Prologue Part I
Hello everyone! Welcome to my newest AAR.
If any of you read the conclusion to my last AAR, then you might remember that at the end of the final chapter I said my next project might be EU4 related. Well, this is that project.
What follows is very narrative-focused. Almost none of these events relate to any actual gameplay, other than the fact that I played a Florence game and was inspired to write this. The prologue is three parts long and does relate to the actual chapters.
I have most of this already written. So I will try to post an update every couple of weeks.
Also, one final thing. This AAR occasionally uses AI-generated art. And there is one moment where I quote someone else. Whenever that happens in the story, I will include an asterisk next to the instance and a footnote like this at the end of the chapter under a spoiler:
*[1] original source or information.
This story has been many months in the making and I hope you all enjoy it.
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PROLOGUE PART I
You had spent many weeks preparing for this expedition. Freshly graduated from university, you had specialized your History Doctorate in the Early Modern Period, the time from the pre-Renaissance to the early Industrial Revolution. In the weeks leading up to your commencement, one of your professors had recommended you accompany him on a trip to Italy, specifically the city of Florence.
“The recent earthquakes there,” he’d said, "had uncovered many ruins. Roman, Ostrogothic, and,” he’d paused, relishing your anticipation, “Tuscan.”
You’d already guessed what his response was going to be, but still, you let him have his fun, out of respect.
“Just think of it,” he’d continued, “hidden complexes of marble and stone, insights into how people lived under Florence’s golden age. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and I know you’re not one to miss such moments.”
He’d given you a knowing wink and a nod, after which you’d thanked him and accepted his offer. Your professor was a little eccentric at times, you’d admitted, but he was passionate and knowledgeable, and he wanted his students to succeed. Those qualities had given you courage as you’d finished up your degree. And now, this was it. You had your diploma, your suitcase, and had said your goodbyes to friends and family, and were on a plane to Italy.
Florentine Ruins*
. . .
The ruins in Florence were spectacular, as your professor had said. You had arrived in the city the previous morning and, after a much-needed rest to sort out the jet lag, were finally ready to work. Well… “work” was actually more of a misnomer, it turned out. While your professor and the experienced archaeologists would be handling the actual excavation, you were just meant to sit back and observe, to take notes, as your professor had said, on what the work of a real historian looked like. Which was fine as far as you were concerned. Fine, fine. It’s just, you had felt like you should be doing something…more?
Regardless, you pick your eyes up from your notebook and look around. The dig is progressing steadily at the current site: A villa built during Medici rule. Much of the structure had already been uncovered, as well as many statues, pieces of furniture, and works of art, all in varying degrees of wear. Your professor had picked out one of the more well-preserved pieces, a marble miniature, and asked you to create a sketch of it. How he knew its condition with the amount of dust covering his glasses was unknown. But still, you had accepted his challenge. At least it would give you something to do, you thought.
Now, over an hour later, you aren’t so sure. Your attempts at sketching the statue have come to nothing. Every time you draw a line, you erase it just as quickly. You just can’t focus, what with the heat of the day, the boredom of only watching the dig, and the statue itself. The figurine has some quality to it that you’re unable to describe. And so, you sit in your folding chair, with the statue on the wooden table next to you. You stare at it; it stares back mockingly.
All you have to show in your notebook for your efforts are some scribbles and partially erased grey smudges. You decide to refill your water bottle from the cooler in the large tent nearby. Perhaps that will help clear your head. It will certainly give you something to think about other than your failed sketching.
The shade from the canopy gives you a nice break from the Mediterranean sun, even if you can’t stay in here the whole day. The cooler is only a quarter full, and whatever ice cubes were inside it are long melted, but water is water. It’s the blood of life after all. You start to refill your bottle, but then the cooler begins to shake. Scratch that. Everything is shaking. You look around in confusion. The workers outside cry out:
“Scosse di assestamento! Scosse di assestamento! Terremoto!”
Aftershocks? Earthquake? Oh no. You dive under one of the desks in the tent, hoping that it will protect you. At least if the tent falls, it is only canvas. Not something heavy like the many stone buildings around here.
The tremors continue to build in intensity. The cooler you had been refilling just a moment before falls to the ground, spilling its remaining contents onto the dirt. A quick peek out from under the desk lets you see some of the archaeological workers as they scamper around in confusion, trying to find someplace to hide. You can’t tell if any of them is your professor.
Your vision starts to blur as the ground continues violently shaking. The vibrations and screaming people aren’t the only ones making noise now. Outside your position in the tent, the ruins and buildings of the Mediterranean villa are collapsing and crashing to the ground. Untold centuries of archaeological, historical, and cultural value lost in an instant to the whims of nature.
Suddenly, you hear a sharp CRACK. But this sound is no afterthought to the tumult of noise already assaulting your ears. The stone structures collapsing, the rumbling earth, the screams of people, all of them pale to this new noise. And then it is joined by dozens of sounds just like it, all of them equal in intensity and measure. Massive fissures at least ten feet wide, and of unknowable depth, are opening up all over. And with each CRACK more earth gives way to these trenches.
The statue you had been sketching before has been knocked to the ground due to the shaking. Miraculously, it is not only still in pristine condition, but has also rolled and maneuvered its way, because of the tremors, to rest beside your hiding place. You snatch it up quickly, hoping to preserve at least something from this disaster. Countless artifacts have surely already perished to the earthquake, never to be studied. Their stories never to be known.
That is when it happened.
