The sun illuminated the palisade in that late afternoon with a cajoling invitation to warmth. The dampness of the Silent Room was too disturbing for the Cardinal and he decided it was easier to clear a hallway of that magnificent palace at Madrid and pace through it deep in thought. His attendants attempted to follow his pattern of movement but the warrior-prelate seemed to evade them as often as his thoughts jumped from one report to another.

“The last stronghold of Protestantism in France has already diminished by five out of one hundred people, your Eminence,” one of the followers interjected amongst the movement.

It would have been a comical scene if it weren’t for the effervescence of the rose garden that the palisade surrounded. It was spring time in Spain again and the Cardinal wanted to take advantage of it. Besides, the presence of the fragrance helped him think although he would never tell his friends this. It would go against his German manliness!

“Good, good. Allocate this month’s funds to the effort in Cuzco, then,” the Cardinal replied with his hand partly covering his mouth and his forehead cringing in contemplation.

“We have also received word that the suppression of the rebels in North Africa is complete and we can begin conversions there again,” another aide struggling to keep up announced from the rear.

“Yes, yes,” nodded the Cardinal, “Wait until next month when Archbishop Gonzalez returns from his mission in Bihar… Cuzco is our first priority. If we don’t assimilate the population there in time, all the merchants we’ve been recruiting from around the world will sit idly at Seville!”

At that the Cardinal seemed to raise his hands in both frustration and epiphany. His garments made a majestic cascade of silky crimson behind him. He was not as crazed about administrative work as his predecessors, but with the Duke about to commence operations in China, he was the Substitute of choice. All of the morning briefings and afternoon meetings made his battle hardened heart weary at times. He almost wished there was still a resistance by the nobility to fight.

“And your Eminence, what about the current deployment of your Guard?” asked one of the nobles in attendance. “Despite being only 120 of them, it’s costing the treasury quite a bit of gold…”

At that the prelate halted. He took a moment to turn his bearded head towards the rose garden now visible in between the twin columns of that portion of the palisade. In that brilliant radiance of orange pitched hue, it would have been natural to miss the gigantic world map spread across the wall opposite of the courtyard. The flag of Spain flew in every trade center from Seville to Osaka like a constellation in the night sky.

“We have enough on the internal security budget, counselor,” the prelate responded, his German accent slightly thicker than usual. His gaze followed a budding rose.

“But sir, that budget is supposed to be for the stability of the nat—”

“And where do you think that money goes to each month?” the prelate interrupted. “Do you think one simply throws money in some abstract idea such as ‘stability’ and expect the nation to get better?”

“Well… no—”

“The money actually goes somewhere and the Lions will be a stabilizing force… especially in the Protestant and Calvinist minority provinces that decide to rebel as well as to help our master in China…”

The Cardinal began pacing again albeit slowly as he took his gaze off of the fragrant flora.

“Speaking of the Calvinists,” another page enjoined, “there has been some resistance to the restoration of the Dueterocanonical Books to the recent rash of vernacular translations of the Bible. Should we take any additional action against this?”

Cardinal DeWitt slowly watched the end of the palisade get closer and closer but merely shook his head from side to side wearily.

“Although most of us at Trent were very concise in our tone when we promulgated the decrees about the Canon, I’m not as ‘understanding’. You might as well have torn out each page of the Bible, covered your body in honey and rolled around in it to see which pages stick, there’s no reason to dilute the Word. St. Augustine once said: ‘Indeed, I would not believe in the gospel myself if the authority of the Catholic Church did not move me to do so’.”

The Cardinal seemed to clench his fist as he picked up the pace making a sharp turn towards the next wing of the inner courtyard. Throughout his life, despite his strength and prowess with his weapons and armour to protect his life and the lives of his family, the war of ideology and religion was something he was only moderately good at dealing with. It frustrated him not so much that he could not bash in his opponents’ heads—after all that would have made him just as bad as the Protestant rebels—but that so many people did not have the historical perspective that he did.

“That is why, gentlemen,” he began, “that it is time we make Church attendance a requirement.”

For a moment there was a great murmur behind him. Mandatory attendance? Would this violate freedom of conscience? The uneasiness was making a tumult out of the entourage.

