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There we go, my world view is restored... ;)

Haha well nonetheless , the next update will actually arrive in the next 2 days if not tonight . Plus , you'll get yourselves a special shower scene as promised and the next chapter header hint XD
 
Haha well nonetheless , the next update will actually arrive in the next 2 days if not tonight . Plus , you'll get yourselves a special shower scene as promised and the next chapter header hint XD

Am I the only one that finds that strange? :p
 
I come to dread special shower scenes by the way...
 
Just read chapter XXXIX. The container of the Timepiece has been broken! And now the Cardinal and Zio will battle to the death? And Duke Jimenes is also on an apparent one way trip to his demise? This does not look good. Well written, old chap!
 
Am I the only one that finds that strange? :p

Haha , oh hush XD

I come to dread special shower scenes by the way...

Haha , you'll enjoy this one XD

Just read chapter XXXIX. The container of the Timepiece has been broken! And now the Cardinal and Zio will battle to the death? And Duke Jimenes is also on an apparent one way trip to his demise? This does not look good. Well written, old chap!

Great :D thank you ! The tension between Zio and Cardinal DeWitt is one of my favourites considering both were 'inspired' in some ways by the same person XD
 
puzzleplate2.jpg


Chapter CXXXVIII: Parents​

14 April 1643

Diego let go of the man's throat as he gasped for air. “I don't know anything!” the man kept saying as if those were the only words in Spanish that he knew. “I don't know anything!” he screamed again as he panted on the floor.

“The trail's cold here,” Diego growled as he kicked the Persian officer into the corner of the dimly lit apartment.

Lope put a hand on Diego's shoulder as the gruff Spaniard slammed his fist against a wall. “It's alright, Diego, we'll find them...”

“Months of traveling and we're no closer to catching up with them,” Diego muttered violently as he leaned against the wall with his forearm. Silence and worry etched terrible chasms of discomfort on Diego's face while the whimpers of the beaten Persian rang through the hollow chamber.

Lope looked quickly to Belmont who was leaning most of his weight on one leg and idly had his arms crossed behind his back. “Take care of the prisoner,” Lope told him quietly. Belmont nodded silently before walking towards the Persian. Lope took this opportunity to pull Diego away firmly.

The old wooden door to the room was creaked open and Diego burst out onto the balcony and away from Lope's strong grip. Diego's fingers wrapped around the wooden railing and nearly splintered it in two as he squeezed. “This is going too slow, Lope,” Diego let slip between his teeth. Lope walked to the man's side and similarly placed his palms on the railing but almost as if to hold it from collapsing forward and sending Diego to a quick death on the rocky hill below.

The rather large balcony sat atop a rock face that overlooked one of the valleys of the Carpathians. After skirting close to a Persian scouting party in Hungary, they had decided to return to a secure area northward with their captured targets to avoid the invading armies. “I can understand your desperation--”

“No you do not,” Diego interrupted him. “You already have Íñigo at your side now. You are not awake every night wondering--”

A hand gripped Diego's shoulder once again, this time with an elbow pressing firmly at his chest as well as Lope looked at him sideways. “No,” Lope said gravely, “I have been that worried. Every time they've come for him, I thought that would be the last I would see Íñigo. Bringing him now—with danger all around us. At any moment, I might lose him again, but I cannot bring myself to lose sight of him: not even in Madrid.” Lope's blazing eyes conveyed his sincerity and Diego merely crushed his teeth together.

It was then that Diego cracked a smile after shaking his head a little. “We must sound like housewives worrying about them like this.”

Lope also grinned and let go of the other man. “That young man you're looking for is very special to you,” Lope said although it seemed almost like a question.

Diego glanced at Lope's inquisitive eyes and looked about the sloping faces of the Carpathians to the side and the valley below. “He does not know it,” Diego quietly stated, “but he's my son.”

“Son?” Lope's face grew dimmer. “I knew you were his charge once, but a son? I thought he was a Dutchman...”

“Not by birth... only by adoption. He had to be protected so we thought sending him to be raised by the Van Der West family—a branch of the Van Axels who had been in the service of the Crown for a while—would keep him protected.”

“Who are the 'we' who decided?” Lope could not hold back his curiosity.

Diego breathed through his nose and looked off into the horizon. “His mother, mostly. She was...” Diego shifted his weight slightly and said the next words quickly, “an English duchess. I was only on leave—I had no rights on the child... I only found out about the whole arrangement whenever I visited the Isles...”

