Chronological Influences IV: Legacy of Time
- Thread starter TC Pilot
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This is the first in the Stukov saga I've read... I'm definitely going to head back and check out previous ones!
That said, that ugly spot of brown in the Sinai needs to be removed. Glorious grey should stretch unopposed from Alexandria to Petra!
That said, that ugly spot of brown in the Sinai needs to be removed. Glorious grey should stretch unopposed from Alexandria to Petra!
Soon, all of the Levant shall be under Egypt's rule, I can feel it! I predict an eventual conquest of Constantinople by the mighty armies of Egypt. Then, Ignatios, or more likely his heirs, can proudly assume the title Emperor, which the founder of their dynasty loved so much!
I apologize for the slow-down in updates. I've been somewhat busy with classwork, but that should change starting next Monday. 
Darks63: Bah! Typo! It's been fixed.
General_BT/SeanB: Yes, unfortunately, Ignatios's presige is about -2500, so I don't think he'll be grabbing those counties any time soon.
---------------------------
January 4th, 1116
Ignatios stood in the doorway to his son David’s room, watching like a lonely sentinel from his vantage point as Helene sat perched at her stepson’s bedside. She had hurriedly dismissed the servants, fearing for her son’s health at the hands of Arabs. Every so often, she would dip a damp cloth into the water basin she held in her lap and dab the boy’s forehead.
Ignatios could not help but grimace as he watched the sight. David had suddenly taken ill just over two weeks ago. Since then, he had been in a feverish state, slipping in and out of consciousness, often mumbling incoherently under his breath as dream after fever-induced dream past him by. Other times, he would lie as still as a stone, as if in a trance, or even dead. Helene had often begun panicking when it seemed his breathing had stopped altogether.
Slowly, she looked up from David’s bed, gazing sadly at her husband. With the curtains shut and blocking out the afternoon sunlight, she could only see Ignatios’s darkened silhouette standing at the door. He immediately felt the urge to go to her, to offer her some measure of comfort and support. He knew every day must be one long, agonizing ordeal, to be forced to watch as a stepson she had grown to love like one of her own wasted away before her eyes, utterly helpless in the face of the sickness.
Instead, Ignatios slowly turned aside, head held low as he walked away. What she did not know, and what he did not want her to know, was that last month David had come to him during the night while he was studying Alexei’s book, which he had stubbornly determined to try and translate.
“Father?” he had heard David ask.
“Yes, what is it?” Ignatios snapped impatiently, not even bothering to look up as he continued his fruitless efforts to decipher the seeming gibberish.
David had paused for a long time, no doubt struggling to summon the courage to speak after his father’s terseness.
“If everyone dies, what’s the point of life?”
That had gotten Ignatios’s attention. Slowly and deliberately, he had set aside Alexei’s book and his own notes, and finally looked up at his son. He had expected his son to be looking sheepishly down at his feet or trying to avoid his father’s gaze. Instead, he met Ignatios’s stare with his own, morose expression.
“What’s the point of life,” he repeated David’s question, his mind struggling to cope with the question. He was finding it even more difficult to come up with an answer in the presence of his son’s….age.
David’s mother would assuredly have gone on about serving God or preparing to enter the kingdom of Heaven. But Ignatios knew that was not the answer his son was looking for, having already questioned God’s very existence not long before.
Finally, still unable to come up with an answer, Ignatios merely said: “I don’t really know.” David had merely nodded and walked away.
Ignatios had done nothing about David’s question since then. Every spare moment he had was spent pondering the question and his son’s reasons for asking that, but he never told anyone else. And all the while, David grew more depressed and more withdrawn. Now he was sick, and Ignatios had no doubt his depression had been to blame.
That was why he couldn’t bear to comfort Helene. Even going to David’s room now was something of a punishment. He had failed his eldest son, and now David’s life was at risk because of it.
He continued wandering the halls and passageways of the castle, being sure to avoid Adelaide’s personal residence. The last thing he wanted at the moment was to be scolded by his every aging mother for how coldly he was treating his wife, and for what looked like forsaking David.
