Pax Romana
- Thread starter Vanadorn
- Start date
Icmancin
WSNR Pte
That chapter was close enough- the crowd did pile up on the assassin. And, Robopig, he killed Ferdinand whe he was 19 so he died when he was 23. Thanks.
Vanadorn
Motorcycling Paladin
[OOS]
Hello everyone,
Friday evening I developed some sort of computer problem in which I was constantly dropped and forced to restart. (no blue screen of death). I spent WAY too much time fixing/fiddling with it on Saturday (for those who don't know, I'm a company controller (CPA for businesses) with a STRONG presence and ability in IT (I am the defacto IT manager as well), so I know what it is I'm doing with a computer), and was able to at least get some response in Safe mode.
I pulled the drive and slaved it to another computer, copying all my doucments as well as the save game folder from Civ 3, so I have not lost my story or information; however, as of last night 1:00 am, I have exhausted everything I know and am capable of doing; with my system still not up and running. As a business professional, husband, father, and home owner, my free time is limited at best. I will continue to do my damndest to get my system up and runnign soon, but until then, it will be a few days or so until I can properly write and post again in my story.
Trust me, I am as pissed off if not more so than any of you. I am down to a lsass.exe system error with specific error satus of 0xc0000034, (that address is usually some sort of hardware issue - Zues above I hope not!); and if I run into a brick wall, I will reinstall windows (xp, home edition); as much as I DON'T want to do that.
Until then, thanks to everyone for your patience on what I hope will be a short (1-3 day?) delay in getting everything up and running again.
Although, I have a sneaky suspicion that Duke Medici and other members of the increasingly violent House of Lords sent a passel of pipe wielding roustabouts to beat the hell out of my revolutiuonary processor of the people.
We'll see soon.
V
Hello everyone,
Friday evening I developed some sort of computer problem in which I was constantly dropped and forced to restart. (no blue screen of death). I spent WAY too much time fixing/fiddling with it on Saturday (for those who don't know, I'm a company controller (CPA for businesses) with a STRONG presence and ability in IT (I am the defacto IT manager as well), so I know what it is I'm doing with a computer), and was able to at least get some response in Safe mode.
I pulled the drive and slaved it to another computer, copying all my doucments as well as the save game folder from Civ 3, so I have not lost my story or information; however, as of last night 1:00 am, I have exhausted everything I know and am capable of doing; with my system still not up and running. As a business professional, husband, father, and home owner, my free time is limited at best. I will continue to do my damndest to get my system up and runnign soon, but until then, it will be a few days or so until I can properly write and post again in my story.
Trust me, I am as pissed off if not more so than any of you. I am down to a lsass.exe system error with specific error satus of 0xc0000034, (that address is usually some sort of hardware issue - Zues above I hope not!); and if I run into a brick wall, I will reinstall windows (xp, home edition); as much as I DON'T want to do that.
Until then, thanks to everyone for your patience on what I hope will be a short (1-3 day?) delay in getting everything up and running again.
Although, I have a sneaky suspicion that Duke Medici and other members of the increasingly violent House of Lords sent a passel of pipe wielding roustabouts to beat the hell out of my revolutiuonary processor of the people.
We'll see soon.V
Coinich
Party Chairman
Van: We understand. I, for one, will be patiently waiting. Hope all goes well.
fe3333au
Deity
I share your computer woes V ... I think my only option is to reinstal XP 
...
Thanks to the gods that no story info was lost 
... Thanks to the gods that no story info was lost
Icmancin
WSNR Pte
Damn. Best of luck getting it up and running.
BrianJ
King
Off with its hea.. err.. monitor! 
Vanadorn
Motorcycling Paladin
SAAAALLLLLUUUUUUUTTTTTTTAAAAATTIIIONNNNNSSS!!! CITIZENS OF ROME!!!
Our Lord and Caesar has hereby decreed for all those in question and affected by the recent wave of insubordination that has plagued our beloved Mother Board and Country be at ease and comforted! The offending dissenters have been hunted down and subsequently rooted out; their treasonous forms line freshly hewn crosses on Appion Way.
We had to knuckle down and reinstall the proper controls, windowing through what xp's were required to properly demonstrate to those who dare to rebel against the hierarchy what deletions they would have to face should they flaunt the nobility once more. It was roughly five grueling hours of torturous reeducation with the hard drivers until every aspect of our normally smooth running empire was back in place but there was and will be much rejoicing in the coming days on our victory!
We will be hosting a twelve-day of games to commemorate this successful venture, the high point and final anticipated match will pitch McAfeius Virilator and Atius Radium, the Graphical Upgrade versus the Saracen Fragii Mentator and the notorious revolutionary and Zeus cursed Kumpewterus Problemus! Long live Rome, Long live the Empire!
Our tale continues this evening.
Regards to all, Vanadorius, ROman Historian.
Our Lord and Caesar has hereby decreed for all those in question and affected by the recent wave of insubordination that has plagued our beloved Mother Board and Country be at ease and comforted! The offending dissenters have been hunted down and subsequently rooted out; their treasonous forms line freshly hewn crosses on Appion Way.
We had to knuckle down and reinstall the proper controls, windowing through what xp's were required to properly demonstrate to those who dare to rebel against the hierarchy what deletions they would have to face should they flaunt the nobility once more. It was roughly five grueling hours of torturous reeducation with the hard drivers until every aspect of our normally smooth running empire was back in place but there was and will be much rejoicing in the coming days on our victory!
We will be hosting a twelve-day of games to commemorate this successful venture, the high point and final anticipated match will pitch McAfeius Virilator and Atius Radium, the Graphical Upgrade versus the Saracen Fragii Mentator and the notorious revolutionary and Zeus cursed Kumpewterus Problemus! Long live Rome, Long live the Empire!
Our tale continues this evening.
Regards to all, Vanadorius, ROman Historian.
@ funny and ironic names.
