Terrance888
Discord Reigns
Maybe he finds a fuse and loots of booze. Lit the fuze to the (high alcoholic) booze, use a rope to open door, and hide in scullary: BOOOOM! 
Princes of the Universe, Part I
- Thread starter Sisiutil
- Start date
- Status
Crowqueen
Token forum woman
Sorry, Sis, especially since I abandoned my Epic of Wolgamesh thread after no-one posted on it 
. Thanks - it's quite racy a story this one, more ASAP please!
. Thanks - it's quite racy a story this one, more ASAP please!Eclipse-X010
Imperial Ascended Being
Just finished reading all 1,043 posts on this thread. Excellent story so far. I'm awaiting more!!!
sophie
Break My Heart
Hey I found this thread one day at around 1 in the afternoon and read straight through till 2 in the morning, you have no idea how devastated I was when I realized that it wasn't finished yet 
. But anyway, it's a great story, albeit a little cheesy at times (that whole rifling thing, as well as the bayonet thing.) But great all the same. Your little novella section about the Aztec wars was fantastic. Just a few typos here and there, but hey, you can't avoid those, right?
. But anyway, it's a great story, albeit a little cheesy at times (that whole rifling thing, as well as the bayonet thing.) But great all the same. Your little novella section about the Aztec wars was fantastic. Just a few typos here and there, but hey, you can't avoid those, right?
r_rolo1
King of myself
^^S man said this will not be published.....
BTW Weekends are long in Canada
BTW Weekends are long in Canada
Sisiutil
All Leader Challenger
It is, technically, a long weekend in the Great White North, so I still have some time to fulfill my promise.^^S man said this will not be published.....
BTW Weekends are long in Canada
Scarredroman
Warlord
- Joined
- Aug 3, 2007
- Messages
- 274
It is, technically, a long weekend in the Great White North, so I still have some time to fulfill my promise.
Gotta love that quaint canadian humour
Sisiutil
All Leader Challenger
Princes 15 - Scipio's Spy
Part 7
Its black as pitch down here, Lallena muttered.
Ive always admired how observant you Spaniards are, Necalli responded.
Scipio grunted in the darkness as he pushed himself back to his feet. The knees of his trousers were torn, he could feel, and both knees were wet and sticky with blood from cuts. This wasnt how hed planned it, not at all. The riflemen were supposed to have burst in, grabbed him and Larentia, and then burst out again, into the street and back to the garrison. Instead, theyd been cut off and herded into the basement, from which there didnt seem to be a way out.
Does anyone have a match? Scipio called up from the bottom of the stairs.
Aye, sir, Silo, the oldest of the riflemen and a man fond of his pipe tobacco, responded. The others heard him rummaging in his coat pockets for a moment, and then they heard the sharp scratching sound of a match being struck against flint. The meagre flame provided their only illumination; the basement appeared dark and gloomy, the tiny flame making shadows flicker ominously against the walls and floor.
Miguel, Weikeep your aim trained on that door, in case our friends decide to barge in on us, Scipio ordered.
Slowly, illuminated by the match flame, the riflemen and the Mongolian woman made their way down the steps, warily watching the door the entire time. When they reached the bottom, the match revealed their immediate surroundings. Silo spotted a small glass oil lamp hanging from the ceiling; just before his match burned to his fingers, he grabbed the lamp and lit its wick. He then shook the match out and was about to toss it away when Scipio gripped his forearm tightly.
Dont go tossing that match anywhere down here, Silo, Scipio murmured, his voice tight with tension.
Silo looked around the basement, as did the others, and they collectively gasped. The room was filled with barrels, each marked with Mongolian symbols that the Romans had quickly come to recognize as theyd invaded the city a few days ago. According to the markings, each barrel was filled with gunpowder. Stacked against the stone walls, they could see row after row of muskets. In one corner of the dark, dingy room were several heavy canvas bags, presumably filled to the brim with musket balls.
Be careful with that lamp, too, Silo, Private Li Wei muttered nervously.
Right, Silo responded, his voice tight. Handy safety tip, that.
Necalli whistled low. Its a damned arsenal, he said.