“But hidden? Who is your son, Diego?” Lope asked although Íñigo passed through Lope's mind. Two parents with children being hunted by the same people... this could not possibly be a coincidence...

Diego glanced over to his friend and tightened his jaw again. “I don't know...”

---

This next section is provided by Guest Author Calipah

The projectiles rained down a fiery assault on the city, engulfing both its rickety wooden buildings and docked ships in an uncontrollable and blazing hot inferno. Once the first bombardment subsided, it was abruptly followed by another, the great vessels bellowing a mantra of death and destruction on the enemies of the Shahinshah in rhythmic tempo.

From the deck of his flagship the ‘Al-Manye’ah’ or Indomitable, the Admiral was visibly wound up with the preliminary success, peeking ever eagerly into his binoculars as his heart rushed with excitement. Likewise, the contagion of a graspable victory at hand spread amongst the sailors and hands on deck like an infectious disease, the impulsive shouts of “Allahu Akbar” resounding throughout the stunned Spanish coast.

“Mein Admiral! The Lord and his winds are with us today, should we give out the order to land?”

The Admiral, still grinning, put down his optical contraption in disbelief “That may not be necessary at all; the crucible is set mein habib and Allah smiles on us this day” he laughed “It’s been so long since the true believers were hounded out from these lands and now…” he paused “…they return triumphant to restore the eternal Law and smite the tyrants of disbelief. Prepare to disembark and be happy to see this day Qubtan Farmandar!”

The aide offered the customary gesture, and departed hurriedly to dispatch the message. Using an intricate system of flags and mirrors, the vast fleet slowly turned towards the glowing orb of Cadiz. Explosions continued to ripple the skyline, the work of the hidden hands of the Shah’s spies embedded within the environs of the beleaguered city. The cannanolli boomed in unison, and the Galleons broke the playful waves as they made their way to the rocky coast.

The Admiral counted the towers dotting the landscape – twenty in total. Good he thought, this was going to be a relatively easy mission – the Isphani had left much of the fortifications to rot and dilapidate over time. Indeed, who can blame them? An Empire such as theirs would have never expected such an audacious and daring attack, steeled as it was by the comforting expanse of territory and its multiplicity of arms. But as the flow of history dictates, they shall reel from their pompous arrogance a bloody price.

He peered into his binoculars one more time, examining the coastline once more. Already some of the Corsairs – who had grown accustomed to raiding the Isphani as a way of life since their hounding from Al-Andalus – had already made headway. He slowly moved his sight to the city itself and the wide stretch of sea behind it now flickering under the new born sun. But what is this? Silhouettes of deception? By the Lord of the Imam, are those the Imperial Habsburg flags dancing in the yonder horizon?!

He squinted his eyes at the mirage in the distance “Allah be merciful, the Isphani Armada” he whispered to himself in utter shock. Agitated but composed, he turned and paced, in tow with his dutiful servants, to the Farmander Qubtan’s command cabin. “Dashtar,” he said calmly as he entered from the side portal, “I will be brief, so listen carefully as time shall soon run out. The reports we received were wrong. The Isphani fleet has left Ingeltra sooner than we have anticipated and is now heading towards Cadiz. I believe we are quarter an hour away from engagement. Inform the other Qabatin at once to assemble their ships in dual formation and annul the past order. Encirclement is what I want. Swift and brutal.” He paused for effect “The Isphani must be out of supplies and will definitely make a desperate dash to the harbor and we cannot permit this at all costs; do I make myself clear mein Farmandar? I will not have a Salamis on my watch, fahim?!”

The down-cast Qubtan acknowledged the edgy orders with a slight nod, and quickly bypassed the Admiral to the opening. The old Shirazi sighed, walking lethargically towards the chair in the end of the room. This was not expected at all, and dammit, this mess just had to happen when the mission was near completion. Why Allah? Ya Ali, steel me against the tide. The Shipyards have been crippled, and if anything, Cadiz will soon be a smoldering rubble of ash and bones. What now? Perhaps a retreat is in order? But no, this would set back all what was accomplished today, and besides it would entail too great a political debacle on his person.

