A Carbon-96 MASER?
Indeed!
I'm looking forward to seeing more of the Woodhouse dynasty though
Masters of Britain? -
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Indeed!
I'm looking forward to seeing more of the Woodhouse dynasty though
Masters of Britain? 
Indeed!
I'm looking forward to seeing more of the Woodhouse dynasty though
Haha , that's the hint at least , eh ? XD
Alvaro is sounding very Salvor Hardin these days.
Also, I saw this and thought of you.
Although I still prefer the MG42.
Also, I saw this and thought of you.
Although I still prefer the MG42.
Alvaro is sounding very Salvor Hardin these days.
Also, I saw this and thought of you.
Although I still prefer the MG42.
ROFL , always glad to know that we can hold an impression for our wonderful fans
And I must admit I haven't read the foundation series . Always intrigued me though since i think a lot of its messages can be applied to even modern states' situations and what not XD might be worth looking into sometime .
Indeed!
I'm looking forward to seeing more of the Woodhouse dynasty though
Masters of Britain? You mean, governors?
Masters of Britain? You mean, governors?
Shhh even if they were , they are proud governors and protectors of the isles ! XD
Update coming probably tomorrow !
Ugh! Now I can't get that song from Annie out of my head. Curse you, canonized!!!
Haha sorry XD
As usual I'm late , but thankfully I'm getting very close to finishing and it's getting fun
I think i'll put something special just for Davout XD
Alright , update delayed again . I suppose I should provide an explanation .
This Christmas I was approached by a small video game company that my friend who originally worked at Lockheed here in Ohio works at to be part of the writing team for a new project they're coming out with . It will be a small game they plan on releasing on Steam in the next year . I just had my second meeting this weekend and the pace is quickening . Not to mention I've been given this thing to read . They planned on using some of my ideas including the Timepiece and the Silent Room (though it won't be called that) . I signed a NDA on work product and since paradox has a clause on this forum (go read the forum rules if you haven't already) that anything posted here will be partially owned by them as far as copyrights go , I won't reveal anything else because of these two reasons .
As you can probably guess , I'm rather excited about it even if I do have a small part to play in this team and although I probably won't get much money out of it , at least I can put it on my résumé .
Don't think that this means that Timelines is going to be halted . It will continue to go on , though not the way I might have originally planned it out two years ago (I plan on reserving my most revelatory ideas for game development though I do have things that I have committed to Timelines to ensure that AAR quality will not disappoint anyone who has followed it) . It will not even necessarily mean that I'll be any slower than I've been lately . I've already been storyboarding and script reviewing and learning how to adapt writing to game script writing this past month while still writing Timelines so I'll keep up doing both . I hope you all understand what kind of opportunity this is for me , but at the same time I hope that the fans that have stuck it out this long will continue to stay and support me in this endeavor to finish this beloved AAR of mine . Thank you again for all of your support , and much love to you all . This next update should be mostly finished by tomorrow .
This Christmas I was approached by a small video game company that my friend who originally worked at Lockheed here in Ohio works at to be part of the writing team for a new project they're coming out with . It will be a small game they plan on releasing on Steam in the next year . I just had my second meeting this weekend and the pace is quickening . Not to mention I've been given this thing to read . They planned on using some of my ideas including the Timepiece and the Silent Room (though it won't be called that) . I signed a NDA on work product and since paradox has a clause on this forum (go read the forum rules if you haven't already) that anything posted here will be partially owned by them as far as copyrights go , I won't reveal anything else because of these two reasons .
As you can probably guess , I'm rather excited about it even if I do have a small part to play in this team and although I probably won't get much money out of it , at least I can put it on my résumé .
Don't think that this means that Timelines is going to be halted . It will continue to go on , though not the way I might have originally planned it out two years ago (I plan on reserving my most revelatory ideas for game development though I do have things that I have committed to Timelines to ensure that AAR quality will not disappoint anyone who has followed it) . It will not even necessarily mean that I'll be any slower than I've been lately . I've already been storyboarding and script reviewing and learning how to adapt writing to game script writing this past month while still writing Timelines so I'll keep up doing both . I hope you all understand what kind of opportunity this is for me , but at the same time I hope that the fans that have stuck it out this long will continue to stay and support me in this endeavor to finish this beloved AAR of mine . Thank you again for all of your support , and much love to you all . This next update should be mostly finished by tomorrow .
