Princes of the Universe, Part II
- Thread starter Sisiutil
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baseballpie
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Possible updates? 
GreekAnalyzer
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Woohoo! I loved your ALC!
Moai_Spammer
Ave, True to Caesar!
Alc?.
Sisiutil
All Leader Challenger
Verarde
Pondering Wearing A Hat
And all it took was a thread bump.
Sisiutil
All Leader Challenger
That and two years' worth of guilt.
Terrance888
Discord Reigns
Lesson Learned: Necromancy is justified, if the body was a genius.
Moai_Spammer
Ave, True to Caesar!
welp, looks like bumping a random thread because your bored CAN pay off after all 
edit: 600th POST!!! :suicide:![[pimp]](/images/smilies/pimp.gif "Pimp [pimp]")
edit: 600th POST!!! :suicide:
danjuno
Cole Phelps, Badge 1247
Cool! But without the screenshots, will we know how the game ends? (Will we find out who wins and what victory type, or will it just end when you hit a point that looks like a good place to end the story?) That detail aside, congratulations on bringing this beauty to a conclusion!
mrrandomplayer
Hopeless Situation Warrior
*faints*
baseballpie
Deity
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This reminds me of a time in March (IIRC)that Mety said he would update by the weekend. Needless to say it never happened.
GreekAnalyzer
Back from the Dead
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Yeah, the ALC was great for n00b me.
Sisiutil
All Leader Challenger
Chapter 17 – Scipio's Victory
Marcus Scipio and the Battle of Tiflis
Part 3
“Forward!” Colonel Cato shouted, his sword pointing upward.
The 14th Legion bellowed a loud, fierce war cry in response, then they rushed forward, heading for the breach in the walls opened by their frigates’ guns. A steep glacis of loose stone led to the slender crack in Tiflis’ high walls, and the narrow breach positively bristled with Mongolian musketmen. Romans slipped on the loose stone and cursed, then choked on their profanities as musket balls slammed into their chests. Soon, bodies of the dying and the dead littered the glacis, impeding the Romans’ progress even further. The Roman advance stalled as men took cover. Above them, the Mongolians began to laugh.
Scipio looked up from his position in the middle of the Legion and swore. The musketballs couldn’t reach him at his current position, but that would soon change—if he could push through the press of Roman soldiers jammed in front of him, a prospect which seemed unlikely under the current circumstances. It was one thing to charge toward the enemy with at least a possibility of surviving; when faced with certain death, however, even the bravest soldiers hesitated.
“Rifles!” Scipio shouted. “To me, to me!”
Scipio ran sideways off the glacis into the shelter of a shallow defile. Sergeant-Major Necalli joined Scipio, followed by Corporal Lallena, the Spaniard, Corporal Silo, and six more riflemen of the 14th Legion.
“D’you hear those Mongo bastards, laughing at us?” Scipio said to his fellow riflemen. “We’re Caesar’s rifles, the best bloody shots in the world! Pick ‘em off!”
The riflemen flashed predatory smiles, then threw themselves up over the lip of the defile. Each man took aim at a figure standing upon the breach. Musket balls hissed above and beside them, some ricocheting sharply off of the stony ground. But at this range, and in a strong sea breeze, the muskets had trouble finding their mark. The rifles had no such disadvantage. The Romans’ weapons crackled. The finely-carved spirals within the rifles’ barrels sent their bullets spinning through the air with deadly accuracy and range. Mongolians who had been standing confidently atop the breach cried out and fell. Others took cover. They stopped laughing.
“Reload and fire at will!” Scipio commanded.
“Upper left,” Silo called out.
“I have middle left,” Lallena said.
“Upper right,” Necalli added.
Each of the Roman riflemen under Scipio’s command claimed a section of the breach, then waited patiently. The other Romans, encouraged by the reduction in Monogolian musket fire, resumed their climb up the glacis.