Enough to support a full-blown revolt, Scipio acknowledged. He turned to look at Larentia. This is what that message was about, wasnt it? The spy glanced at him, her eyes wary and suspicious for a moment, but then she nodded. Hercules has cleaned the stables, and is rounding up the mares, Scipio repeated, remembering the message shed given him. The lion is slain. The cattle remain free. Scipio quoted. Manlai is Hercules?
Larentia nodded. He cleaned out the other weapons caches around the citythe stablesand brought everything here, she said in a tired voice. But I didnt know where here was at the time.
Scipio nodded. The cattle remain free. Whos the lion?
The young Mongolian woman looked down, ashamed to show signs of a wound that was still fresh. My father, she admitted. He was one of Khans generals, until
Until what? Scipio asked gently.
Larentia lifted her head, and her dark eyes stared directly into Scipios. Until a higher-ranking general took a liking to my mother. She couldnt dishonour herself, so she
Her voice choked off her words, and Scipio placed a hand on her shoulder. Hes wondered why this young Mongolian woman had turned against her own government, and now he knew. His men were respectfully silent, their attention riveted to the closed, silent door above them.
Larentia shrugged off Scipios reassuring touch. She glanced up at the door. This is some rescue, she said derisively. Theyll be coming for us.
I know, Scipio said. They dont want to fire down into a room full of gunpowder
Im not that comfortable with the idea of firing up out of one, Lallena muttered.
and we cant survive down here forever, Scipio said. He looked around. There has to be another way out.
Not necessarily, Necalli said gloomily.
Could we dig our way out? Wei suggested.
The big Aztec sergeant, standing next to him, glanced dubiously at the stone walls and floor, then cast a baleful stare back at the young private.
I guess not... Wei muttered.
We could charge them, Lallena said gloomily, well aware of how such an effort would end.
And go out in a blaze of glory, Miguel? Scipio said with a wry smile.
He stole a glance at Larentia. If it had just been himself and his men, he might have given the idea more than just passing consideration. But theyd come here to rescue a woman, and Scipio would be damned if he was going to give up so easily.
There has to be another way, the tall rifleman said.
He ran one hand through his short, sandy hair and began to pace around the kegs of gunpowder. He knew time was running out. Upstairs, Manlai would be plotting a way to come down and kill them all. It wouldnt be hard. The first few Mongolians would die, but after that, his small group would be overwhelmed by numbers. Or maybe theyd just keep them bottled up down here and let them starve. Either way, the situation seemed hopeless.
Scipio took a deep breath and sighed. The sour scent of gunpowder filled his nostrils; that was the other smell hed detected upstairs just a few moments before, he realized. Then he frowned. The sour reek in the air, he suddenly realized, wasnt just from gunpowder.
Sir, what are we going to... Wei said.
Quiet, Scipio said suddenly, holding up one hand. He took one step to his right, then another, and sniffed the air like a hound following a scent.
Sir, whats Necalli began to ask him, but Scipio shook his head and kept his hand raised. He took another step towards the center of the basement. He then noticed that the floor was slanted slightly towards the center, and smiled. He reached down and carefully pushed a barrel out of the way. His eyes began to water and he waved his hand in front of his face, but his smile had broadened to a grin.
Buddha wept! Lallena exclaimed, his face folding up as an atrocious odour filled the air. What is that smell? he asked as he covered his face with one hand.
Its our way out, Scipio said proudly.
Dubiously, Larentia and the riflemen walked over towards the spot where Scipio was standing; Silo carried the lantern, careful not to let its flame anywhere near any gunpowder keg. There was an iron grate in the floor, they could see once they stood by the Roman officer, and the stench emanating from it reeked of human waste.
A sewer, Lallena said joylessly.
Scipio nodded. We pull the grate off, and we can wade through it and get out of here.
Wade through ? Wei said dubiously.
Dont tell me you joined the Roman army for the glamour and adventure, Scipio chided his youngest man with a grin.
No, I joined for the gourmet cuisine, Wei muttered.
You know, sir, Necalli said, I always knew that if I stuck by you long enough, Id wind up knee-deep in
Shut up, you big Aztec bastard, Scipio replied. Help me with this powder keg over here, he said, marching back towards a barrel near the bottom of the stairs.