Chapter CLII: The Woodhouse Dynasty
19 May 1643 – Rocroi
Arturo slid his fingers across the scars on his wrists. “How many years has it been?” he quietly said to himself as he felt the smoothness of the marred skin gliding across his fingertips. He looked out the window of the church for a moment and squinted his eyes to look further off at the commotion going on near the gate of the city. His hand, meanwhile, gripped his left wrist as if staunching some phantom hemorrhage. His eyes could see Woodhouse and his new team that was moving along the periphery of the smoke that had just appeared. “Hmm... not exactly what I expected, but I'm sure that little Englishman can find his way to save our esteemed Dutch general,” Arturo mused to himself some more.
“You don't like to get personally involved in field work much anymore, do you, Arturo?” someone in the room spoke out to him.
Arturo did not look back, he merely shook his head. “It hurts me when I have to,” Arturo replied with a sour expression on his face. The man could feel something lurching at the back of his throat as he spoke as if a stone was making its way up his esophagus. “It makes me sick,” he said bitterly.
“I don't blame you. It's been years since the jungle, but I still remember it. I don't envy your ordeal, though. Nostalgia aside, I do wonder, though, why you came all the way from England to visit your old friend José's jurisdiction.”
“I had to follow this one, José,” Arturo replied with a sigh. “That German gave me these scars. These Germans that he's been working with—even if those we had encountered in the jungle are gone—will pay for what they did to me.” There was a short pause before the man behind Arturo moved closer to the window.
“If Woodhouse fails, I won't,” José added.
“You're at least braver than you used to be,” Arturo chuckled as he watched Woodhouse's team intercept some of the Germans moving out of one of the buildings. The strangely uniformed intruders were killed quickly and their strange masks now confiscated. “Though it may not be necessary: it looks like Woodhouse is more competent than he looks.”
“You at least gave him a better team to work with this time,” José grunted as he looked out the window as well.
“One of the perks of returning to the Continent, I suppose.”
“Though you did bring O'Hare and the son of James Mcleod,” José chuckled. “Guy Fawkes Mcleod. James was a real Jacobite, wasn't he?”
“It's a good and a bad thing. Jacobites tend to be unpredictable. At least they hate the English more than they hate us.”
“O'Hare seems like a career man at least. He wouldn't turn unless we threatened his children, I'm guessing.”
“If all else fails, I'll count on your men to pick up where they leave off.”
“You don't look very worried,” José commented as he glanced at Arturo's serene features while Arturo's hands warmed his wrists a little more.
“I try not to worry about these kinds of things, José,” Arturo replied as he leaned forward: almost slouching. “It's almost a chore to watch. I feel like I could just close my eyes and hear the news when it comes.”
“It's a wonder you do your job seriously,” José chided.
“It gets done. It's why I get the stronger, younger ones to do it for me. That's why we need people like Woodhouse. I feel like ever since the jungle I've bled away an extra decade of my life.” Silence greeted him for a minute and both watched the melee going on below. General Schenkhuizen was being dragged away from the cloud, but most of his men were still suffering from the ill effects of the gas. “It should dissipate soon. The wind is on our side. It looks like the General is safe and we've captured some of the Germans responsible.”
“I feel sorry for them already. You should let me interrogate them.”
“You know you shouldn't deny me my retribution, José.”
“I wouldn't call it retribution—more like mutilation. It's expressly banned by Madrid, as you recall. You could get your Lions status revoked if they found out how you get your information from the German prisoners.”
Arturo smiled absently. “It's not like I ever hurt them much during the interrogations—they don't even bleed. You know how I hate the sight of blood.” Arturo gripped his wrist once more.
“You know as well as I do that physical torture isn't what makes them crack. Some of the things you do... it gives me nightmares.”
Arturo paid him no attention. “It looks like your men are working quite well with mine.”
José was hesitant to move on, but he knew that there would be nothing to gain by pressing further with Arturo. He decided to follow along with the new topic. “Falconi is the best mercenary from Lombardia. Trained in the sword styles of both Peninsulas—he's definitely as deadly as he is a cocky son of a whore.”
“The short one doesn't seem as agile. What was his name again?”
“They call him The Toad. Probably because he's Dutch.”
Arturo let out a reserved laugh. “Well the Dutch are a swamp-loving people.” Arturo could have bet ten escudos that José was frowning behind him. “Or at least that's what the English say about the money-loving merchantmen of the 'fair low countries.'”
“Just don't say that around my men. The Netherlands is my area of operations: it would be best if I didn't have to stop them from murdering one of our own Lions because they mentioned a few insults about their homeland.”