A Mongolian’s head appeared at the top left section of the breach. Silo’s rifle cracked and a red mist sprayed into the air like a grisly halo around the Mongolian’s head. Another Mongolian braved leaving cover on the opposite side of the wall. Necalli’s shot took the man through the throat; the Mongolian fell and died without a sound.
Suddenly it was the Mongolians’ turn to cower under cover, and the Romans’ turn to laugh.
“Onwards and upwards!” Cato shouted as the 14th made their way toward the breach. “You there! Scipio!” he shouted toward the sandy-haired Captain and his riflemen where they crouched atop the defile. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Just giving the men some target practice, sir,” Scipio replied. After several years in country, he was a master at injecting just the right amount of insolence in his remarks to superior officers. Enough to let his opinion of them be known, but not enough to warrant discipline.
Cato’s cold blue eyes narrowed as he stared back at Scipio. “This isn’t a turkey shoot in Campania,” the hard-faced Colonel shouted. “Get off your bellies and climb!”
“Oh, I’ll climb,” Scipio muttered as the Colonel moved away and he rose to his feet. “Right up your arse, you old bugger.”
“I like him,” Necalli said from where he stood behind Scipio. “He has spirit.”
“That’s all that will be left of us by the end of this, thanks to him,” Scipio replied. “Spirits.”
“Spirits!” Lallena said. “Now we’re talking. What spirits d’you think will find in this Mongolian redoubt? Port? Whiskey?”
“Airag,” Scipio responded as his group began to climb.
“Ugh!” Lallena replied, delivering the widespread opinion of the average Roman infantryman regarding the Mongolians’ favoured libation of fermented mare’s milk. “Thank all the Gods we’re bringing civilization to these barbarians!”
“Heads up!” Silo shouted as he took aim and picked off a Mongolian musketman who had emerged from cover. “Or heads down, as it were.”
“Good shot, Silo,” Scipio said.
“When does Silo ever take a bad shot?” Lallena asked.
A few paces above them, the first Romans reached the bottom of the breach, and then the real fighting began. A few shots rang out as Mongolians and Romans alike emptied their guns’ breeches, then the hard, bloody work done by bayonet, sword, and fists began. Dying men cried for their mothers while those still standing above them roared their bloodlust to the sky. The acrid stench of spilled blood, opened guts, and loosened bowels filled the air.
The Roman attack stalled again as a wave of Mongolian defenders met them head-on, fighting in a desperate last stand for their conquered homeland and for their Khan. Then Colonel Cato caught up to his troops and leapt into the fray. His double-edged sword of fine Castilian steel sliced through the air--and through Mongolian bodies with just as much ease. Blood spattered his silver-grey hair and his ascetic face, but he paid it no heed. The Mongolians recoiled from this ferocious Roman, while his actions rallied his troops.
“Bloody hell,” Scipio said, impressed.
“Told you I liked him,” Necalli said, then shouted an Aztec war-cry and ran to join the Colonel.
The big Aztec Seargant-Major caught a Mongolian sabre on his rifle-barrel before it could slash at Cato’s back. With a guttural shout, Necalli wrenched the Mongolian blade aside then plunged his bayonet into the enemy soldier’s gut. He turned to face his commanding officer with a fierce, feral grin; Cato blinked in mild surprise, then acknowledged the Aztec with a curt nod.
Not to be outdone by his Sergeant, Scipio stormed ahead, attacking the Mongolian front line with a frenzied roar and his sabre. Designed to be wielded from horseback, the big, heavy Mongolian cavalry sabre would have been useless in the hands of a smaller, weaker man; Scipio, however, had the size and the strength to put the blade to use. He didn’t even have to connect and cut with the weapon, though he usually did; even a blow from the broad side of the heavy blade could disable or even kill a man. Two Mongolians fell as a result of the first savage swipe of his blade; more followed with each subsequent thrust and swing.
The Romans and Mongolians now fought in a cobble-stoned street by the city’s northern wall. Men sometimes slipped in the blood and offal beneath their feet, caught themselves, and resumed fighting. More Roman infantry streamed in through the now-undefended breach; the 17th and 20th Legions joined the more experienced 14th inside the city walls. Ever so gradually, the Mongolians found themselves pushed back.