Vanadorn
Motorcycling Paladin
Artrium looked out the wide bay window with a guttural snarl. The commotion outside by the striking workers had been going on for three weeks now, but today was the first day that their rampaging and clamoring had resulted in the actual destruction of mining property. The number two supply shed was burning away and at least a score and a half of mining cars had been dumped over and demolished, forming an impromptu barricade across the entranceway.
The strike breakers had arrived almost two hours ago; in far fewer numbers than the heavy set mining president had requested or expected. Perhaps one hundred-twenty in number, they were armed with a motley assortment of pistols, muskets, and even a handful of antiquated crossbows. They had had no effect on the thousands of better armed and more passionate rallying miners that had crippled the Sabrathan Mining Company.
Artrium was in a bind; needing to end this work stoppage and not having the tools at his disposal to do so. Even his attempts to call out the local militia had been ineffective, their numbers seriously denuded by the continually escalating revolt and rebellion that had gripped the country. According to the local barony, he was hard pressed to account for one in twenty men vassaled to him and with the almost fevered anarchy ruling the streets, he was ill prepared to actually leave the dubious safety and confines of his manor estate.
As another tongue of fire began curling up from the auxiliary workshop this time, Artrium spat in disgust. “You!” he said, an accusatory finger lancing at his chief of security. “Get your men, what guns we have, and follow me.” He opened the bottom drawer of his mahogany desk, pulling out a pair of ivory handled pistols and checking the barrels to make sure they were loaded. Satisfied, he stormed out of his office and down the hallway, his men following behind him.
The main doors had been barricaded and locked from this side in an effort to keep the rabble out. “Open it,” he ordered, watching impatiently as the security team unlocked the chains and dragged the heavy furniture aside. Finally, the doors were freed and opened, dusty sunlight flowing into the corridor. “Come on,” Artrium said, checking the action on his weapons one last time.
They strode out onto the deck, their emergence noted immediately by the mob. The chanting and cat calls faded away as the strikers watched their boss and company owner descend the wide wooden stairs, flanked by almost twenty well armed and menacing mercenaries. “Enough of this!” Artrium shouted, eyes blazing. “This is enough! Everyone BACK to WORK!!”
“We want more pay!!” came the cry from the crowd. A chorus of “YEAH!!” followed.
“Pay?!” the rounded president squawked. “For what? For standing around and not working?!”
“We deserve it!”
“What you deserve is a long jump off a short rope. Do you have ANY idea how much your DAMNED strike has cost me?!”
Grumbling followed. “We don’t care. We worked hard for you!!”
“Yeah, you did. But that was then! This is now! And now, you miserable scumbags are costing me money!!”
The dissenting sound grew the longer Artrium spoke. A snaggle-toothed miner wearing a twisted hemp shirt balled his fist, shaking it menacingly. “You owe us!” he roared, his declaration echoed by the crowd.
“I owe you?!?” unable to control his rage any longer, Artrium lifted one of his pistols and fired point blank into the snaggle-toothed worker’s face. Blood sprayed as his head exploded, chunks of brain and gore splattering the stunned onlookers. “Take THAT, you filthy whore-son!”
“Ah…crap.” The security detail swiftly surrounded the red faced and seething man, weapons out and ready. “Sir…” he began but was unable to finish his advice as the mob roared with anger and disbelief.
Gunshot blossomed, tearing into the tightly pack knot of men like vicious hornets. Hot lead dragged bloody furrows into flesh, spinning and dropping the mercenaries as the desperate guards vainly sought to return fire. Their own weapons spitting flame and metal, pairs and groups and dozens of nearby strikers fell screaming to the blood soaked earth.
“You filthy BUGGERS!! You good for nothing PEASANTS!! You ungrateful WORMS!!” With each expletive, Artrium fired a double round into the crowd. Around him his men were falling, cut down by the dense hail of gunfire. Something punched into his shin, shattering the bone and dropping the heavyset man to the damp earth with a wailing cry.
“AHHH!!” he screamed, losing his grip on his weapons as he tried to hold his leg together. A hard volley of gunfire resounded and the last of his security detail was slain by the blood thirsty crowd. Rough hands grabbed him by his shoulders, lifting him up and overhead as the howled in vigilant delight. “Let me go!! Damn you all and curse your mothers for having you!! LET ME GO!!!”
He was carried upside down and helpless across the grounds of his mining encampment until he seemed to teeter strangely in the cheering crowd's grasp. “ONE!!” the mob roared, his body swinging sickeningly as those that held him up began to sway him back and forth.
“TWO!!” He twisted and struggled and wriggled as much as possible, vainly trying to both see where he was at the hands of the murderous strikers as well as get himself free from the firm and unyielding hands holding him aloft.
“THREE!!!”
He was suddenly airborne and spinning; horrified to see he was passing over the lip of the number two mineshaft. “WHAAAA!!!” he yelled as he tumbled headlong into the blackness until he crumpled fatally against the floor of the shaft a half dozen frantic heartbeats later.
The strike breakers had arrived almost two hours ago; in far fewer numbers than the heavy set mining president had requested or expected. Perhaps one hundred-twenty in number, they were armed with a motley assortment of pistols, muskets, and even a handful of antiquated crossbows. They had had no effect on the thousands of better armed and more passionate rallying miners that had crippled the Sabrathan Mining Company.
Artrium was in a bind; needing to end this work stoppage and not having the tools at his disposal to do so. Even his attempts to call out the local militia had been ineffective, their numbers seriously denuded by the continually escalating revolt and rebellion that had gripped the country. According to the local barony, he was hard pressed to account for one in twenty men vassaled to him and with the almost fevered anarchy ruling the streets, he was ill prepared to actually leave the dubious safety and confines of his manor estate.