“Blame the English,” Arturo waved the worry away. “They have a horrible sense of jealousy towards continentals. They already portray Satan with a Spanish beard and moustache. They even make fun of the French for what they eat.”
José unfastened his pistol from his belt. “I think I should go down there and help.”
“Sure,” Arturo sighed with a smile. “It looks like Rocroi—and thus our vast little empire is saved again for now.”
“At least in England and France,” José reminded his friend. “There is still the matter of trudging our way north into the Netherlands and the hundreds of thousands of Persians surging to Vienna, Tunis, and occupying the See of Peter.”
“I'm sure the men of the Silence are dealing with it accordingly. Vienna will be prepared by von Mercy and Rome will be retaken with any luck.”
---
25 May 1643 – Several Miles away from Rome
Étienne watched carefully as Van placed some small twigs together in the middle of the rocks. The Armenian was then quick to wrap a string around one of the pieces of wood to begin a rudimentary fire. Smoke rose up gradually until a yellow glow illuminated the tanned face and jewel-like eyes of the exotic young assassin. The fading sunlight dipped below the horizon by the time Van had conjured a more impressive flame.
Étienne inched closer to the fire to get some warmth while Van occupied an antipodal spot. Étienne pulled up his knees and pressed them against his chest. Van, on the other hand, sat like an Eastern despot atop a carpet he had prepared for himself. Small trinkets started falling, as if by magic, from behind or underneath Van's sleeves. These little containers were quickly opened and Étienne could recognize a soft fragrance mix with the crackling fire.
“To throw off tracking dogs,” Van suddenly explained in Spanish.
Étienne gave a single nod before looking about him. The clearing that Van had chosen to hide in the forest was set against a hard cliff on one end where a treeline barely provided a fence while the other end was a steep incline: the beginning of the Apennines. They had traveled a few days north and east towards these mountains knowing full well that Persian soldiers rarely bothered the monks in the hills: they kept to the protection of their supply fleets and the riches of the coastal cities.
It was a risk to start the fire, but Étienne knew too well that even in the Spring months, the risk of ill health from nightly weather or animals was enough to risk detection. At least they had chosen a relatively secluded area to billow their smoke and the treeline provided some screen against the light of their fire. It was here that the two sat opposite each other with the fire in between them. “So who are you really?” Étienne finally asked. The young man's head straightened as he asked the question though his body was still warming itself in a tightly pulled ball. Van looked at him with eyes reflecting the gold of the flame in return.
“A fugitive, a renegade,” was the response. The Spanish words were slurred in an oriental flavour.
“No,” Étienne replied as if he thought the response was merely the cause of a mistranslation, “I meant, why were you at the Apostolic Palace trying to murder the Pontiff?” Étienne's face, even as he said the words, was conflicted between bemusement and fear.
“I was paid to do it, for Master Tariq,” Van replied simply as he pulled out one of his tanned legs from underneath himself to stretch it out while leaning back on his palm before switching to stretch his other leg as well.
“Tariq?” Étienne recognized the name, “one of the occupying generals...”
“Dead now, I'm sure: since I failed him.” Van interrupted, though the terseness of his words was too forced: as if he had trouble uttering the Spanish equivalent to his Persian thoughts though probably not out of some lack of fluency, but rather the thought of Tariq dead arrested him.
“I'm glad you failed,” Étienne almost shouted angrily. His brow quivered intensely for a moment. It hardly surprised Van as that Armenian cracked his neck and sighed in satisfaction as his head was more free to rotate about. All he give in return to the young French nobleman was a sly grin.
“You have affection for your Papa,” Van almost said it as a joke. His cynicism trickled dryly from the pops of his lips as he pronounced the last word.
“I suppose you wouldn't understand,” Étienne soured as he suddenly stood up. Van paid him no heed as he continued to sit on his carpet, taking perhaps only a moment to adjust the tight leather belts that held his traveling attire together.
“What has he ever done for you?” Van asked to the standing boy, almost coyly. “He is too old to have you as one of his whores—or perhaps not.”
Étienne's teeth clenched together angrily, but then he stepped halfway to the fire. “Why? Is that how they treat boys like you in the Persian camp? Exotic whores for your dark, hairy masters?” Van narrowed his eyes quickly and it seemed to refract the golden luminescence into something more scarlet. He turned away suddenly, rotating himself on his carpet. “I shouldn't be surprised, I suppose,” Étienne continued, “such assassins are notable for their disguises and looseness.”