What are we going to do with it? Necalli asked, but the smile on his face indicated he had some idea of what his commanding officer intended.
Like good house guests, Scipio muttered as he pulled a cork plug out of a hole in the top of the barrel, were going to leave our hosts a parting gift.
***
Ready? Manlai said to his men. It wasnt a question, not really; it was his way of saying that he expected them to be ready, and they knew it.
They were nervous, of course, for though they outnumbered the small band of Roman riflemen in the basement, they would be leading a blind charge into the dark. Only two men at a time could advance abreast through the doorway and down the staircase, and if the Romans decided to risk firing their weapons while surrounded by all that gunpowder, then the first few men would die. The Mongolians would not, could not fire back; Manlai had ensured that their muskets were unloaded. Just one ball striking a powder keg the wrong way could set off a conflagration. Sparks from the pans of the Romans rifles were also risky, but less so than direct fire. So the Romans would hold a slight advantageat first. But once their weapons were empty, the Mongolians would have the advantage of numbers.
And if the Romans did not fire, then it would be a battle of bayonet against bayonet, and the Mongolians had the advantage of higher ground. Either way, the Romans would all die, and Manlai would have his prisoner back. He relished the thought; there were still a few choice indignities he wished to inflict upon the young womans body.
For the fatherland! one of the men at the front said. He was young, fierce and proud and idealistic as young men often are, and he knew he was about to die, as young men of his mindset often do.
Manlai shrugged inwardly. It was the way of the world. He was not a patriot and bore no great love for the Great Immortal Khan, but he liked things the way they had been before the Romans showed up, so he would fight to kill the Romans and restore his city to Mongolian control. Maybe the Great Khan would make him a general. The thought was amusing. Whatever happened, Manlai knew he would emerge from this conflict even more powerful than he had been before. So maybe the Roman invasion wasnt such a bad thing after all. Not that it would stop him from killing as many of the bastards as he could.
GO! Manlai shouted, and the young patriot thrust his booted foot against the door. It swung open, and the young man charged, screaming, down the stairwell, his bayonet leading the way, his companions following close on his heels. Manlai hung back at the top of the stairs. He heard no rifle fire from below, and that was a relief. But then he realized that he also did not hear the sound of a fight; there were no sounds of bayonet blades clashing and scraping against one another, no shouts and cries as men died. The shouts of his men had died out.
The Mongolian crime lord pushed his way through the men at the top of the stairs, then down the stairs into the basement. A single lamp was lit and hung from a hook in the ceiling. The young patriot was standing in the centre of the basement, and was beckoning to him.
They escaped into the sewers, the young man said, his nose wrinkling as he pointed to the open sewer grate.
Hrmph, Manlai grunted. Like the rats they are. How appropriate. He stared at the hole in the floor for a moment, considering, then looked around at his men. Very well. Well need to move the weapons cache, now that they know where it is. Beckter, round up all the men and
Great Vishnu!
Manlais attention, indeed the attention of all the men in the basement, was drawn to the man who had exclaimed to their Hindu god and was now running towards a barrel that was positioned to one side of the wooden staircase. In the dimly-lit basement, Manlai could clearly see the sparking flame of a burning fuse, a fuse that the damned Romans had cleverly concealed from their view behind the powderkeg itself. Even now, as his man ran desperately towards the barrel, Manlai could see he would be too late. With his final breath, the Mongolian crime lord uttered a vicious, ugly curse on the Romans and all things Roman.
For generations thereafter, Mycenians would talk about the great explosion. They would talk about how it levelled an entire block in the citys old, nearly abandoned warehouse district. Those who were nearby would remember that there was first a loud, yet muffled sound, like a large cannon firing. That was then followed by an ear-shattering roar that left ears ringing throughout the city for days afterwards. A huge red and black fireball rose into the sky, trailing flaming debris that rained down upon the surrounding blocks.
The fiery detritus of the explosion threatened to spread the destruction even further as it fell upon the surrounding buildings and homes. As fires started and began to spread, many Mycenians began to flee, convinced their city was doomed.