As another tongue of fire began curling up from the auxiliary workshop this time, Artrium spat in disgust. “You!” he said, an accusatory finger lancing at his chief of security. “Get your men, what guns we have, and follow me.” He opened the bottom drawer of his mahogany desk, pulling out a pair of ivory handled pistols and checking the barrels to make sure they were loaded. Satisfied, he stormed out of his office and down the hallway, his men following behind him.
The main doors had been barricaded and locked from this side in an effort to keep the rabble out. “Open it,” he ordered, watching impatiently as the security team unlocked the chains and dragged the heavy furniture aside. Finally, the doors were freed and opened, dusty sunlight flowing into the corridor. “Come on,” Artrium said, checking the action on his weapons one last time.
They strode out onto the deck, their emergence noted immediately by the mob. The chanting and cat calls faded away as the strikers watched their boss and company owner descend the wide wooden stairs, flanked by almost twenty well armed and menacing mercenaries. “Enough of this!” Artrium shouted, eyes blazing. “This is enough! Everyone BACK to WORK!!”
“We want more pay!!” came the cry from the crowd. A chorus of “YEAH!!” followed.
“Pay?!” the rounded president squawked. “For what? For standing around and not working?!”
“We deserve it!”
“What you deserve is a long jump off a short rope. Do you have ANY idea how much your DAMNED strike has cost me?!”
Grumbling followed. “We don’t care. We worked hard for you!!”
“Yeah, you did. But that was then! This is now! And now, you miserable scumbags are costing me money!!”
The dissenting sound grew the longer Artrium spoke. A snaggle-toothed miner wearing a twisted hemp shirt balled his fist, shaking it menacingly. “You owe us!” he roared, his declaration echoed by the crowd.
“I owe you?!?” unable to control his rage any longer, Artrium lifted one of his pistols and fired point blank into the snaggle-toothed worker’s face. Blood sprayed as his head exploded, chunks of brain and gore splattering the stunned onlookers. “Take THAT, you filthy whore-son!”
“Ah…crap.” The security detail swiftly surrounded the red faced and seething man, weapons out and ready. “Sir…” he began but was unable to finish his advice as the mob roared with anger and disbelief.
Gunshot blossomed, tearing into the tightly pack knot of men like vicious hornets. Hot lead dragged bloody furrows into flesh, spinning and dropping the mercenaries as the desperate guards vainly sought to return fire. Their own weapons spitting flame and metal, pairs and groups and dozens of nearby strikers fell screaming to the blood soaked earth.
“You filthy BUGGERS!! You good for nothing PEASANTS!! You ungrateful WORMS!!” With each expletive, Artrium fired a double round into the crowd. Around him his men were falling, cut down by the dense hail of gunfire. Something punched into his shin, shattering the bone and dropping the heavyset man to the damp earth with a wailing cry.
“AHHH!!” he screamed, losing his grip on his weapons as he tried to hold his leg together. A hard volley of gunfire resounded and the last of his security detail was slain by the blood thirsty crowd. Rough hands grabbed him by his shoulders, lifting him up and overhead as the howled in vigilant delight. “Let me go!! Damn you all and curse your mothers for having you!! LET ME GO!!!”
He was carried upside down and helpless across the grounds of his mining encampment until he seemed to teeter strangely in the cheering crowd's grasp. “ONE!!” the mob roared, his body swinging sickeningly as those that held him up began to sway him back and forth.
“TWO!!” He twisted and struggled and wriggled as much as possible, vainly trying to both see where he was at the hands of the murderous strikers as well as get himself free from the firm and unyielding hands holding him aloft.
“THREE!!!”
He was suddenly airborne and spinning; horrified to see he was passing over the lip of the number two mineshaft. “WHAAAA!!!” he yelled as he tumbled headlong into the blackness until he crumpled fatally against the floor of the shaft a half dozen frantic heartbeats later.
Last edited:
fe3333au
Deity
Wow ... nice bit of computer rage therapy ... 
letting out some frustration I see V ... glad you're back mate
letting out some frustration I see V ... glad you're back mate
Icmancin
WSNR Pte
Ouch... What about Marconi?
Vanadorn
Motorcycling Paladin
Bernoulli stared with rapt fascination out the crowded doorway as the hungry fires seemed to leap across the narrow alleyway and lick the side of the next tenement housing. The fire alarms had been clanging away for the better part of an hour but the attempts to quell the growing blazes had been thwarted by the choked roadways and demonstrating rioters. The fires had been lit in the financial district but quickly spread on the northward breeze until they had found their way here to the residential district with destructive effect.
A rumble sounded across the street as some tank of volatile chemicals or the coal powered heating unit exploded, sending a plume of dark rich smoke to stain the already smoke filled sky. The concussive blast of heat blew out the windows above Bernoulli’s head, sending shards of razored glass raining to the cobblestone streets below. “Zeus above!” someone swore as the watched the spreading swath of wreckage.
The young aviast tapped his neighbor’s shoulder and said, “We should get out of here while we still can.”
“Why? Do you think the fires can cross the street?”
“Better safe that sorry,” he replied. A murmur of assents sounded as the other witnesses agreed, heads nodding. “Let’s go west. There’s a hospice there we should be able to use as shelter.”
“I have to get my cat.”
Bernoulli shook his head. “You go, I’ll get your cat.”
“But…”
He shook his head, eyes firm. “No offence, Xerus, but I can run a bit faster than you can.” He laid a comforting hand on the older man’s shoulder, guiding him out the door and into the street. “Go, I’ve got it. I’ll meet you at the hospice.”
“Alright. Thanks, Bernoulli.” The rest of the gathering nodding, offering echoing calls of luck and good will before dashing out of the safety of the foyer and into the dangerous street.
Bernoulli clambered up the stairs, taking them two at a time in an effort to save what time he could. At the fifth floor landing he dashed down the hall to Xerus’ residence and tried the door, happy to find the handle unlocked and opened. Stepping in he scanned the small one room apartment swiftly until his eyes lit upon the orange and brown tabby cat preening itself near the window. “There you are,” he muttered, stepping in and scooping the animal up firmly in the crook of his arm. As he made to leave, he happened to glance out the window, stopping short with horror.