Van refused to answer. The night air chilled his face while his back felt only heat coming from Étienne's direction by the fire. He stood up slowly, as if waking from a drowsy sleep. His steps seemed heavy as he stepped towards the trees wearily. Étienne watched quietly, afraid to say anything more. It was with a single leap that Van disappeared into the leaves above. The darkness and shadows of the branches conspired to deprive Étienne of any clue of where the other young man went despite those two blue orbs searching quickly from one tree to the next. Étienne sighed in disappointment and anger. Part of him wanted to take what he could and go back to Rome: probably to his death, but another part of him thought of home in France.
If I could only find some passage back to Burgundy... was the crazy thought in Étienne's mind. He wanted to see his mother again... and be away from the Baron long enough to clear his name. He turned from the warmth of the fire as he let out another painful exhale. He walked towards the treeline and gazed in between some of the forestry onto the valley below. The lights of torches could be seen dancing far off in the direction of Rome. Armies all throughout the day had been moving north to secure the recent gains as far as the Po, but there was a new activity causing movement in the Eternal City: barges and boats were being loaded far off near the horizon at Ostia. A fleet was being loaded with an army. Étienne hoped that it meant that the Persians were finally heading back to their home...
Their home... yes. The thought helped Étienne make his decision: he would return to France. He steeled himself to the idea of traversing the highways of Europe which was not only swarming with Persian soldiers, but corrupted by thieves and brigands who were all too happy to make use of the confusion to snatch purses while leaving behind corpses. Better than going back to certain execution, he reasoned to himself. There was also the sudden dread that accosted him of a Persian army making their way to Marseilles and crossing the Alps into France. Would he make it to his home before the Persians attacked? He looked again at the gathering ships in the distance: he hoped more than ever that these were vessels heading back to the East.
---
December 22, 1990
December 22, 1990
Jakob adjusted himself in front of the mirror tentatively before turning around. His hands buttoned the front of his waistcoat before turning around. “Does this work?” Jakob asked.
Sweet hung his head to one side to examine Jakob's outfit before shaking his head. “It's Rodrigo's fifth birthday, not his funeral.”
Jakob sighed and turned back to the mirror and straightening himself up. “I don't have anything else to wear, really. I'm a doctor, not a tailor.” Jakob paused to look back at Sweet who hung near the doorway to the studio apartment. “And you're going with that kind of hair?”
Sweet's half-tired expression didn't budge. “It's the nineties now, doctor, we have to adapt to our surroundings.”
“That may be easy for someone trained for infiltration like you,” Jakob replied as he applied a comb to his neat hair. “I rather prefer something less... messy.”
“I also rather prefer not being late.” Sweet said as he detached himself from the doorframe and began to walk down the hall. “I'll be in the car.”
Jakob straightened his collar quickly and grabbed his coat. He tersely shook his head: “I don't understand why Isabella ever chose to call you 'Sweet,'” he mumbled as he went out the door. Jakob made his way out of his apartment while locking the door behind him. As he traveled down the stairway and to the side of the building, the afternoon sun was still fresh in the sky. He pulled out his sunglasses before rendezvousing with a stoic Sweet already at the wheel.
---
“For the birthday boy,” Jakob announced as he handed a small box over to Antonio who accepted it with a small smile.
“I'm glad you could make it Jakob,” Antonio said as he put the gift down on the table next to him, though he had to raise his voice above the loud noise of children running, music playing, and various adults milling around gossiping with each other.
“Sweet was kind enough to give me a ride. You know I'm still getting the hang of driving these automobiles,” Jakob admitted with a small grin. Antonio handed him a glass of something that frothed at the top as they began to walk down one side of the pool. Splashes interrupted their movement every now and then as children hopped in and out.
“I'm surprised that our resident genius can't yet figure out how to use a car after five years,” Antonio was able to chuckle. Jakob laughed as well but his smile abated slightly after observing Antonio's face.
“You look like hell,” Jakob said quietly.
“Work's been hard. Raising Rodrigo has been harder. He's an energetic guy... takes after his mother.”
“I know these past five years have been harder on you and Isabella more than the rest of us. Debriefings and briefings. I know chasing after Zio has been a big thing.”
Antonio sighed audibly before taking a sip of his drink. “It's a bigger world now. In a lot of ways there are a lot more places for people like Zio to hide. It's also why we had to alter our last name a little to make sure we don't suddenly find our new family in danger. Though changing it from Jimenez to Jimenes isn't as clever as we hoped, but the name is still important to us.”