But as it happened, the city did not die that day. The saviours of Mycenian, to its citizens everlasting astonishment, were the very people who had invaded and conquered it only days before. The Roman general, Gaius Rutullus Lepidus, began giving orders only moments after the explosion occurred. The Roman army was pressed into service to fight not a human enemy, but a fiery one. They formed bucket brigades, they hauled stone and brick rubble to form fire stops, and they evacuated the citizens from the most threatened areas. As a result, the destruction and loss of life was much reduced from what it could have been. Afterwards, while the Mongolians of Mycenian could not exactly bring themselves to like their Roman conquerors, they at least agreed that perhaps they werent quite the demons they had been made out to be.
Theories as to the cause of the blast abounded and rumours ran rampant. The most widely-accepted explanation was that a local cache of gunpowder and weapons, intended to be used in an uprising against the Romans, had been accidentally detonated. However, since this was also the official explanation of the newly-installed Roman authorities, alternative theories were prevalent. Some said that the Romans had been testing a new super-weapon on the Mongolian populace; others said it was the work of Greek or English terrorists, taking advantage of the chaos created by the invasion. Still others said it was an act of God.
Among all the talk of the event itself and the theories about it, smaller, stranger stories also circulated. One apocryphal story concerned the fate of a stray cat, locally famous in the neighbourhood where the explosion occurred, which had allegedly been blasted several hundred feet in the air, but survived by landing on its feet with no injury worse than some singed fur. Another story told of a man, a widower, who had been blown out of his dwelling by the explosion, only to be thrown through the window and safely on to the bed of a widow who lived across the street. They were, the story went, married a month later.
Perhaps the strangest story concerned a motley group of Roman soldiers who had been in the blast area, but had survived by crawling through the citys sewers. They had emerged, the story said, malodorous but alive, where the sewers drain pipe emptied into the bay. Some versions of the story even claimed that theyd had a woman with them.
All sensible people, of course, dismissed such fanciful tales as utter nonsense.
Part 7
Its black as pitch down here, Lallena muttered.
Ive always admired how observant you Spaniards are, Necalli responded.
Scipio grunted in the darkness as he pushed himself back to his feet. The knees of his trousers were torn, he could feel, and both knees were wet and sticky with blood from cuts. This wasnt how hed planned it, not at all. The riflemen were supposed to have burst in, grabbed him and Larentia, and then burst out again, into the street and back to the garrison. Instead, theyd been cut off and herded into the basement, from which there didnt seem to be a way out.
Does anyone have a match? Scipio called up from the bottom of the stairs.
Aye, sir, Silo, the oldest of the riflemen and a man fond of his pipe tobacco, responded. The others heard him rummaging in his coat pockets for a moment, and then they heard the sharp scratching sound of a match being struck against flint. The meagre flame provided their only illumination; the basement appeared dark and gloomy, the tiny flame making shadows flicker ominously against the walls and floor.
Miguel, Weikeep your aim trained on that door, in case our friends decide to barge in on us, Scipio ordered.
Slowly, illuminated by the match flame, the riflemen and the Mongolian woman made their way down the steps, warily watching the door the entire time. When they reached the bottom, the match revealed their immediate surroundings. Silo spotted a small glass oil lamp hanging from the ceiling; just before his match burned to his fingers, he grabbed the lamp and lit its wick. He then shook the match out and was about to toss it away when Scipio gripped his forearm tightly.
Dont go tossing that match anywhere down here, Silo, Scipio murmured, his voice tight with tension.
Silo looked around the basement, as did the others, and they collectively gasped. The room was filled with barrels, each marked with Mongolian symbols that the Romans had quickly come to recognize as theyd invaded the city a few days ago. According to the markings, each barrel was filled with gunpowder. Stacked against the stone walls, they could see row after row of muskets. In one corner of the dark, dingy room were several heavy canvas bags, presumably filled to the brim with musket balls.
Be careful with that lamp, too, Silo, Private Li Wei muttered nervously.
Right, Silo responded, his voice tight. Handy safety tip, that.
Necalli whistled low. Its a damned arsenal, he said.