On one of the four story buildings across the way, its lower floors and entrance already consumed with the orange glow of the burning fires, apparently the one that had its boiler explode, a pair of figures was running across the roof top vainly trying to find some way down to safety. The road was strewn with fallen bodies, testament of others that had tried to escape the danger but were either caught in the blast or died after the fall. “My god,” he swore, sticking his face against the glass in an effort to see where the fire brigade was, horrified to see it was still nowhere in sight.
He lifted the sash and stuck his head out the window, shouting, “Hey!! HEYYY!!!” He waved his arms back and forth, trying to attract the two figure’s attention. When they finally spotted him, they ran to the edge of the building, cupping their hands and calling, “Help us!! Help!!!”
“Hold on!” Bernoulli replied. “I’m coming!!” He dashed out of the room, down the steps, dropped the cat in the landing, and ran across the street towards the burning building. The fires were hot, angry crackling and popping snarls sounding under the low roar of the feeding flames. The entrance was a mass of burning wood and swirling ash, blocking his attempt to enter. He ran around the structure but was stopped by the burning alleyway on one side and the wall of smoking rubble on the other.
He looked up, frustrated to see the flames had already crept up the sides of the second floor and were working their way on the third. Time was running out. Unless the two boys were somehow able to fly to safety there was no way he could reach them.
Bernoulli’s eyes lit up.
He charged back across the street to his own building, leapt over the fastidious cat now cleaning its hindquarters, and ran pantingly up the stairs until he passed the sixth landing and threw himself up the narrow stairway towards the roof. The banded reinforced door gave way from his shoulders as he burst into the sunlight once more. He pumped his legs until he reached the workhouse, wailing in exasperation as he noticed the hasp was locked. Bernoulli fumbled in his pockets, dismayed to find he had not brought his keys with him.
“No time,” he grumbled as he hoisted a heavy chunk of mortar from the roof and brought it crashing against the wooden housing. The hasp broke away with a ‘snick’ allowing him to rip the door ajar. Frantically he began pulling his numerous kites out of the shed, dragging them onto the roof and laying them out next to each other. One by one, he brought them free until he had the entire count of almost thirty spread about.
Dashing back in, he drew out long lengths of cord and bracing dowels the building superintendent often used for scaffolding or construction. One by one he lashed the top sides of the kites to the dowels, stringing them together so their edges overlapped and he had a hastily built diamond pattern of paper and cloth.
He lifted it, dismayed at how heavy it weighed but satisfied that it held together with a minimal amount of flexing. He wrapped a double strand of cord under his arms and around the back of his shoulders, stringing the ropes against the underside where the main crossbeams passed over each other. “It’s a kite,” he murmured as he struggled with the knots. “A big kite, but a kite. It’ll work, it’ll work, it’ll work.” He wiped the sweat away from his brow with the back of his arm.
Running out another fresh length of cord, he fastened one end to his belt and the other to the vent pipe of his building making sure the rest of the rope was loose and unfettered. Grabbing a final coil, he slipped it over his shoulder for later use. He checked the edge of the roof and began walking backwards, giving himself clear path. The two boys were watching him with wide eyes, holding onto each other with fright as the fires crept even closer.
Heart beating like a steam powered trip hammer, Bernoulli pumped his thighs, breathing deeply to ready himself. “It’ll work, it’ll work, it’ll work.”
He ran.
Ungainly at first but with increasing speed he raced across the roof top, his contraption of kites bobbing strangely above him as he felt even his still slow pace already providing an ill balanced jouncing to his stride. He punched his hands trough the paper, holding the crossbars even tighter as he sought to steady his mad charge, the precipice coming closer and closer.
There.
At the last possible moment he kicked off the roof’s edge and jumped. The kites resisted him briefly but then caught the air, actually hanging the now frightened aviast as he rose and then fell with the strange grace of a falling feather. “Gotta make it, gotta make it, gotta make it.”
From two stories higher and across the wide Roman thoroughfare, he prayed it was going to be high enough to allow him to reach the boys. He lifted his legs, amazed at the odd sensation of falling and flying he was experiencing. The opposite rooftop was coming up with sudden alacrity. Swinging his legs down, he pulled back on the beams, vainly trying to flex the kites in front of him.
As he passed closer to the fires, the hot air rising up added a boost to Bernoulli’s lift and he easily cleared the edge of the rooftop. He pumped his feet as he landed, tripping and falling; the heavy glider almost pinning him to the hot surface. “Sweet Zeus!” one of the boys exclaimed, trying to help lift Bernoulli and his contraption back to his feet. “Are you okay?”
Unwilling to trust himself to speak at first, Bernoulli nodded, cursing himself for trying such a foolish and obviously dangerous stunt. “Come on,” he croaked, throat tight and strained. “Hold onto me.” He wrapped the rope around both boys and through the aching bands under his arms tying the free ends together.
“You’re Matilius’ kids aren’t you,” he asked, one eye flicking to the rising fires and billowing smoke surrounding the residence they were on.
The older boy, maybe twelve, nodded once, tears spilling over. “I’m Orvilus,” he said. “That’s my brother Wilbrium.”
“Alright, boys,” Bernoulli said snugging the last knot in place. “I need you guys to run, okay?” They bobbed their heads silently. “Wrap your arms around my waist and jump when we get to the end. I’m going to try to land us in the street.”
“I’m scared!”
“It’ll be alright,” he answered, trying to keep his voice from quivering. “Come on. Let’s go.”
He scanned the roof’s edge leading back to the street, nervous to see only dark smoke rising. Realizing that every moment counted, he grit his teeth and ran. The two boys did their best to keep up, jostling and bouncing against him, their rhythm off as they tried to keep pace. With sudden sickness they were at the end.
“JUMP!”