“We will start with the schools,” the Cardinal began, “and have all the children attend Mass with their teachers. Good habits start young…”

It was almost as if the prelate was speaking only to himself. The words were lost in the maelstrom of discussion behind him if it weren’t for a few faithful pages taking down his orders.

“But my Lord Chancellor, some might say this is madness!” one of the louder voices called out to the prelate.

The movement of that tall German came to another halt and he slowly turned to his attendants who slowly quieted themselves at the sudden attention.

“Madness? You do not wait until a child is an adult before you say ‘now it is time for you to decide which language you will learn: Spanish or Polish.’ No, gentlemen, you say to the child ‘Spanish is the language you will learn because it is the language of our fathers and your family. And you will learn it young so that you will be prepared in the future.’ In the same way, we will teach these children in our schools the religion of their fathers and their families which has been passed down from Apostle to Apostle for the last one thousand six hundred years without fail or retraction.”

The eyes of the Cardinal seemed to narrow in a burning gaze at the rest of them. His slightly wrinkled forehead seemed to contract in a combination of pride excitement and sincerity.

“Madness?” he repeated again shaking his head with a smile breaking out, “This is ESPAÑA!”


One hundred twenty was a nice round number for the ranks of the Lions of Meissen. Three was the number of the Trinity multiplied by four—the number of evangelists—gave you twelve, the number of the apostles and multiplied by the number of commandments and you have a suitable number for a private fighting force.

A tenth of them had been stationed with their master’s successor Jakob in Japan while the rest were spread throughout the empire doing the will of the Lord Chancellor. Aside from their distinctive emblem, they had many different specialties and duties aside from protecting the offices of the Spanish Kingdom. Some were obviously soldiers, others assassins, and yet others had more intellectual modes of operation.

Renault de Fronsac gently pushed the dust off of his uniform. The Levant’s dusty deserts were always a cause of discomfort for him, but nonetheless he cleared away the dirt from the emblem of a Lion on his shoulder.

“Maestro!” a tanned and heavily mustached man dressed in desert garb ran towards the Professor, “we have found something please come!”

“I’ll be right there, Amin,” the professor said finding his helmet and pressing it onto his perspiring head. He hopped forward and down a small dirt ramp. The beige and peach rocks around him seemed to tremble with dusty effluvium as he descended. He followed his turbaned friend further downward along that rock face until he was greeted by a cloud of rock particles.

When Renault reached the floor of that narrow ravine, the workers along the walls did not give him mind; they had been used to their foreign administrator making frantic moves to check on their labour. But this time, it was slightly different. Amin’s movements were more pressed. Renault seemed to get more excited as he weaved his way through the workers and dodging their various hammers and chisels.

At the far end of the ravine and inside a small opening of the rock, the middle aged Lion reached inwardly until he fit himself inside. Already within were Amin and some of his associates.

“It is here, Meastro, we found it a few minutes ago,” Amin excitedly spoke in broken Spanish. The others were speaking in Arabic to themselves but not nearly as excitedly.

Amin pointed to a small metallic plate in the center of the small cavern with a few lamps placed around it. Atop the metal was a small bit of what looked like black volcanic rock.

“Have you tested it yet, Amin?” Renault questioned eagerly as he approached on crouched legs the illuminated dark object.

“Yes, Meastro, but here test it for yourself!” Amin responded while giving a nearby hammer to his master. He would be getting extra gold tonight, he could feel it!

Renault approached the plate carefully and held the hammer gingerly in his hand. Examining the rock with careful eyes he then slowly brought the head of the iron hammer to tap on the rock.

Almost immediately the hammer jolted backwards and a slight dent was etched into the metal plate in the shape of that rock.

“Marvelous work, Amin,” Renault uttered almost breathlessly, “where did they find it?”

“As you ordered, they were looking through the treasure caves the Ottomans left behind and they found it amongst the other trinkets.”

Renault nodded as he listened picking up the black object with his fingers. It was almost in the shape of a perfect square. He squeezed at it carefully and it seemed to push against his fingers with as much force.

“Reward them with what’s left of the treasure in the cave, Amin,” Renault said almost absently as his French eyes locked themselves onto the view of that stone.