After nearly a half hour of wandering, Ignatios finally arrived at his own private chambers, ordering the guard on watch to not allow anyone in to disturb him. Closing the door behind him, Ignatios walked over to his desk. Sitting down, he sighed as his gaze fell on the open page of Alexei’s book. Despite many hours spent over the course of several years, the language, if it even was one, still eluded him. It was written like nothing he had ever seen before
Without hesitating, Ignaitos shoved a stack of papers aside to make room. They were yet more messages from Arabia. Alexios was still sending them several times a month, asking, begging, or demanding to be allowed to return to court and resume his position as the kingdom’s marshal. Two years earlier, he had dispatched Alexios with a contingent of loyal Arabian natives to secure hold of the country of Petra in order to solidify the northern frontier and consolidate Ignatios’s claim to the entire principality.
Alexios had foolishly claimed the title of Count for himself. For his impudence and, some argued, disloyalty, Alexios had been stripped of his title and banished.
That had certainly caused an argument with Adelaide.
At the moment, Ignatios could care less. Concentrating and blotting out the memory of David’s question, he threw himself wholly into the task of deciphering his father’s book. Time and again, he was inevitably drawn to a strange diagram at the very center of the book. He could not hope to understand its meaning, but something about it drew him to it. It mesmerized him. Just by the way his father wrote, he could tell it was something of the greatest importance.
But what? Ignatios thought to himself.
------------------------------
Helene slumped and sighed in relief when Ignatios finally turned and disappeared, no doubt to bury himself in that damn book his father had written. The pages were filled with incoherent gibberish, no doubt the work of a madman’s deranged thoughts.
That Ignatios obsessed over it only showed just how much of his father’s blood flowed through his veins. Part of her pitied him for it. It was not his fault God had given him a terrible father and a harsh, domineering mother.
But then she quickly remembered how he treated her with contempt for her faith, and how his sons by that shrew of a woman Viola stood between her own children and the throne of Egypt and Arabia. If she had learned anything from her years in the court of the Emperor in Constantinople, it was that true power came from the throne of the land.
And deceit was always the quickest way.
After looking around the room again to make sure that no one else was present besides her and David, Helene quickly pulled a small vial from under the folds of her dress, pouring several drops of an innocent-looking liquid into the water basin.
Then, like the dutiful mother, she daintily dipped the cloth into the water and applied it to David’s damp forehead.
Darks63: Bah! Typo! It's been fixed.
General_BT/SeanB: Yes, unfortunately, Ignatios's presige is about -2500, so I don't think he'll be grabbing those counties any time soon.
---------------------------
January 4th, 1116
Ignatios stood in the doorway to his son David’s room, watching like a lonely sentinel from his vantage point as Helene sat perched at her stepson’s bedside. She had hurriedly dismissed the servants, fearing for her son’s health at the hands of Arabs. Every so often, she would dip a damp cloth into the water basin she held in her lap and dab the boy’s forehead.
Ignatios could not help but grimace as he watched the sight. David had suddenly taken ill just over two weeks ago. Since then, he had been in a feverish state, slipping in and out of consciousness, often mumbling incoherently under his breath as dream after fever-induced dream past him by. Other times, he would lie as still as a stone, as if in a trance, or even dead. Helene had often begun panicking when it seemed his breathing had stopped altogether.
Slowly, she looked up from David’s bed, gazing sadly at her husband. With the curtains shut and blocking out the afternoon sunlight, she could only see Ignatios’s darkened silhouette standing at the door. He immediately felt the urge to go to her, to offer her some measure of comfort and support. He knew every day must be one long, agonizing ordeal, to be forced to watch as a stepson she had grown to love like one of her own wasted away before her eyes, utterly helpless in the face of the sickness.
Instead, Ignatios slowly turned aside, head held low as he walked away. What she did not know, and what he did not want her to know, was that last month David had come to him during the night while he was studying Alexei’s book, which he had stubbornly determined to try and translate.
“Father?” he had heard David ask.
“Yes, what is it?” Ignatios snapped impatiently, not even bothering to look up as he continued his fruitless efforts to decipher the seeming gibberish.
David had paused for a long time, no doubt struggling to summon the courage to speak after his father’s terseness.
“If everyone dies, what’s the point of life?”
That had gotten Ignatios’s attention. Slowly and deliberately, he had set aside Alexei’s book and his own notes, and finally looked up at his son. He had expected his son to be looking sheepishly down at his feet or trying to avoid his father’s gaze. Instead, he met Ignatios’s stare with his own, morose expression.