The hot ash filled air caught them as they cleared the roof, filling their lungs with burning agony and searing their skin as they passed over the fires. With horrified dread, Bernoulli watched with stinging eyes the roaring blaze beneath them as it vainly tried to snatch the trio from the sky with burning tendrils of smoky flame. The rose dizzyingly, soaring at a dangerous cant until the air was once more clear and Bernoulli was able to take stock of their situation.
They had cleared the immediate danger of the fire and burning building and some how had also gotten a boost from the rising heat; now almost level with the roof of his own building across the street. However, the tether that had originally anchored him to his starting point had been burned away from the trailing flames and with a heart dropping fright, he noticed the tail end of his cobbled contraption was smoking away as the burning embers slowly ate at the bodies of his kites.
“God damn it!” he cursed. Yanking on the right strut, he was satisfied to feel the kite turn in response, their heading now taken up by the wide expanse of the roadway ahead of them. “Hold on!” he ordered as they began to fall from the sky.
The added weight of the two boys, although seemingly slight, was proving to be too much for the over laden kites. They fell faster now, even more so as the fanning breezes caused the smoldering ashes to blossom to life, burning quickly across the papered contraption with tiny crackling flames. Citizens watching the daring rescue from below began running as Bernoulli and his charges passed overhead, an odd combination of man and bird and raining fire.
The Roman aviast tried to get his feet below him but the jarring impact pitched him forward, slamming his knees punishingly against the roadbed while the kites above him dragged him forward, scraping his chest, arms, hands, and face. The two boys were yelling, trying to get Bernoulli to stand, the sound of their voices tinged with fright at the sight of the approaching fires crawling up the kite.
A knife flashed from somewhere and the bonds lashing them together were cut free. Someone grabbed the dazed young man by the wrist, pulling and yanking him from under the burning material and to safety. He tried to stand but the ache in his legs flared brightly, the pain transmitting instantly to white-hot daggers behind his eyes. He allowed himself to slump back down as someone wiped his face clean with the soothing dampness of a wet sponge.
“You alright?” someone asked him. Trying to speak but unable to for some reason, his mouth and tongue hot and numb at the same time, Bernoulli was reduced to nodding and smiling.
The crowd of citizens surrounding him sighed with relief. He was happy to see both young boys he rescued seemed to be in fair health, their skin red, soot streaked and covered in cuts and bruises but alive. “That had to be…” a middle aged woman on his left side began, “the most amazingly stupid and bravest thing I have ever seen.”
Bernoulli chuckled, trying to get himself to speak. After two or three tries he was able to croak out, “You should…have seen it…from where I was.”
He settled back doing his best to marshal his strength as the long awaited fire brigade finally ran past in order to do battle with the relentless blaze.
A rumble sounded across the street as some tank of volatile chemicals or the coal powered heating unit exploded, sending a plume of dark rich smoke to stain the already smoke filled sky. The concussive blast of heat blew out the windows above Bernoulli’s head, sending shards of razored glass raining to the cobblestone streets below. “Zeus above!” someone swore as the watched the spreading swath of wreckage.
The young aviast tapped his neighbor’s shoulder and said, “We should get out of here while we still can.”
“Why? Do you think the fires can cross the street?”
“Better safe that sorry,” he replied. A murmur of assents sounded as the other witnesses agreed, heads nodding. “Let’s go west. There’s a hospice there we should be able to use as shelter.”
“I have to get my cat.”
Bernoulli shook his head. “You go, I’ll get your cat.”
“But…”
He shook his head, eyes firm. “No offence, Xerus, but I can run a bit faster than you can.” He laid a comforting hand on the older man’s shoulder, guiding him out the door and into the street. “Go, I’ve got it. I’ll meet you at the hospice.”
“Alright. Thanks, Bernoulli.” The rest of the gathering nodding, offering echoing calls of luck and good will before dashing out of the safety of the foyer and into the dangerous street.
Bernoulli clambered up the stairs, taking them two at a time in an effort to save what time he could. At the fifth floor landing he dashed down the hall to Xerus’ residence and tried the door, happy to find the handle unlocked and opened. Stepping in he scanned the small one room apartment swiftly until his eyes lit upon the orange and brown tabby cat preening itself near the window. “There you are,” he muttered, stepping in and scooping the animal up firmly in the crook of his arm. As he made to leave, he happened to glance out the window, stopping short with horror.
On one of the four story buildings across the way, its lower floors and entrance already consumed with the orange glow of the burning fires, apparently the one that had its boiler explode, a pair of figures was running across the roof top vainly trying to find some way down to safety. The road was strewn with fallen bodies, testament of others that had tried to escape the danger but were either caught in the blast or died after the fall. “My god,” he swore, sticking his face against the glass in an effort to see where the fire brigade was, horrified to see it was still nowhere in sight.
He lifted the sash and stuck his head out the window, shouting, “Hey!! HEYYY!!!” He waved his arms back and forth, trying to attract the two figure’s attention. When they finally spotted him, they ran to the edge of the building, cupping their hands and calling, “Help us!! Help!!!”
“Hold on!” Bernoulli replied. “I’m coming!!” He dashed out of the room, down the steps, dropped the cat in the landing, and ran across the street towards the burning building. The fires were hot, angry crackling and popping snarls sounding under the low roar of the feeding flames. The entrance was a mass of burning wood and swirling ash, blocking his attempt to enter. He ran around the structure but was stopped by the burning alleyway on one side and the wall of smoking rubble on the other.
He looked up, frustrated to see the flames had already crept up the sides of the second floor and were working their way on the third. Time was running out. Unless the two boys were somehow able to fly to safety there was no way he could reach them.
Bernoulli’s eyes lit up.
He charged back across the street to his own building, leapt over the fastidious cat now cleaning its hindquarters, and ran pantingly up the stairs until he passed the sixth landing and threw himself up the narrow stairway towards the roof. The banded reinforced door gave way from his shoulders as he burst into the sunlight once more. He pumped his legs until he reached the workhouse, wailing in exasperation as he noticed the hasp was locked. Bernoulli fumbled in his pockets, dismayed to find he had not brought his keys with him.