“And where's Isabella? I was hoping to check up on her.”
“Still making house calls, huh?” Antonio smiled. “She's fine, she's just a bit late finishing up the cake. We had a bit of a long night last night—we had a tip on a group that a group called the Romanfellow Foundation was trying to make contact with certain persons we know from our previous life.”
“A tip, hm? I'm guessing it came from her,” Jakob said quietly. Antonio was also quiet before he took another sip. Jakob waited a moment and eyed his drink quietly before gathering the courage to speak. “I know we haven't kept up as much as we should have over the years, Antonio. I know things have been crazy and Isabella—well... I understand, but you have to end it with that woman. You can't have both of them...” Jakob looked up to look at Antonio who averted his eyes to the water in the pool, “and if it weren't for the fact that I know that you're deeply repentant about it,” Jakob continued, “I would have prescribed shock therapy for you a long time ago. You have to let her go.”
“When I proposed to Isabella all those years ago,” Antonio said quietly, “I thought that it would be the sealing of my destiny: the ending of my life and the start of something blissful. I thought it would be perfect: after all, I finally had her back. And then she left and I thought that that would allow Isabella and I to grow together without any of my feelings getting in the way. Then El Salvador... the biggest mistake of my life.”
“We thought we had lost you in El Salvador,” Jakob lowered his head again as he pulled his words from deep within him. His words had an airy, empty, and echoing feeling as if he was using a pulley to pull them up from a deep well. “All those months—“
“Please... I'd rather forget about it.”
“You haven't even told Isabella about it yet, have you?”
There was silence between them again only to be submerged by the revelry going on at the party. “I'll tell her. Soon. After I break it off with... with 'her.'” Jakob nodded to that and took another sip of his drink. Antonio pulled his glass to his lips as well and drank the rest of his beverage. The two looked at each other holding the empty glasses sealing the covenant ritual with their gazes. “So I hear you got accepted to go into Lion military training,” Antonio changed subjects with a cautious smile.
“Yes,” Jakob smiled in return, “my good uncle the Cardinal convinced them to allow me modern weapons training. Soon you'll be calling me 'Captain DeWitt,'” he chuckled.
Interlude
“Good morning Captain DeWitt,” Rodrigo nodded to the head of his security detail. “How's our English prince doing?”
“As you suspected, he's amazing. I've run through five simulations and he's beaten them all,” was the reply.
Rodrigo smiled appreciatively. “You sound rather surprised.”
“You kids tend to pick up these things a bit more quickly than us... older folk,” was the slightly cryptic statement by the Captain.
“You've been a master of electronic warfare ever since I've known you, Captain, I suppose it's just a matter of being born in this information age,” Rodrigo said which elicited a strange smirk from DeWitt's face. “Randall was an unexpected find. A Woodhouse to boot.”
“With him we can finally move on the offensive. If he can get through my encryptions then we can finally find out where the enemy is by diving into that monstrosity they've created. What do they call it again? The Beast, I think?”
Rodrigo nodded. “Though I don't envy him... In order to get past those defenses we'll need to put him into a solid state with the MAGI System we have here.” Rodrigo paused. “I'll talk to him. If he agrees, assemble a strike team that can move once we get notice. Assemble the engineers with me in the control room.”
Chapter CLIII: Victory / Envy (coming soon)
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Plot thickens. It's so thick, you need fucking sharks with fucking lasers to cut it.
Well that would be needed for precision cut. I'm more for a brute "nuke it till it glows, and then read what it's crucially about" approach.
Aww, Antonio and Isabella have a kiddie
I do wonder how isabella has not found out... or maybe she has, about 'her', and she's not telling.
As to the rest... jay for Arturo. Now to get Rocroi out of the way, and beat these upstart Persians. Long live the Empire!
I do wonder how isabella has not found out... or maybe she has, about 'her', and she's not telling.
As to the rest... jay for Arturo. Now to get Rocroi out of the way, and beat these upstart Persians. Long live the Empire!
Well the basic idea is to use highly concentrated AWESOME to strip away much of the 'unnesesary' plot, and reveal the core, and then we send in X-Wings with fucking bears on motherfucking planes, in for the final attack run.
Now how are we going to achieve high amounts of AwSoMe, I'm open to ideas.
Note, that we will need at least min 120dB stronger AwSoMe than 'Bear cavalry'.
Now how are we going to achieve high amounts of AwSoMe, I'm open to ideas.
Note, that we will need at least min 120dB stronger AwSoMe than 'Bear cavalry'.