No, he can’t afford such; his son’s life depends on his success here in the coast of Almeria. To fight now is the only viable solution. Yeki-bood; yeki-nabood – the irony of Persian story telling: It once was there, or maybe not? He tightened his grip on his pistol, muttering a “Mein Rahbar” prayer as he left his seat and began to ascend the steps towards the deck. Already he could feel the reverberations of his sailors’ labors shaking the very woodwork of his vessel, cannons moved and rearmed, sails adjusted and unfurled, officers barking orders to and fro. He felt heartened. Maybe a triumph is attainable against the formidable Armada?

He sniffed the gunpowder and salt mix hanging on the morning breeze – an omen of war, a good sign. “Mein Admiral! Ships assembled and on the ready!Awamir?” The old Admiral turned to face the young Zagiri Qubtan. He had dealt with this man before or so it seems. But when? There was a strong impression in his mind of this man - His rosy lips, bright Gulani green eyes. He will make for a beautiful sacrifice to the altar of Ares, or perhaps Poseidon in this case? Indeed he will. Let the old gods sort it out. A pittance of blood – much like mein Khalid.

“Tell the Qubtans: Fire the bombardiers when ready.”

---​

Admiral van Ossel's hold of his spyglass shivered audibly as he lowered it from his eyes. “Ships...” he could only muster out of his raspy half choked voice.

Captain Pied took the spyglass from his superior as he watched him with anticipation. “Your orders?” the younger captain was almost afraid to ask.

There was hesitation: a moment caught in the awesome sight of billowing black clouds rising into the air and a host of stocky galleons turning in their direction. Van Ossel repeated his stupefied words, “ships...”

“Sir,” Pied leaned forward to the admiral who so suddenly shifted his sight to the young officer approaching him that Pied blinked in surprise. He nonetheless continued in a low voice careful to watch the other attendants through the corners of his eyes. “You must give us orders—we cannot meet this Persian fleet head on without knowing what to do...”

Pied could almost swear that he could see the eyes of the Admiral wiggle with fright in those sockets. “Right... right,” van Ossel composed himself snapping the spyglass closed ceremoniously as he turned to his other subordinates. “Prepare the fleet for combat! Bring us into a single line formation and bear left onto the shore as tightly as we can. We'll form a wall between them and Cadiz!” he boomed loudly though his eyes searched amongst his officers' faces as if hoping for succor to come from them.

In three directions, his lieutenants rushed to the various areas of the flagship San Sebastian as they unfurled banners indicating positions and alerts. In moments, a soft rumble shuddered throughout the entire line of vessels as the sailors pulled on ropes, loaded cannons, and brandished weapons.

“Ten minutes until contact, Admiral, at the current speed,” Pied hurriedly informed his commander as he adjusted his hat on his head. “The other ship captains report that they will be prepared for the engagement.”

“Bring the fleet to battle speed, Captain,” Van Ossel stated regaining some of his regular fortitude. Pied saluted and hopped down from the bridge deck as he relayed the message to the various flag carriers. As Ossel watched him go, he quickly gazed upward. The Habsburg ensign fluttered weakly South-South-East. Van Ossel ventured a small smile. “The wind is with us,” he muttered quietly before descending into another frown, “but barely...”

“Sir,” Pied returned to the Admiral, “the fleet is at full sail, I estimate we'll make contact with the lead ship in five minutes--”

A crack popped in the air accompanied by a reluctant whistle. Before Pied turned his head, a spray of white mist rose into the air like an ivory tower and dropped a salty spray on the deck of the San Sebastian. “A warning shot...” the Admiral muttered. He grasped onto the railing of the bridge deck. Already, the looming line of Persians hips approached like mountains swimming to crush him against the shores of his own homeland. Their sails were decorated with the ebony colour of Shia Islam twirling in designs that spoke of a triumphant, enthusiastic brush.

“They're firing with a small frontal cannon from their flagship,” Pied reported before turning back to his Admiral.

The expression on Van Ossel's lips twisted crookedly as if he snapped his mouth with a fault down the middle. “Persian ships... though they look more like our ships than anything out of the East...” the confusion left a strange feeling in Ossel's stomach. “They shouldn't have ships like this...”

“Two minutes, sir! We're almost on them!” Pied shouted as he watched his men brace the deck light cannons. He moved himself to the starboard side and looked down just in time to see the heavy guns being pushed into their ready position along the hull of the ship as the gunports were raised open.