“What’s the point of life,” he repeated David’s question, his mind struggling to cope with the question. He was finding it even more difficult to come up with an answer in the presence of his son’s….age.
David’s mother would assuredly have gone on about serving God or preparing to enter the kingdom of Heaven. But Ignatios knew that was not the answer his son was looking for, having already questioned God’s very existence not long before.
Finally, still unable to come up with an answer, Ignatios merely said: “I don’t really know.” David had merely nodded and walked away.
Ignatios had done nothing about David’s question since then. Every spare moment he had was spent pondering the question and his son’s reasons for asking that, but he never told anyone else. And all the while, David grew more depressed and more withdrawn. Now he was sick, and Ignatios had no doubt his depression had been to blame.
That was why he couldn’t bear to comfort Helene. Even going to David’s room now was something of a punishment. He had failed his eldest son, and now David’s life was at risk because of it.
He continued wandering the halls and passageways of the castle, being sure to avoid Adelaide’s personal residence. The last thing he wanted at the moment was to be scolded by his every aging mother for how coldly he was treating his wife, and for what looked like forsaking David.
After nearly a half hour of wandering, Ignatios finally arrived at his own private chambers, ordering the guard on watch to not allow anyone in to disturb him. Closing the door behind him, Ignatios walked over to his desk. Sitting down, he sighed as his gaze fell on the open page of Alexei’s book. Despite many hours spent over the course of several years, the language, if it even was one, still eluded him. It was written like nothing he had ever seen before
Without hesitating, Ignaitos shoved a stack of papers aside to make room. They were yet more messages from Arabia. Alexios was still sending them several times a month, asking, begging, or demanding to be allowed to return to court and resume his position as the kingdom’s marshal. Two years earlier, he had dispatched Alexios with a contingent of loyal Arabian natives to secure hold of the country of Petra in order to solidify the northern frontier and consolidate Ignatios’s claim to the entire principality.
Alexios had foolishly claimed the title of Count for himself. For his impudence and, some argued, disloyalty, Alexios had been stripped of his title and banished.
That had certainly caused an argument with Adelaide.
At the moment, Ignatios could care less. Concentrating and blotting out the memory of David’s question, he threw himself wholly into the task of deciphering his father’s book. Time and again, he was inevitably drawn to a strange diagram at the very center of the book. He could not hope to understand its meaning, but something about it drew him to it. It mesmerized him. Just by the way his father wrote, he could tell it was something of the greatest importance.
But what? Ignatios thought to himself.
------------------------------
Helene slumped and sighed in relief when Ignatios finally turned and disappeared, no doubt to bury himself in that damn book his father had written. The pages were filled with incoherent gibberish, no doubt the work of a madman’s deranged thoughts.
That Ignatios obsessed over it only showed just how much of his father’s blood flowed through his veins. Part of her pitied him for it. It was not his fault God had given him a terrible father and a harsh, domineering mother.
But then she quickly remembered how he treated her with contempt for her faith, and how his sons by that shrew of a woman Viola stood between her own children and the throne of Egypt and Arabia. If she had learned anything from her years in the court of the Emperor in Constantinople, it was that true power came from the throne of the land.
And deceit was always the quickest way.
After looking around the room again to make sure that no one else was present besides her and David, Helene quickly pulled a small vial from under the folds of her dress, pouring several drops of an innocent-looking liquid into the water basin.
Then, like the dutiful mother, she daintily dipped the cloth into the water and applied it to David’s damp forehead.
Oh, how utterly rotten! I think an assassination is in order for Mrs. Helene there! And I'm fascinated that Ignatios is still trying to translate his fathers work. Has he really made no progress at all in deciphering it?
Never trust a woman!One can only hope Ignatios can successfully navigate these storms and come out in excellent position on the other side...
TheExecuter
bad luck there, but at least u don't have 2 scizo daughters that kill their children and ur 15 dip courtiers.
.
since the last update was more than a year ago I'd say yes. If you're looking for russian megalomaniacs try my AAR.
I beg of you TC Pilot please do not forget this AAR aswell...
Is this really how you want the CI series to end, unfinished??
Is this really how you want the CI series to end, unfinished??
Sending him a private message would work better then this necroposting I think.
It's not garanteed he still checks this thread.
It's not garanteed he still checks this thread.