Behind the Mongolian line, a trumpet sounded a rapid triplet. For the briefest of moments, the fighting paused, then the Romans found themselves facing an empty street as their opponents suddenly stopped fighting and beat a hasty retreat.
“Did we just win?” Corporal Lallena asked hopefully.
“Of course not,” Colonel Cato said, breathing heavily. “They’re retreating to reinforce their next fall-back position. They likely have several. Each one will need to be taken.”
“At high cost,” Scipio said before he could catch himself.
Cato turned to glare at him and stepped closer. Then, to Scipio’s surprise, the Colonel smiled.
“How fortunate that the 14th specializes in city raiding,” Cato said.
“Yes, sir,” Scipio replied without enthusiasm. He could foresee the fighting, each street taken at the cost of so many Roman lives... most likely including his own, he reflected gloomily.
“Fortunately, there is another way,” Cato murmured to Scipio, then sniffed loudly.
“Sir?” Scipio said, but Colonel Cato had already turned away.
“Major Cortez,” Cato said to his immediate subordinate. “You are to take command of the 14th, 17th, and 20th Legions and proceed through the city, street by street, engaging and defeating any Mongolian resistance you encounter.”
“Yes, sir,” the Spanish Major responded. His voice and expression bespoke the man’s devotion to duty, though the slightest twitch of one cheek indicated how well he understood the difficulty of the task he’d been given.
“Take your time, Cortez,” Cato said. “Pressure the Mongolians, but minimize our own losses. Understood?”
The Spaniard nodded; his shoulders relaxed, a sign of the relief he felt.
“Scipio!” Cato barked.
“Sir!” the tall rifleman responded.
“Gather together a dozen of your best men. You, and they, are coming with me.”
Scipio blinked several times, then frowned. “Coming with you, sir?”
“Is there an echo in here?” Cato replied impatiently. “Yes, Scipio, with me!”
“Might I ask where we’re going? Sir?” Scipio asked dubiously.
Cato smiled once again. A smile, Scipio noticed, that held all the warmth of the man’s pale blue eyes, which was to say, none at all. A smile that chilled Scipio to the bone.
“Where? Why, my good Captain Scipio,” Cato said, still smiling, “we’re going hunting. We're going to hunt an immortal.”
Marcus Scipio and the Battle of Tiflis
Part 3
“Forward!” Colonel Cato shouted, his sword pointing upward.
The 14th Legion bellowed a loud, fierce war cry in response, then they rushed forward, heading for the breach in the walls opened by their frigates’ guns. A steep glacis of loose stone led to the slender crack in Tiflis’ high walls, and the narrow breach positively bristled with Mongolian musketmen. Romans slipped on the loose stone and cursed, then choked on their profanities as musket balls slammed into their chests. Soon, bodies of the dying and the dead littered the glacis, impeding the Romans’ progress even further. The Roman advance stalled as men took cover. Above them, the Mongolians began to laugh.
Scipio looked up from his position in the middle of the Legion and swore. The musketballs couldn’t reach him at his current position, but that would soon change—if he could push through the press of Roman soldiers jammed in front of him, a prospect which seemed unlikely under the current circumstances. It was one thing to charge toward the enemy with at least a possibility of surviving; when faced with certain death, however, even the bravest soldiers hesitated.
“Rifles!” Scipio shouted. “To me, to me!”
Scipio ran sideways off the glacis into the shelter of a shallow defile. Sergeant-Major Necalli joined Scipio, followed by Corporal Lallena, the Spaniard, Corporal Silo, and six more riflemen of the 14th Legion.
“D’you hear those Mongo bastards, laughing at us?” Scipio said to his fellow riflemen. “We’re Caesar’s rifles, the best bloody shots in the world! Pick ‘em off!”