As soon as your hand touches the soft, dust-covered marble of the figurine, the ground gives a mighty roar. Your vision, already blurry beyond belief, begins to fade. You fight to stay conscious. Blacking out now is a sure way to die, you reason. But it is difficult. Dust rains down from the tent canopy, the desk begins to jump, and the ground is a swirling mass. Another CRACK rings out, the ground beneath you opens, and you fall into the depths.
If any of you read the conclusion to my last AAR, then you might remember that at the end of the final chapter I said my next project might be EU4 related. Well, this is that project.
What follows is very narrative-focused. Almost none of these events relate to any actual gameplay, other than the fact that I played a Florence game and was inspired to write this. The prologue is three parts long and does relate to the actual chapters.
I have most of this already written. So I will try to post an update every couple of weeks.
Also, one final thing. This AAR occasionally uses AI-generated art. And there is one moment where I quote someone else. Whenever that happens in the story, I will include an asterisk next to the instance and a footnote like this at the end of the chapter under a spoiler:
*[1] original source or information.
This story has been many months in the making and I hope you all enjoy it.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
PROLOGUE PART I
You had spent many weeks preparing for this expedition. Freshly graduated from university, you had specialized your History Doctorate in the Early Modern Period, the time from the pre-Renaissance to the early Industrial Revolution. In the weeks leading up to your commencement, one of your professors had recommended you accompany him on a trip to Italy, specifically the city of Florence.
“The recent earthquakes there,” he’d said, "had uncovered many ruins. Roman, Ostrogothic, and,” he’d paused, relishing your anticipation, “Tuscan.”
You’d already guessed what his response was going to be, but still, you let him have his fun, out of respect.
“Just think of it,” he’d continued, “hidden complexes of marble and stone, insights into how people lived under Florence’s golden age. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and I know you’re not one to miss such moments.”
He’d given you a knowing wink and a nod, after which you’d thanked him and accepted his offer. Your professor was a little eccentric at times, you’d admitted, but he was passionate and knowledgeable, and he wanted his students to succeed. Those qualities had given you courage as you’d finished up your degree. And now, this was it. You had your diploma, your suitcase, and had said your goodbyes to friends and family, and were on a plane to Italy.
Florentine Ruins*
. . .
Regardless, you pick your eyes up from your notebook and look around. The dig is progressing steadily at the current site: A villa built during Medici rule. Much of the structure had already been uncovered, as well as many statues, pieces of furniture, and works of art, all in varying degrees of wear. Your professor had picked out one of the more well-preserved pieces, a marble miniature, and asked you to create a sketch of it. How he knew its condition with the amount of dust covering his glasses was unknown. But still, you had accepted his challenge. At least it would give you something to do, you thought.
Now, over an hour later, you aren’t so sure. Your attempts at sketching the statue have come to nothing. Every time you draw a line, you erase it just as quickly. You just can’t focus, what with the heat of the day, the boredom of only watching the dig, and the statue itself. The figurine has some quality to it that you’re unable to describe. And so, you sit in your folding chair, with the statue on the wooden table next to you. You stare at it; it stares back mockingly.
All you have to show in your notebook for your efforts are some scribbles and partially erased grey smudges. You decide to refill your water bottle from the cooler in the large tent nearby. Perhaps that will help clear your head. It will certainly give you something to think about other than your failed sketching.
The shade from the canopy gives you a nice break from the Mediterranean sun, even if you can’t stay in here the whole day. The cooler is only a quarter full, and whatever ice cubes were inside it are long melted, but water is water. It’s the blood of life after all. You start to refill your bottle, but then the cooler begins to shake. Scratch that. Everything is shaking. You look around in confusion. The workers outside cry out:
“Scosse di assestamento! Scosse di assestamento! Terremoto!”
Aftershocks? Earthquake? Oh no. You dive under one of the desks in the tent, hoping that it will protect you. At least if the tent falls, it is only canvas. Not something heavy like the many stone buildings around here.
The tremors continue to build in intensity. The cooler you had been refilling just a moment before falls to the ground, spilling its remaining contents onto the dirt. A quick peek out from under the desk lets you see some of the archaeological workers as they scamper around in confusion, trying to find someplace to hide. You can’t tell if any of them is your professor.
Your vision starts to blur as the ground continues violently shaking. The vibrations and screaming people aren’t the only ones making noise now. Outside your position in the tent, the ruins and buildings of the Mediterranean villa are collapsing and crashing to the ground. Untold centuries of archaeological, historical, and cultural value lost in an instant to the whims of nature.
Suddenly, you hear a sharp CRACK. But this sound is no afterthought to the tumult of noise already assaulting your ears. The stone structures collapsing, the rumbling earth, the screams of people, all of them pale to this new noise. And then it is joined by dozens of sounds just like it, all of them equal in intensity and measure. Massive fissures at least ten feet wide, and of unknowable depth, are opening up all over. And with each CRACK more earth gives way to these trenches.
The statue you had been sketching before has been knocked to the ground due to the shaking. Miraculously, it is not only still in pristine condition, but has also rolled and maneuvered its way, because of the tremors, to rest beside your hiding place. You snatch it up quickly, hoping to preserve at least something from this disaster. Countless artifacts have surely already perished to the earthquake, never to be studied. Their stories never to be known.
That is when it happened.
As soon as your hand touches the soft, dust-covered marble of the figurine, the ground gives a mighty roar. Your vision, already blurry beyond belief, begins to fade. You fight to stay conscious. Blacking out now is a sure way to die, you reason. But it is difficult. Dust rains down from the tent canopy, the desk begins to jump, and the ground is a swirling mass. Another CRACK rings out, the ground beneath you opens, and you fall into the depths.
*An AI-generated piece. Used this program. Supposed to be a bunch of ruins in a Mediterranean city.
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