“No time,” he grumbled as he hoisted a heavy chunk of mortar from the roof and brought it crashing against the wooden housing. The hasp broke away with a ‘snick’ allowing him to rip the door ajar. Frantically he began pulling his numerous kites out of the shed, dragging them onto the roof and laying them out next to each other. One by one, he brought them free until he had the entire count of almost thirty spread about.
Dashing back in, he drew out long lengths of cord and bracing dowels the building superintendent often used for scaffolding or construction. One by one he lashed the top sides of the kites to the dowels, stringing them together so their edges overlapped and he had a hastily built diamond pattern of paper and cloth.
He lifted it, dismayed at how heavy it weighed but satisfied that it held together with a minimal amount of flexing. He wrapped a double strand of cord under his arms and around the back of his shoulders, stringing the ropes against the underside where the main crossbeams passed over each other. “It’s a kite,” he murmured as he struggled with the knots. “A big kite, but a kite. It’ll work, it’ll work, it’ll work.” He wiped the sweat away from his brow with the back of his arm.
Running out another fresh length of cord, he fastened one end to his belt and the other to the vent pipe of his building making sure the rest of the rope was loose and unfettered. Grabbing a final coil, he slipped it over his shoulder for later use. He checked the edge of the roof and began walking backwards, giving himself clear path. The two boys were watching him with wide eyes, holding onto each other with fright as the fires crept even closer.
Heart beating like a steam powered trip hammer, Bernoulli pumped his thighs, breathing deeply to ready himself. “It’ll work, it’ll work, it’ll work.”
He ran.
Ungainly at first but with increasing speed he raced across the roof top, his contraption of kites bobbing strangely above him as he felt even his still slow pace already providing an ill balanced jouncing to his stride. He punched his hands trough the paper, holding the crossbars even tighter as he sought to steady his mad charge, the precipice coming closer and closer.
There.
At the last possible moment he kicked off the roof’s edge and jumped. The kites resisted him briefly but then caught the air, actually hanging the now frightened aviast as he rose and then fell with the strange grace of a falling feather. “Gotta make it, gotta make it, gotta make it.”
From two stories higher and across the wide Roman thoroughfare, he prayed it was going to be high enough to allow him to reach the boys. He lifted his legs, amazed at the odd sensation of falling and flying he was experiencing. The opposite rooftop was coming up with sudden alacrity. Swinging his legs down, he pulled back on the beams, vainly trying to flex the kites in front of him.
As he passed closer to the fires, the hot air rising up added a boost to Bernoulli’s lift and he easily cleared the edge of the rooftop. He pumped his feet as he landed, tripping and falling; the heavy glider almost pinning him to the hot surface. “Sweet Zeus!” one of the boys exclaimed, trying to help lift Bernoulli and his contraption back to his feet. “Are you okay?”
Unwilling to trust himself to speak at first, Bernoulli nodded, cursing himself for trying such a foolish and obviously dangerous stunt. “Come on,” he croaked, throat tight and strained. “Hold onto me.” He wrapped the rope around both boys and through the aching bands under his arms tying the free ends together.
“You’re Matilius’ kids aren’t you,” he asked, one eye flicking to the rising fires and billowing smoke surrounding the residence they were on.
The older boy, maybe twelve, nodded once, tears spilling over. “I’m Orvilus,” he said. “That’s my brother Wilbrium.”
“Alright, boys,” Bernoulli said snugging the last knot in place. “I need you guys to run, okay?” They bobbed their heads silently. “Wrap your arms around my waist and jump when we get to the end. I’m going to try to land us in the street.”
“I’m scared!”
“It’ll be alright,” he answered, trying to keep his voice from quivering. “Come on. Let’s go.”
He scanned the roof’s edge leading back to the street, nervous to see only dark smoke rising. Realizing that every moment counted, he grit his teeth and ran. The two boys did their best to keep up, jostling and bouncing against him, their rhythm off as they tried to keep pace. With sudden sickness they were at the end.
“JUMP!”
The hot ash filled air caught them as they cleared the roof, filling their lungs with burning agony and searing their skin as they passed over the fires. With horrified dread, Bernoulli watched with stinging eyes the roaring blaze beneath them as it vainly tried to snatch the trio from the sky with burning tendrils of smoky flame. The rose dizzyingly, soaring at a dangerous cant until the air was once more clear and Bernoulli was able to take stock of their situation.
They had cleared the immediate danger of the fire and burning building and some how had also gotten a boost from the rising heat; now almost level with the roof of his own building across the street. However, the tether that had originally anchored him to his starting point had been burned away from the trailing flames and with a heart dropping fright, he noticed the tail end of his cobbled contraption was smoking away as the burning embers slowly ate at the bodies of his kites.
“God damn it!” he cursed. Yanking on the right strut, he was satisfied to feel the kite turn in response, their heading now taken up by the wide expanse of the roadway ahead of them. “Hold on!” he ordered as they began to fall from the sky.
The added weight of the two boys, although seemingly slight, was proving to be too much for the over laden kites. They fell faster now, even more so as the fanning breezes caused the smoldering ashes to blossom to life, burning quickly across the papered contraption with tiny crackling flames. Citizens watching the daring rescue from below began running as Bernoulli and his charges passed overhead, an odd combination of man and bird and raining fire.
The Roman aviast tried to get his feet below him but the jarring impact pitched him forward, slamming his knees punishingly against the roadbed while the kites above him dragged him forward, scraping his chest, arms, hands, and face. The two boys were yelling, trying to get Bernoulli to stand, the sound of their voices tinged with fright at the sight of the approaching fires crawling up the kite.