The riflemen flashed predatory smiles, then threw themselves up over the lip of the defile. Each man took aim at a figure standing upon the breach. Musket balls hissed above and beside them, some ricocheting sharply off of the stony ground. But at this range, and in a strong sea breeze, the muskets had trouble finding their mark. The rifles had no such disadvantage. The Romans’ weapons crackled. The finely-carved spirals within the rifles’ barrels sent their bullets spinning through the air with deadly accuracy and range. Mongolians who had been standing confidently atop the breach cried out and fell. Others took cover. They stopped laughing.
“Reload and fire at will!” Scipio commanded.
“Upper left,” Silo called out.
“I have middle left,” Lallena said.
“Upper right,” Necalli added.
Each of the Roman riflemen under Scipio’s command claimed a section of the breach, then waited patiently. The other Romans, encouraged by the reduction in Monogolian musket fire, resumed their climb up the glacis.
A Mongolian’s head appeared at the top left section of the breach. Silo’s rifle cracked and a red mist sprayed into the air like a grisly halo around the Mongolian’s head. Another Mongolian braved leaving cover on the opposite side of the wall. Necalli’s shot took the man through the throat; the Mongolian fell and died without a sound.
Suddenly it was the Mongolians’ turn to cower under cover, and the Romans’ turn to laugh.
“Onwards and upwards!” Cato shouted as the 14th made their way toward the breach. “You there! Scipio!” he shouted toward the sandy-haired Captain and his riflemen where they crouched atop the defile. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Just giving the men some target practice, sir,” Scipio replied. After several years in country, he was a master at injecting just the right amount of insolence in his remarks to superior officers. Enough to let his opinion of them be known, but not enough to warrant discipline.
Cato’s cold blue eyes narrowed as he stared back at Scipio. “This isn’t a turkey shoot in Campania,” the hard-faced Colonel shouted. “Get off your bellies and climb!”
“Oh, I’ll climb,” Scipio muttered as the Colonel moved away and he rose to his feet. “Right up your arse, you old bugger.”
“I like him,” Necalli said from where he stood behind Scipio. “He has spirit.”
“That’s all that will be left of us by the end of this, thanks to him,” Scipio replied. “Spirits.”
“Spirits!” Lallena said. “Now we’re talking. What spirits d’you think will find in this Mongolian redoubt? Port? Whiskey?”
“Airag,” Scipio responded as his group began to climb.
“Ugh!” Lallena replied, delivering the widespread opinion of the average Roman infantryman regarding the Mongolians’ favoured libation of fermented mare’s milk. “Thank all the Gods we’re bringing civilization to these barbarians!”
“Heads up!” Silo shouted as he took aim and picked off a Mongolian musketman who had emerged from cover. “Or heads down, as it were.”
“Good shot, Silo,” Scipio said.
“When does Silo ever take a bad shot?” Lallena asked.
A few paces above them, the first Romans reached the bottom of the breach, and then the real fighting began. A few shots rang out as Mongolians and Romans alike emptied their guns’ breeches, then the hard, bloody work done by bayonet, sword, and fists began. Dying men cried for their mothers while those still standing above them roared their bloodlust to the sky. The acrid stench of spilled blood, opened guts, and loosened bowels filled the air.
The Roman attack stalled again as a wave of Mongolian defenders met them head-on, fighting in a desperate last stand for their conquered homeland and for their Khan. Then Colonel Cato caught up to his troops and leapt into the fray. His double-edged sword of fine Castilian steel sliced through the air--and through Mongolian bodies with just as much ease. Blood spattered his silver-grey hair and his ascetic face, but he paid it no heed. The Mongolians recoiled from this ferocious Roman, while his actions rallied his troops.
“Bloody hell,” Scipio said, impressed.
“Told you I liked him,” Necalli said, then shouted an Aztec war-cry and ran to join the Colonel.
The big Aztec Seargant-Major caught a Mongolian sabre on his rifle-barrel before it could slash at Cato’s back. With a guttural shout, Necalli wrenched the Mongolian blade aside then plunged his bayonet into the enemy soldier’s gut. He turned to face his commanding officer with a fierce, feral grin; Cato blinked in mild surprise, then acknowledged the Aztec with a curt nod.