Amin was at first breathless and stared at his master before stuttering the words to his comrades without even looking back at them. There was a general jubilation in the cavern. It was so loud that the other workers seemed to huddle around the entrance as the men greedily passed the golden Persian treasures to their friends.

“Persian treasure, they say?” Renault asked to the still-staring Amin.

“Y—yes, Maestro! During the Ottoman conquest of Jerusalem before your glorious and noble armies came they had kept these relics as part of their holy shrine here. The Sunni Turks jealously took it from the Shiites when they had taken the city.”

Renault was still inspecting the stone giving it little taps here and there. In all his years as a teacher of archeology and geology at the University of Rome he had never seen an object like this before. Not until he was recruited by Cardinal DeWitt, of course.

“And what else can you tell me about where this particular stone came from?” the Maestro asked.

At that Amin seemed to come out of his Midas touched trance. “That’s the strange thing, Meastro. They say it is a kind of stone they’ve seen before on a pilgrimage. A kind of stone that is not of this world.”

Renault still held the object in his hand as he looked back to Amin. Amin was a strange man to look at squatting there with sweat dripping down his face in slight foreboding while his celebrating friends created a tapestry of joy behind him.

“Not of this world?” Renault asked cautiously.

“Yes, it is part of the Black Stone… the cornerstone of the Holy Kaaba in Mecca…”

Renault slowly moved his eyes to the floor nodding slowly before pocketing the black object inside a sealed gold gilded container and placing it into his pocket like it was a Christian relic. He weaved his way past the celebrating crowd around the portal of the cavern with Amin in tow.

“Bring me Lord Almagro and General Cardenas,” said the Lion with a slight sterner pose.

“Of course, Maestro, any particular reason I should tell him for his summons?”

“Yes; tell Lord Almagro that I will need him to transport this artifact back to Madrid and tell General Cardenas to ready his men for battle,” Renault replied with stern eyes looking southward.

“Battle, sir?” Amin asked with a little surprise. He had lived through the Persian, Ottoman, and Spanish conquests and he was already weary of conflict.

“Yes, while Lord Almagro takes this piece of the Timepiece back to Madrid… we will aid General Cardenas in preparing for the eventual order to march coming from our Cardinal back home. The March against Persia… to Mecca.”


Father Francis Xavier arrived in the Airport at Rome without much trouble. Disembarking at the Eternal City was expedited by his Roman passport and credentials—all clergy were given such. It truly did help him pass all the lines of pilgrims and tourists alike.

Throughout the years, the growth of Catholicism throughout the world had inflated the entire city’s ecclesial offices to overshadow most of the other urban sprawl. Even the generous tracts of land the Emperor-Kings of Spain had allowed the Pope, the churches, libraries, palaces, apartments, universities, seminaries, stadiums, etc still made that place a cramped fixture of everlasting Baroque architecture and design.

At first Father Francis was not at all surprised when his escorts that picked him up at the airport lead him into one of the tunnels that lead to the underside of the city. For a while now, there were many underground facilities that not only catered to the tourists visiting the catacombs and burial places of Saints but also to add more storage room for the various paraphernalia accumulated by the Holy See throughout its history.

When he finally reached one of the underground avenues he was lead into an elevator by these fellows. It was not the first time he had done this. Most of the front entrances to the main buildings were gushing with pilgrims or world citizens vying for a look at the marvelous monuments of the city. The alternative for business-oriented clergy was a bit more Spartan in nature.

“Good evening, Father,” a prelate greeted him as he exited the elevator into a wonderfully decorated library-office. There were four other clergymen at tables near the rear.

“Good evening, your Grace, thank you for seeing me,” replied the priest graciously as he was lead to a seat near the center of the room.

“As you can tell we will be briefing you today on the matter we’ve spoken to you about on the phone,” began one of the prelates. They did not even bother to say their names—this must be urgent.

“Afterwards,” another one intoned, “we’ll assign a liaison to accompany you through the rest of your task today.”

Before Father Francis could even respond the lights in that tall room were dimmed and the two guards that had followed him receded to the rear where the elevator awaited quietly.

A small projector slowly came down to the priest’s right and small flashes of light began to illuminate the screen. To the surprise of Father Francis instead of seeing clergymen on the screen he was greeted by several older looking gentlemen in white coats.