A knife flashed from somewhere and the bonds lashing them together were cut free. Someone grabbed the dazed young man by the wrist, pulling and yanking him from under the burning material and to safety. He tried to stand but the ache in his legs flared brightly, the pain transmitting instantly to white-hot daggers behind his eyes. He allowed himself to slump back down as someone wiped his face clean with the soothing dampness of a wet sponge.
“You alright?” someone asked him. Trying to speak but unable to for some reason, his mouth and tongue hot and numb at the same time, Bernoulli was reduced to nodding and smiling.
The crowd of citizens surrounding him sighed with relief. He was happy to see both young boys he rescued seemed to be in fair health, their skin red, soot streaked and covered in cuts and bruises but alive. “That had to be…” a middle aged woman on his left side began, “the most amazingly stupid and bravest thing I have ever seen.”
Bernoulli chuckled, trying to get himself to speak. After two or three tries he was able to croak out, “You should…have seen it…from where I was.”
He settled back doing his best to marshal his strength as the long awaited fire brigade finally ran past in order to do battle with the relentless blaze.
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Vanadorn
Motorcycling Paladin
Anytime Capt. Bob - You've been feeding me Wright Bros. lines for the last twelve odd pages of this thread I had to put them in. Bernoulli has some help.
More tonight (I hope - depends on my wife, daughter, or Everquest 2).
V
- You've been feeding me Wright Bros. lines for the last twelve odd pages of this thread I had to put them in. Bernoulli has some help.More tonight (I hope - depends on my wife, daughter, or Everquest 2).
V
Coinich
Party Chairman
All I can say is.... GREAT work as always 
Icmancin
WSNR Pte
Even during anarchy Rome still progresses.
Vanadorn
Motorcycling Paladin
The windows on the carriage were shrouded in black cloth, hiding the occupant from curious eyes. It was guarded by a thirty count of hard edged guardsmen, noticeably missing any distinguishing markings of fief or vasslaship. They sported a variety of newly minted rifles and pistols, over half of them wearing freshly crafted swords as well. They were mounted on hardy stock mid country horses and scanned the tumultuous crowd constantly for any sign of threat or danger.
The streets were a mess of filth and uncollected garbage. Almost two months earlier, the street sweeping guilds had ceased their duties due to lack of payment from the government and no amount of cajoling or begging had spurned them into resuming their duties. This scene was being played out all over the empire as the flow of taxes from the common man through the ranks to Caesar himself was interrupted, disabled, and destroyed. It was widely whispered that most of the nobility had to moonlight as water carriers in order to garner any income.
The walled proper of the city of Rome loomed ahead, the main thoroughfare heading straight towards it. However, the driver slowed his carriage down until it came to a stop, the handbrake lifted and locked in place. A crowd had been gathering here for some time now; maybe seven, eight hundred citizens milling about the fountains casually. The door to the carriage opened and a matronly woman emerged from within.
She was in her early forties but had the figure of a woman ten years younger. Her hair was blond but tended to a straw like consistency as it draped listlessly over her shoulders. Her skin was tanned and slightly lined and her waist was thin and trim, offsetting her ample curves both above and below her midriff. She wore a blue dress of well made cotton, the cut and style some ten to fifteen years out of date. She climbed to the flattened stones surrounding the fountain’s base and raised her hands, beckoning to the crowd.
Upon her emergence, the gathered populace grew close in order to better see and hear this featured speaker. A few of the citizens gasped upon recognizing her, whispering feverishly to their neighbors. The stunned look of shock spread across the gathering. Not wanting to wait any longer, the woman lowered her hands and smiled. “Good morning, fellow citizens of Rome.”
“My name is Mia. Some of you might remember me from some time ago as the youngest sister of our king, Octavian Caesar. Some of you might remember me as Princess Mia. Some others of you might even remember the day when I was banished from my home and this city, over thirteen years ago.”
She sighed. “I have lived away from this place; humbly, simply, and without rancor. I have tended my gardens, harvested my food, milked my own cows. I have had the honest pleasure of working my hands sore in the construction of what tools I needed. I have sweat during the tilling and sweat during the reaping. I have gone to bed tired and woken up hungry.”
The crowd nodded, passerbys and other people stopping to listen. “I have seen both the decadence that is the nobility way of life and I have seen the simplicity of the commoners way of life. There is a gulf that separates our people, a chasm that keeps those that have the power from truly understanding and properly representing the needs and wants of the majority of the populace. This separation is the nobility.”
More citizens were stopping, the crowd had doubled in size and was swelling even larger. “The nobility is the single most direct reason and cause to blame for the state of affairs in this country today. They are weak, narrow minded, petty, avaricious, and spiteful. They would rather sit back on the toils of our blood and sweat than seek a better way to help equalize the differences that yawn between us. This state of things cannot remain for any longer or our society will suffer irreparable harm. But what is it we are to do?”
Angered grumblings answered her, a few shouts of outrage heard in the back rows. “I’ll tell you what it is we need to do. We need to show the nobility, those that have done what they could to force us into the mud of the world, that we are empowered and do not have to accept our lot in life. There are other ways and others who can and are willing to help us change Rome for the better.”
“I have cast off the trappings that once filled my existence and am now one of the people. I know what it is that is wrong and what has to be done. That is why I am supporting our local Senate and the greater political party of the SPQR. They know what it is that needs to be done and they have the power and the backing to do it. I have given them my faith and my trust and I am confident that they will repay me and the whole of Rome in kind.”
A cheer sounded as Mia spoke, the gathering now almost four thousand citizens. The carriage she came in shook and a figure emerged. He was young and handsome, just under twenty with a man’s build and a ready smile. He wore an improvised version of a peasant’s homespun but woven out of thick cotton thread instead. Confidently, he walked right up to Mia, placing a hand on her shoulder and beaming to the assembled crowd.
Mia smiled at him. “This is my son, Nero. He too was removed from his place of birth and home by the ministrations of the established nobility; denied the comforts and care that he had been born to. He has been not only my son, but my ray of light, my hope, and my life. Together we have lived a life richer and fuller than anything we could have ever known before. But that dream is now in jeopardy; in danger due to the narrow views and corruption that is the established status quo.”