Ossel watched as the vessels wafted his way in a zig-zag operation as they tacked against the wind: his choice to hug the coast was going to be a gamble. If his vessels gap by even just a small margin, there is a chance his fleet could be broken off with their sides against the coast and become unable to maneuver. Trying to break free of such a thing would also leave them flying against the wind. He counted the vessels arrayed ahead of him as they formed in a two line formation. Although Ossel brought only half the Armada with him, it was still an impressive number: the Persians easily matched them. “Keep our ships as close to the coast as you can! If that second line enters our port, we're done.” His voice attempted to convey the order, but cracked under the nervousness caught in his throat.

When his half of the Armada was sent back to the Peninsula for supplies, Don Balaguer thought it was wise to ferry in a new Admiral from Flanders to go with the main portion of the fleet—which was compromised of most of the ships that had not been damaged in the small skirmishes around England—to head towards Oslo with reinforcements. Ossel, on the other hand, was re-assigned to bringing the remainder of the fleet back to Cadiz for refit and to transport some reinforcements back to Brighton by the next month for the campaign. It was a demotion, and almost a dishonour if Balaguer had not feigned that he needed to make sure their supply flotilla was not sunk by English privateers on the way home. It had been enough for Ossel to save face, but everyone knew the assignment was a disgraceful one.

“After this campaign, I'm due to retire,” van Ossel had told Pied on the cruise back. Pied had not seemed to pay attention at the time, but Ossel had gripped the sides of the ship on their way back as he spoke those words. It was a voice of regret. “They're going to force me to retire,” he had wanted to say.

A Dutch landowner and overseas merchant for years before he entered military service, Ossel was an easy choice for a sea captain. After decades of ordinary service, he was finally given the rank of Admiral with his superiors conceding the need for more soldiers on the sea. Ossel was the “last choice,” but Madrid was running out of talented men to send to their deaths.

He had been given the easiest of commands: protecting the treasure fleet, coordinating landings against the natives of the East Indies, amongst others. Now, in his old age, he was almost looking forward to returning to a civilian life, if he did not love the ocean as much as he did. With new money that had arrived, Madrid had been able to afford more... “expensive” replacements for Ossel. This would have been his last cruise. It may yet still be his last, Ossel finally thought as the hugeness of the Persian line was now only a minute from engaging his own.

He saturated his nose with the tumultuous Ocean air and stood straight atop his bridge. His dirty uniform stretched wearily as he stood to his full height and his rather large belly swelled against the fabric. Marines surged around him as they took position with their guns at the side of his vessel. The lead Persian vessel was now upon them.

The Admiral could plainly see the opposing men and their guns pointed at his vessel. There seemed to be no word from either side. Although it was only a few dozen yards between the two vessels, it was almost like a chasm with a deep abyss separated the two. Ossel's eyes scanned the opposing ship which was now slipping into the San Sebastian's firing arc. Men's faces, cold and dark like the very bark of the tar hardened planks of the massive Persian flagship faced him. His eyes followed the entire rim of the enemy deck until they rested on a face decorated with a glorious beard.

The enemy Admiral stood next to his captain and both stared back in frigid malice, cold anticipation, and steely respect. The two largest vessels of either fleet now slid squarely into each others' field of fire but nothing stirred on either vessel. There was no sound, no movement and the stillness of the wind captured the two ships as if they were in a picture frame. Inch by inch, they moved into perfect position from each other.

The seconds passed like the falling of a dead leaf. The wind dropped even lower and the push on the Spanish sails decreased even more. Both Admirals now faced each other obliquely from atop their respective bridges as if both were awaiting a signal from heaven. A slow rumbling was next, like the sound of something arriving quickly. The enemy commander's voice could clearly be heard, and, to his surprise, Ossel's own throat heaved and surged. Both Admirals, to the astonishment of their men who remained as silent as the night, let out the reservoir of their anxious lungs into the open sea.

Both men drew their weapons and, like the rush of a sparkling fire, the soldiers around the two Admirals similarly raised their voices. Moving down the line of both ships and in greater intensity, the flagships of the opposing fleets rallied in voice. Hundreds of men now screamed in restrained agony until the Admirals' blades reached the very air. “Santiago y España!” Captain Pied joined the rally and the crescendo of one hundred cannons of all sizes, two hundred muskets, and twenty pistols erupted from the two vessels.

interlude2.gif


Interlude​

Two small vessels passed each other silently sending ripples away from their sides down the large lake. The wooden contraptions shivered as they passed each other before sailing off in opposite directions. Children ran after them along the edge of the lake smiling and laughing as they directed their vessels with small contraptions in their hands.