Enough to support a full-blown revolt, Scipio acknowledged. He turned to look at Larentia. This is what that message was about, wasnt it? The spy glanced at him, her eyes wary and suspicious for a moment, but then she nodded. Hercules has cleaned the stables, and is rounding up the mares, Scipio repeated, remembering the message shed given him. The lion is slain. The cattle remain free. Scipio quoted. Manlai is Hercules?
Larentia nodded. He cleaned out the other weapons caches around the citythe stablesand brought everything here, she said in a tired voice. But I didnt know where here was at the time.
Scipio nodded. The cattle remain free. Whos the lion?
The young Mongolian woman looked down, ashamed to show signs of a wound that was still fresh. My father, she admitted. He was one of Khans generals, until
Until what? Scipio asked gently.
Larentia lifted her head, and her dark eyes stared directly into Scipios. Until a higher-ranking general took a liking to my mother. She couldnt dishonour herself, so she
Her voice choked off her words, and Scipio placed a hand on her shoulder. Hes wondered why this young Mongolian woman had turned against her own government, and now he knew. His men were respectfully silent, their attention riveted to the closed, silent door above them.
Larentia shrugged off Scipios reassuring touch. She glanced up at the door. This is some rescue, she said derisively. Theyll be coming for us.
I know, Scipio said. They dont want to fire down into a room full of gunpowder
Im not that comfortable with the idea of firing up out of one, Lallena muttered.
and we cant survive down here forever, Scipio said. He looked around. There has to be another way out.
Not necessarily, Necalli said gloomily.
Could we dig our way out? Wei suggested.
The big Aztec sergeant, standing next to him, glanced dubiously at the stone walls and floor, then cast a baleful stare back at the young private.
I guess not... Wei muttered.
We could charge them, Lallena said gloomily, well aware of how such an effort would end.
And go out in a blaze of glory, Miguel? Scipio said with a wry smile.
He stole a glance at Larentia. If it had just been himself and his men, he might have given the idea more than just passing consideration. But theyd come here to rescue a woman, and Scipio would be damned if he was going to give up so easily.
There has to be another way, the tall rifleman said.
He ran one hand through his short, sandy hair and began to pace around the kegs of gunpowder. He knew time was running out. Upstairs, Manlai would be plotting a way to come down and kill them all. It wouldnt be hard. The first few Mongolians would die, but after that, his small group would be overwhelmed by numbers. Or maybe theyd just keep them bottled up down here and let them starve. Either way, the situation seemed hopeless.
Scipio took a deep breath and sighed. The sour scent of gunpowder filled his nostrils; that was the other smell hed detected upstairs just a few moments before, he realized. Then he frowned. The sour reek in the air, he suddenly realized, wasnt just from gunpowder.
Sir, what are we going to... Wei said.
Quiet, Scipio said suddenly, holding up one hand. He took one step to his right, then another, and sniffed the air like a hound following a scent.
Sir, whats Necalli began to ask him, but Scipio shook his head and kept his hand raised. He took another step towards the center of the basement. He then noticed that the floor was slanted slightly towards the center, and smiled. He reached down and carefully pushed a barrel out of the way. His eyes began to water and he waved his hand in front of his face, but his smile had broadened to a grin.
Buddha wept! Lallena exclaimed, his face folding up as an atrocious odour filled the air. What is that smell? he asked as he covered his face with one hand.
Its our way out, Scipio said proudly.
Dubiously, Larentia and the riflemen walked over towards the spot where Scipio was standing; Silo carried the lantern, careful not to let its flame anywhere near any gunpowder keg. There was an iron grate in the floor, they could see once they stood by the Roman officer, and the stench emanating from it reeked of human waste.
A sewer, Lallena said joylessly.
Scipio nodded. We pull the grate off, and we can wade through it and get out of here.
Wade through ? Wei said dubiously.
Dont tell me you joined the Roman army for the glamour and adventure, Scipio chided his youngest man with a grin.
No, I joined for the gourmet cuisine, Wei muttered.
You know, sir, Necalli said, I always knew that if I stuck by you long enough, Id wind up knee-deep in
Shut up, you big Aztec bastard, Scipio replied. Help me with this powder keg over here, he said, marching back towards a barrel near the bottom of the stairs.