“If you do not want to fear for the bleak future that is promising to be our hallmark, then please support the SPQR in their efforts to end the strife that holds the day at hand as well as their attempts to usher in a brighter and fairer tomorrow.” Seeing the distant approach of what few members of the Roman militia Caesar still had in his employ march out of the city gates and towards her and her son’s first showing, Mia bowed once and said, “For now, citizens and friends, that is all I can say. Until we can talk again and under better circumstance, thank you for your time.”
She ‘allowed’ Nero to escort her back to the carriage which turned around in the wide road and began heading away from the capital city, the surrounding guardsmen still keeping pace. She uncorked a bottle of wine and took a hasty drink. “That went well,” she said at last.
Senator Dionys, seated across from the exiled Princess, grinned in response; her body still bandaged following this the latest attempt on her life. “We can only hope so, my lady.”
The streets were a mess of filth and uncollected garbage. Almost two months earlier, the street sweeping guilds had ceased their duties due to lack of payment from the government and no amount of cajoling or begging had spurned them into resuming their duties. This scene was being played out all over the empire as the flow of taxes from the common man through the ranks to Caesar himself was interrupted, disabled, and destroyed. It was widely whispered that most of the nobility had to moonlight as water carriers in order to garner any income.
The walled proper of the city of Rome loomed ahead, the main thoroughfare heading straight towards it. However, the driver slowed his carriage down until it came to a stop, the handbrake lifted and locked in place. A crowd had been gathering here for some time now; maybe seven, eight hundred citizens milling about the fountains casually. The door to the carriage opened and a matronly woman emerged from within.
She was in her early forties but had the figure of a woman ten years younger. Her hair was blond but tended to a straw like consistency as it draped listlessly over her shoulders. Her skin was tanned and slightly lined and her waist was thin and trim, offsetting her ample curves both above and below her midriff. She wore a blue dress of well made cotton, the cut and style some ten to fifteen years out of date. She climbed to the flattened stones surrounding the fountain’s base and raised her hands, beckoning to the crowd.
Upon her emergence, the gathered populace grew close in order to better see and hear this featured speaker. A few of the citizens gasped upon recognizing her, whispering feverishly to their neighbors. The stunned look of shock spread across the gathering. Not wanting to wait any longer, the woman lowered her hands and smiled. “Good morning, fellow citizens of Rome.”
“My name is Mia. Some of you might remember me from some time ago as the youngest sister of our king, Octavian Caesar. Some of you might remember me as Princess Mia. Some others of you might even remember the day when I was banished from my home and this city, over thirteen years ago.”
She sighed. “I have lived away from this place; humbly, simply, and without rancor. I have tended my gardens, harvested my food, milked my own cows. I have had the honest pleasure of working my hands sore in the construction of what tools I needed. I have sweat during the tilling and sweat during the reaping. I have gone to bed tired and woken up hungry.”
The crowd nodded, passerbys and other people stopping to listen. “I have seen both the decadence that is the nobility way of life and I have seen the simplicity of the commoners way of life. There is a gulf that separates our people, a chasm that keeps those that have the power from truly understanding and properly representing the needs and wants of the majority of the populace. This separation is the nobility.”
More citizens were stopping, the crowd had doubled in size and was swelling even larger. “The nobility is the single most direct reason and cause to blame for the state of affairs in this country today. They are weak, narrow minded, petty, avaricious, and spiteful. They would rather sit back on the toils of our blood and sweat than seek a better way to help equalize the differences that yawn between us. This state of things cannot remain for any longer or our society will suffer irreparable harm. But what is it we are to do?”
Angered grumblings answered her, a few shouts of outrage heard in the back rows. “I’ll tell you what it is we need to do. We need to show the nobility, those that have done what they could to force us into the mud of the world, that we are empowered and do not have to accept our lot in life. There are other ways and others who can and are willing to help us change Rome for the better.”
“I have cast off the trappings that once filled my existence and am now one of the people. I know what it is that is wrong and what has to be done. That is why I am supporting our local Senate and the greater political party of the SPQR. They know what it is that needs to be done and they have the power and the backing to do it. I have given them my faith and my trust and I am confident that they will repay me and the whole of Rome in kind.”
A cheer sounded as Mia spoke, the gathering now almost four thousand citizens. The carriage she came in shook and a figure emerged. He was young and handsome, just under twenty with a man’s build and a ready smile. He wore an improvised version of a peasant’s homespun but woven out of thick cotton thread instead. Confidently, he walked right up to Mia, placing a hand on her shoulder and beaming to the assembled crowd.
Mia smiled at him. “This is my son, Nero. He too was removed from his place of birth and home by the ministrations of the established nobility; denied the comforts and care that he had been born to. He has been not only my son, but my ray of light, my hope, and my life. Together we have lived a life richer and fuller than anything we could have ever known before. But that dream is now in jeopardy; in danger due to the narrow views and corruption that is the established status quo.”
“If you do not want to fear for the bleak future that is promising to be our hallmark, then please support the SPQR in their efforts to end the strife that holds the day at hand as well as their attempts to usher in a brighter and fairer tomorrow.” Seeing the distant approach of what few members of the Roman militia Caesar still had in his employ march out of the city gates and towards her and her son’s first showing, Mia bowed once and said, “For now, citizens and friends, that is all I can say. Until we can talk again and under better circumstance, thank you for your time.”
She ‘allowed’ Nero to escort her back to the carriage which turned around in the wide road and began heading away from the capital city, the surrounding guardsmen still keeping pace. She uncorked a bottle of wine and took a hasty drink. “That went well,” she said at last.
Senator Dionys, seated across from the exiled Princess, grinned in response; her body still bandaged following this the latest attempt on her life. “We can only hope so, my lady.”
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