High above the body of water below, the sun was already beginning to seep into the living room through the massive glass wall that separated the inside of the exotic home with the lakefront outside. The house was in an L shape with a low flat roof and windows surrounding most of its exterior. Drawing down from the lake-facing end was careful boardwalk zig-zagging down the easy hillside to the shore below. It was on one of these tiers that Trey sat with his feet hanging down the hill. His arms were propped up on his thighs with his elbows and he leaned heavily on his palms, at times running his fingers across his cheeks and through his hair.

He had only gotten a few hours of sleep, and despite Dr. Braun's assurance that this lakehouse of hers was a safe, hidden place from both police and pursuer, Trey could not help but feel the anxiety in him build. Your parents... those words in him reverberated as if someone had dropped a stone into the murky waters of his mind. Even now, he attempted to close his eyes and conjure up images of a man and a woman's faces, but although there were faint outlines: perhaps even a glimpse of some colour, the visages of his parents would not appear to him. If they did, they were like misty photographs hastily taken while the photographer was flying somewhere else. Dr. Braun, on the way over to this 'secret' location, had attempted to call Trey's parents, but had received only an answering machine saying they were not home. It was not just to verify the strange concerns Trey had, but also to notify Trey's parents of what had been happening. To Trey's surprise, the more he thought about it, he did not even remember their names...

There was motion behind him and he turned wearily only to see Randall easing himself into a sitting position next to him. Trey watched the drooping form of Randall and blinked as the young man hung like he was still asleep, hunched forward onto his knees. “Good morning,” were the muttered words from underneath Randall's golden hair.

wsjoy9.png

“Good morning...” Trey attempted to return.

Further up, along one of the glass walls of the house, Dr. Braun looked down towards the two young men conversing with each other in the morning light. Her hand carefully graced the glass separation and pondered the two of them. She momentarily looked over to the towel and dress she had prepared for herself for after her shower and then turned back to the young men to give them one last concerned look before walking over to her bathroom.

tricia_helfer_16.png

Unlike most of the house, the walls of the bathroom were not characteristically glass, but there was a portion above on the ceiling that was slid open to reveal a glass separator to let the sun in complete with a small slit to let the steam out. The rush of the water coming from the showerhead cascaded on the tile floor as Dr. Braun expertly worked the handle for the hot water. In her private bathroom, there was only a spacious standing shower with the water designed to jet in a large arc. It was more like a summer day rain that Dr. Braun slipped off the remainder of her clothing and stepped into.

Before she could reach for the body soap, however, a sound suddenly made her stand upright and clasp herself in surprise. She looked out back towards her bedroom where the sound seemed to have transmitted through. Quickly shutting off the shower and slipping out, she grasped her towel and wrapped it around herself. Still wet hands reached for a small pistol hidden underneath her pillow before she slid her bedroom door open quickly.

“Sorry,” was a voice coming from the other end of the house. “I'm a bit clumsy in houses I'm not familiar with,” a voice continued as Dr. Braun quickly raised her weapon at the intruder standing at the kitchen across the living room. “I was just trying to make some breakfast to surprise you, Dr. Braun, but I must have opened the wrong cupboard.”

395126542_1b22e9761f.jpg

Half clinging to her towel, Dr. Braun recognized the smirking and smiling face of one of her students: Lei.

Chapter CXXXIX: Recognizing Faces (coming soon)
 
hmm, canonized...

you gave us what you said you would, almost? What travesty is that? What did you do to the real canonized?

Santiago y España!
 
I'd be worried about a female teacher having so many of her male students over to her house...


Santiago y Hollanda!
 
You call that a shower scene?!?! Where's the semi-erotic description of water falling down her body in small rivulets? :D
 
You call that a shower scene?!?! Where's the semi-erotic description of water falling down her body in small rivulets? :D

Go Read Playboy! THIS! IS! AARLAND! :eek:o
 
And we expect Canonized to provide that for us, seeing as we're too cheap to buy Playboy. :D

EDIT: How did you find that picture of "Braun"? :p
 
¡Santiago Matamoros!

Well, they're not moros, but you get the idea.