What are we going to do with it? Necalli asked, but the smile on his face indicated he had some idea of what his commanding officer intended.
Like good house guests, Scipio muttered as he pulled a cork plug out of a hole in the top of the barrel, were going to leave our hosts a parting gift.
***
Ready? Manlai said to his men. It wasnt a question, not really; it was his way of saying that he expected them to be ready, and they knew it.
They were nervous, of course, for though they outnumbered the small band of Roman riflemen in the basement, they would be leading a blind charge into the dark. Only two men at a time could advance abreast through the doorway and down the staircase, and if the Romans decided to risk firing their weapons while surrounded by all that gunpowder, then the first few men would die. The Mongolians would not, could not fire back; Manlai had ensured that their muskets were unloaded. Just one ball striking a powder keg the wrong way could set off a conflagration. Sparks from the pans of the Romans rifles were also risky, but less so than direct fire. So the Romans would hold a slight advantageat first. But once their weapons were empty, the Mongolians would have the advantage of numbers.
And if the Romans did not fire, then it would be a battle of bayonet against bayonet, and the Mongolians had the advantage of higher ground. Either way, the Romans would all die, and Manlai would have his prisoner back. He relished the thought; there were still a few choice indignities he wished to inflict upon the young womans body.
For the fatherland! one of the men at the front said. He was young, fierce and proud and idealistic as young men often are, and he knew he was about to die, as young men of his mindset often do.
Manlai shrugged inwardly. It was the way of the world. He was not a patriot and bore no great love for the Great Immortal Khan, but he liked things the way they had been before the Romans showed up, so he would fight to kill the Romans and restore his city to Mongolian control. Maybe the Great Khan would make him a general. The thought was amusing. Whatever happened, Manlai knew he would emerge from this conflict even more powerful than he had been before. So maybe the Roman invasion wasnt such a bad thing after all. Not that it would stop him from killing as many of the bastards as he could.
GO! Manlai shouted, and the young patriot thrust his booted foot against the door. It swung open, and the young man charged, screaming, down the stairwell, his bayonet leading the way, his companions following close on his heels. Manlai hung back at the top of the stairs. He heard no rifle fire from below, and that was a relief. But then he realized that he also did not hear the sound of a fight; there were no sounds of bayonet blades clashing and scraping against one another, no shouts and cries as men died. The shouts of his men had died out.
The Mongolian crime lord pushed his way through the men at the top of the stairs, then down the stairs into the basement. A single lamp was lit and hung from a hook in the ceiling. The young patriot was standing in the centre of the basement, and was beckoning to him.
They escaped into the sewers, the young man said, his nose wrinkling as he pointed to the open sewer grate.
Hrmph, Manlai grunted. Like the rats they are. How appropriate. He stared at the hole in the floor for a moment, considering, then looked around at his men. Very well. Well need to move the weapons cache, now that they know where it is. Beckter, round up all the men and
Great Vishnu!
Manlais attention, indeed the attention of all the men in the basement, was drawn to the man who had exclaimed to their Hindu god and was now running towards a barrel that was positioned to one side of the wooden staircase. In the dimly-lit basement, Manlai could clearly see the sparking flame of a burning fuse, a fuse that the damned Romans had cleverly concealed from their view behind the powderkeg itself. Even now, as his man ran desperately towards the barrel, Manlai could see he would be too late. With his final breath, the Mongolian crime lord uttered a vicious, ugly curse on the Romans and all things Roman.
For generations thereafter, Mycenians would talk about the great explosion. They would talk about how it levelled an entire block in the citys old, nearly abandoned warehouse district. Those who were nearby would remember that there was first a loud, yet muffled sound, like a large cannon firing. That was then followed by an ear-shattering roar that left ears ringing throughout the city for days afterwards. A huge red and black fireball rose into the sky, trailing flaming debris that rained down upon the surrounding blocks.
The fiery detritus of the explosion threatened to spread the destruction even further as it fell upon the surrounding buildings and homes. As fires started and began to spread, many Mycenians began to flee, convinced their city was doomed.