Not to be outdone by his Sergeant, Scipio stormed ahead, attacking the Mongolian front line with a frenzied roar and his sabre. Designed to be wielded from horseback, the big, heavy Mongolian cavalry sabre would have been useless in the hands of a smaller, weaker man; Scipio, however, had the size and the strength to put the blade to use. He didn’t even have to connect and cut with the weapon, though he usually did; even a blow from the broad side of the heavy blade could disable or even kill a man. Two Mongolians fell as a result of the first savage swipe of his blade; more followed with each subsequent thrust and swing.
The Romans and Mongolians now fought in a cobble-stoned street by the city’s northern wall. Men sometimes slipped in the blood and offal beneath their feet, caught themselves, and resumed fighting. More Roman infantry streamed in through the now-undefended breach; the 17th and 20th Legions joined the more experienced 14th inside the city walls. Ever so gradually, the Mongolians found themselves pushed back.
Behind the Mongolian line, a trumpet sounded a rapid triplet. For the briefest of moments, the fighting paused, then the Romans found themselves facing an empty street as their opponents suddenly stopped fighting and beat a hasty retreat.
“Did we just win?” Corporal Lallena asked hopefully.
“Of course not,” Colonel Cato said, breathing heavily. “They’re retreating to reinforce their next fall-back position. They likely have several. Each one will need to be taken.”
“At high cost,” Scipio said before he could catch himself.
Cato turned to glare at him and stepped closer. Then, to Scipio’s surprise, the Colonel smiled.
“How fortunate that the 14th specializes in city raiding,” Cato said.
“Yes, sir,” Scipio replied without enthusiasm. He could foresee the fighting, each street taken at the cost of so many Roman lives... most likely including his own, he reflected gloomily.
“Fortunately, there is another way,” Cato murmured to Scipio, then sniffed loudly.
“Sir?” Scipio said, but Colonel Cato had already turned away.
“Major Cortez,” Cato said to his immediate subordinate. “You are to take command of the 14th, 17th, and 20th Legions and proceed through the city, street by street, engaging and defeating any Mongolian resistance you encounter.”
“Yes, sir,” the Spanish Major responded. His voice and expression bespoke the man’s devotion to duty, though the slightest twitch of one cheek indicated how well he understood the difficulty of the task he’d been given.
“Take your time, Cortez,” Cato said. “Pressure the Mongolians, but minimize our own losses. Understood?”
The Spaniard nodded; his shoulders relaxed, a sign of the relief he felt.
“Scipio!” Cato barked.
“Sir!” the tall rifleman responded.
“Gather together a dozen of your best men. You, and they, are coming with me.”
Scipio blinked several times, then frowned. “Coming with you, sir?”
“Is there an echo in here?” Cato replied impatiently. “Yes, Scipio, with me!”
“Might I ask where we’re going? Sir?” Scipio asked dubiously.
Cato smiled once again. A smile, Scipio noticed, that held all the warmth of the man’s pale blue eyes, which was to say, none at all. A smile that chilled Scipio to the bone.
“Where? Why, my good Captain Scipio,” Cato said, still smiling, “we’re going hunting. We're going to hunt an immortal.”
Sisiutil
All Leader Challenger
SamSniped
DJ Goodboye
We finally have a continuation!
mrrandomplayer
Hopeless Situation Warrior
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
UPDATE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
It's a miracle!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
EDIT: Sam, you ninja'ed me!
UPDATE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
It's a miracle!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
EDIT: Sam, you ninja'ed me!
Moai_Spammer
Ave, True to Caesar!
maybe we can bump one of mety's threads and see if he updates 
SamSniped
DJ Goodboye
maybe we can bump one of mety's threads and see if he updates
:rofl: Haha, good one. Maybe Yoshi, Dhoom, and ilduce will come back too
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