I'm reading a biography of Horatio Nelson at the moment, so the sea battles are especially fun to witness. And the interlude wasn't too bad either ("Emma Hamilton's Nelson" would have agreed very much on that part). ;)
 
canonized, I just have to say this is certainly one of the most epic and mind-blowing AARs that I have see here. It has taken me almost a week to read from beginning to now, but it was pretty worth the sleepless nights :D I love the references to pop culture and gaming! I'm hoping that there will be an update to coincide with the release of SC2 full of references :p


PS. not to be nitpicky, but way back with the chapter that explains how Madeleine used the pseudo-chinese character Renault gives her to solve the puzzle, the component that should be "friend" is missing a line. 友=friend whereas 夂 is a radical with an exact meaning that is unknown to me.
 
Haha, the naval update! I could totally tell it would be one by the title graphic. I love naval updates.

So, San Sebastian? Is there some kind of sacrifice by the Spanish navy forthcoming or could it be that not every word you say or naming choice you make portends something? :D
 
hmm, canonized...

you gave us what you said you would, almost? What travesty is that? What did you do to the real canonized?

Santiago y España!

Haha , Did I tease you guys too much with that last one ? XD

I'd be worried about a female teacher having so many of her male students over to her house...


Santiago y Hollanda!

Haha you should be worried XD Santiago y Hollanda sounds fun to say :D

I strongly disapprove of the chapter picture :p

Haha , why oh why XD I hope at least *someone* is trying to figure out the title screens XD This one in particular has meaning behind it . Water and Memory has been a motif that I've been using . Remember the last person to get submerged like that ? I'll give you a hint .. it was in Styx ..

You call that a shower scene?!?! Where's the semi-erotic description of water falling down her body in small rivulets? :D

Haha , I thought it would have served no purpose that way XD The other times , there was a mood to be set ! Doing one here would have just been blatant fanservice haha XD

Go Read Playboy! THIS! IS! AARLAND! :eek:o

Haha , for the articles definitely XD

And we expect Canonized to provide that for us, seeing as we're too cheap to buy Playboy. :D

EDIT: How did you find that picture of "Braun"? :p

Haha , as I noted in a preview last season , I decided to cast Tricia Helfer for the part of Dr. Braun XD

¡Santiago Matamoros!

Well, they're not moros, but you get the idea.


I'm reading a biography of Horatio Nelson at the moment, so the sea battles are especially fun to witness. And the interlude wasn't too bad either ("Emma Hamilton's Nelson" would have agreed very much on that part). ;)

Thank you XD and I'm afraid you'll have to let me in on the little inside joke about the mistress XD

canonized, I just have to say this is certainly one of the most epic and mind-blowing AARs that I have see here. It has taken me almost a week to read from beginning to now, but it was pretty worth the sleepless nights :D I love the references to pop culture and gaming! I'm hoping that there will be an update to coincide with the release of SC2 full of references :p


PS. not to be nitpicky, but way back with the chapter that explains how Madeleine used the pseudo-chinese character Renault gives her to solve the puzzle, the component that should be "friend" is missing a line. 友=friend whereas 夂 is a radical with an exact meaning that is unknown to me.

Thank you very much ! And welcome :D I'm so glad to have you with us ! You have no idea how happy I am to see new readers comment XD I do hope you become a regular commentator ! We're always a very fun bunch here XD . I do my best to insert what I can about pop culture and gaming since it's been such a fun endeavor !

As for the friend portion , I must have just missed putting a line in there XD It's honestly been so long that I haven't had a chance to tinker with it although that little piece of information will be important :D

And just for you , our newest reader to come comment , I'll give away a little preview as a reward : there will be a major portion in this season concerning the Season II characters and the Island they've become stranded on . Look forward to that :D

Haha, the naval update! I could totally tell it would be one by the title graphic. I love naval updates.

So, San Sebastian? Is there some kind of sacrifice by the Spanish navy forthcoming or could it be that not every word you say or naming choice you make portends something? :D

Haha , you've definitely guessed that there's some further meaning behind that name choice XD

At last I am caught up!

Thanks for a very entertaining and engaging story so far, canonized!

Huzzah ! Thank you very much :D Glad you're enjoying it so far !
 
Santiago y Hollanda sounds fun to say :D

well, I'd add a Dutch patron saint if I could think of one :p

Remember the last person to get submerged like that ? I'll give you a hint .. it was in Styx ..
Achilles? :D



Doing one here would have just been blatant fanservice haha XD
..That was the point?