“As requested by the Holy See, this briefing will explain the properties peculiar to the artifact known as the Timepiece and the Keys which unlock those properties,” began one of the scientists.

To the rear of those scientists the Father almost seemed to notice a black rock upon a silver plate.


Rodrigo was a shrewd battlefield commander. He had already negotiated the coastlines around Medina and was now moving his Spanish troops to the Muslim city of Mecca. He even saved up enough gold to immediately begin the conversion process once he wrested the holy city from the Persians.

“Playing your 1582 scenario again?” came the voice on the Ventrilo.

“It’s one of my favourite parts, the Persians are definitely formidable,” Rodrigo replied halfway through ordering another set of reinforcements to Jerusalem from Seville.

“I’ll never understand you history buffs…” came the voice again.

“Don’t ask me; it’s just in my blood, I guess,” Rodrigo replied with a laugh his pinky finger pressing the push-to-talk button on and off as he played.

It was then that a knock came on his door.

Rodrigo, this hour of the day, was usually alone. His dad worked for the regional government—for what, he never knew—but all he heard from his dad was that one day he would take up the Jimenes family tradition. His mother wouldn’t be home for another hour, she had gone to do the groceries again.

Usually Rodrigo wouldn’t answer it, but he was already expecting a new package today—hopefully, he thought, Crusader Kingdoms would finally arrive in the mail.

“I’ll be right back,” he said into his microphone before getting up and speeding towards the doorway.

When he looked through the portal’s owl-like eyepiece he noticed two slightly haggard looking men. His face turned sour, no package today. He debated whether or not to ask the men who they were. He was about to open his mouth and call out to the two what they wanted when a gloved hand suddenly enveloped his mouth.

Rodrigo gasped through the fabric as the rest of his limbs were accosted by strong arms and his whole body was now receding from the door. His muffled cry could not be heard through that thick wooden frame.

“I guess no one’s home,” one of the officers said ruefully outside.

“We better call in just to make sure if we should go in or not…” was the last thing Rodrigo heard of the two officers.

That young boy was now being pulled through a back window where an unmarked van awaited. He was able to look up in his frantic attempt to release himself from their grip but even his legs were held by the ankles. He only noticed the heraldic markings on one of their uniforms. It looked familiar, like something he saw in the screenshots for Crusader Kingdoms in the center of the Kingdom of Germany.

The door of the van suddenly shut them all into darkness before the vibration of the vehicle switching to motion erupted underneath him.

“Don’t be afraid, Rodrigo, your father has sent us to retrieve you,” one of the men said in the darkness.

My father? Thought the young man.


When the lights had returned to the room and the screen slowly receded to the ceiling again, Father Francis was as white as wool. The blood has receded from his skin and a chill erupted up and down his spine.

“How is this possible?” he uttered slowly. “And you’re saying this… thing came from a meteorite fragment?”

“Yes,” replied one of the prelates in the assuming brightness, “And the Muslims used it as a cornerstone for their Kaaba before it was taken into our custody in 1583”

Father Francis looked down at the floor for a bit almost as if he was going to faint and he held his knees with his hands.

“Thank you for your time, Father, we’ll hand it over to our liason from here,” the presiding prelate said as the old men stood up and filed out.

Father Francis was still too shaken to properly stand and see the men out, nor was he in any proper shape to notice the other figure enter the room.

“Good evening, Father Francis,” came the younger voice, which prompted the priest to look upward with a jolt. He had heard that voice before.

“Mr. Jimenes! Rodrigo’s father!” he exclaimed the look of surprise still weaved on his face.

Father Francis noticed the smile come onto the younger man’s face, a familiar warm smile. That’s when he noticed the Ducal star on the man’s right breast.

“D..Duke Jimenes?” the priest stuttered slightly with confusion obviously on his face.

“Oh!” the Duke laughed a little straightening himself up, “don’t worry about this old thing, they make me wear it whenever I come see His Holiness. You can call me Felipe. But let’s worry about that later; we have a flight to catch.”

“I’m sorry? A flight?”

The Duke slowly made his way to the door and held it open as if bidding the priest to step through.

“Of course,” Felipe Jimenes replied, “I have much to explain on the way to Mecca.”

Chapter XII: Mystery of Mecca (coming soon)