But as it happened, the city did not die that day. The saviours of Mycenian, to its citizens everlasting astonishment, were the very people who had invaded and conquered it only days before. The Roman general, Gaius Rutullus Lepidus, began giving orders only moments after the explosion occurred. The Roman army was pressed into service to fight not a human enemy, but a fiery one. They formed bucket brigades, they hauled stone and brick rubble to form fire stops, and they evacuated the citizens from the most threatened areas. As a result, the destruction and loss of life was much reduced from what it could have been. Afterwards, while the Mongolians of Mycenian could not exactly bring themselves to like their Roman conquerors, they at least agreed that perhaps they werent quite the demons they had been made out to be.
Theories as to the cause of the blast abounded and rumours ran rampant. The most widely-accepted explanation was that a local cache of gunpowder and weapons, intended to be used in an uprising against the Romans, had been accidentally detonated. However, since this was also the official explanation of the newly-installed Roman authorities, alternative theories were prevalent. Some said that the Romans had been testing a new super-weapon on the Mongolian populace; others said it was the work of Greek or English terrorists, taking advantage of the chaos created by the invasion. Still others said it was an act of God.
Among all the talk of the event itself and the theories about it, smaller, stranger stories also circulated. One apocryphal story concerned the fate of a stray cat, locally famous in the neighbourhood where the explosion occurred, which had allegedly been blasted several hundred feet in the air, but survived by landing on its feet with no injury worse than some singed fur. Another story told of a man, a widower, who had been blown out of his dwelling by the explosion, only to be thrown through the window and safely on to the bed of a widow who lived across the street. They were, the story went, married a month later.
Perhaps the strangest story concerned a motley group of Roman soldiers who had been in the blast area, but had survived by crawling through the citys sewers. They had emerged, the story said, malodorous but alive, where the sewers drain pipe emptied into the bay. Some versions of the story even claimed that theyd had a woman with them.
All sensible people, of course, dismissed such fanciful tales as utter nonsense.
carl corey
Deity
Nice update! 
Very nice chapter, I really enjoyed it. But you said there were two parts left to this story, so I'm eagerly awaiting the real conclusion to the story...
sylvanllewelyn
Perma-newb
- Joined
- Oct 19, 2006
- Messages
- 1,821
My preferred style would be to end the story right there, to keep the reader guessing a little, and to focus on the "story" rather than what happens to the characters, because the writer can't assume that the reader has to be emotionally attached to the characters in order to enjoy the "story".
But Sisiutil's the writer, and his style is always the "happily ever after" kind, so it's more natural that he writes one more part. Say... what do you teach people to do?
But Sisiutil's the writer, and his style is always the "happily ever after" kind, so it's more natural that he writes one more part. Say... what do you teach people to do?
... or un-happily ever after (if they survive at all).
I much prefer to know what happens afterwards. I hate it when books don't tie up the loose ends, and if you weren't emotionally attached in some way, then the book wasn't worth reading IMO. Just my $2k.
jonel1111
Chieftain
Excellant!!!
Sam_Yeager
Another Original Geezer
Very nice chapter, I really enjoyed it. But you said there were two parts left to this story, so I'm eagerly awaiting the real conclusion to the story...
And you believed S. when he said that?
Sisiutil
All Leader Challenger
I do like ambiguous endings sometimes, yet I rarely write them. I think it's something you have to build toward throughout the story rather than just dropping in at the end, so I'd have to plan for it and write it that way from the get-go to ensure the tone was right to make it acceptable. Besides, I usually write some genre fiction, almost always some variation on action-adventure, and definitive endings are more typical in that type of writing.
I don't teach anymore. I used to teach high school English and Social Studies, then I taught information technology (I was a Microsoft Certified Trainer), but just recently I've moved into project management. But yes, what I really want to do is write for a living. I've resolved that once I finish this Princes story, I'm going to start working on a book for publication. Which I hope will give me added incentive to keep churning out the prose for you folks in a more timely manner.
Sisiutil
All Leader Challenger
And you believed S. when he said that?
There really is one more chapter to go. I wouldn't have said it if I hadn't already written it.
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