Izipo
Hardcore casual gamer
No he's not, he's getting kicked in the privates by Brennus in ALC 17.
Although right now he could be playing BtS like mad and getting his revenge...
Oh my, I have to go and check...
Princes of the Universe, Part I
- Thread starter Sisiutil
- Start date
- Status
No he's not, he's getting kicked in the privates by Brennus in ALC 17.
Although right now he could be playing BtS like mad and getting his revenge...
Oh my, I have to go and check...
Sisiutil
All Leader Challenger
The next installment will be up tomorrow night. I'm going to try to achieve a once-a-week Friday night story installment schedule. Wish me luck...
Not yet, it's available in stores in my part of Canada today.
Thanks!I've just finished reading this most excellent story my good sir! Very enjoyable indeed and I do think it to be one of the best AAR's I have ever read online.....
Anyway, just to add but I read pages back now about Canada preferring to use British spellings. You probably know all this, what with being an English teacher, but I have noticed you using zee evil "z" in certain spellings, such as "realisation", "civilisation", "industrilisation", etc. All of those are spelt with the classic British "s".
Just putting it out there if you ever decided to update your AAR in British English instead.
I have noticed a few British spelt words, such as "centre", but still, thought I'd point it out.
Anyway, take your time and looking forward to another update! I hope to write my own AAR someday of Civ IV. Your AAR is indeed an inspiration.
Take as much time as you need. I do writing sometimes and can sympathise with the time it can take to get ready an update.
Canadian spelling is an odd mix, using some British spellings and some American ones. That either makes us unique or really messed up, I suppose.
r_rolo1
King of myself
Well, I was expecting that Hanno would be murdered by some Greek agent ( like Zorba 
) and that would be used as a excuse for a war declaration on Greece.... Oh well, you're the writter... Keep on the good work! 
) and that would be used as a excuse for a war declaration on Greece.... Oh well, you're the writter... Keep on the good work! 
Terrance888
Discord Reigns
Hi everyone! i also made a story called the understory of the princes of the universe! it sucks... (if i do say so myself) but i hope you might enjoy it!
Terrance888
Discord Reigns
c'mon guys! u can read my story!
Sisiutil
All Leader Challenger
1. Provide a link (Internet denizens are notoriously lazy and unmotivated)
2. Don't advertise something by saying "it sucks"
(Unless it's a vacuum cleaner)Ksim3000
Chieftain
He's trying to write a story although for his age, it is pretty impressive. He reminds me a little of a myself when I was 10 years of age....
jones111
Chieftain
amazing story so far i just spend ages reading though all opf it and i have to say it is the best story i have read on this forum so well done for writing such a great story
the problem is now i will have to wait for upates
the problem is now i will have to wait for upates
Terrance888
Discord Reigns
How can i post a link?
Terrance888
Discord Reigns
Look at my sig
Thanks for the tip
Thanks for the tip
biggamer132
King
Just a word of advice, Charles: It's best not to double post. You can just edit your first post if you have anything else to say.
Sisiutil
All Leader Challenger
Chapter Thirteen: The Golden Age
“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” she grumbled.
“I ask very little of you, my dear,” he responded, his voice as cheerful and patient as hers had been grouchy and truculent. “And as I said, I’m sure you’ll enjoy this.”
“At this ungodly hour?” she responded. “The sun hasn’t even come up yet!”
“Your powers of observation continue to astound me,” he responded dryly. She responded by giving his bicep a light slap, which made him chuckle.
“We are not amused,” she said archly, but as he looked at her in the dim pre-dawn light, he could see a teasing sparkle in her cobalt eyes.
“This way, your majesty,” he said.
He took her hand, giving it an affectionate squeeze, and led her on through a grove of cypress trees. As she’d said, the sun was still hiding behind the eastern horizon, but the birds were already awake, and filled the early morning air with their joyful trills and calls. In the west, the last stars were fading above a placid sea. An ocean breeze added a sharpness to the air, mingling with the scent of night-blooming jasmine.
He inhaled deeply and enjoyed the moment. It was so rare for them to have any time alone together, especially out of doors. Of course there were guards stationed nearby—both of their ever-present entourages had insisted upon it—but they were a good distance away and discretely out of sight, something which he, in turn, had insisted upon. Rank had its privileges—sometimes.
“The natives who inhabited the jungles in the far mid-western reaches of our continent call themselves Indians,” he explained to her as they walked. “I suppose in another world, they may have become a nation unto themselves.”
“Like the Chinese?” she posited, curious as to where this impromptu lecture was leading. She was also wondering where her companion was leading her, but knew, as she knew him, that they were connected.
“Yes. At any rate, we assimilated them and they’ve become good Romans. One of their number in particular, named Shahbuddin Jahan, rose to prominence. He became a business partner of the Rutulli—a very wise choice—and became very wealthy indeed. He also married a wonderful woman named Mumtaz Mahal. Whom he loved with all his heart.”
He paused a moment, and she sensed that there was more to the story.
“And…?” she prompted him.
“And… she died. In childbirth. Jahan was heartbroken.”
“How sad,” she said solemnly. “But not uncommon.”
“True,” he said, “but what Jahan then did was most uncommon indeed.”
“Ah,” she said, “the point of the story. What did Jahan do?”
“You’re about to see,” he said, then led her out of the pathway between the cypress trees to a vast open area.
He directed her gaze across a long, slender reflecting pool. There, at the pool’s far end, was a tall building of gleaming white marble. The base of the building was slightly wider than it was high, and was fronted by a large, elegantly arched entranceway and four smaller archways, two on either side, one atop the other, that copied the elaborately sculpted shape of the grand archway. The pointed crests of the archways drew the eye upwards to the building’s most spectacular feature, a marble dome as tall as the building beneath it, its height accentuated by a tall marble ring which it sat upon. Surround the building were four tall, slender marble minarets. It was a beautiful vision of symmetry in every way.
His timing was perfect. His companion’s gaze fell upon the building just as the sun broke over the eastern horizon; its rays bathed the structure in reddish-pink light, transforming the white marble so it seemed to glow with the sky’s transient hue rather than merely reflecting it.
As he had hoped, the building and his carefully-timed revelation of it had the desired effect. She gasped, then became silent, awed mute by such astounding beauty. He rested his hands on her slender shoulders and let her drink in the sight before her.
“It’s… extraordinary,” she said breathlessly. “Beautiful.” She shook her head. “Words fail me.”
“I know the feeling,” he responded.
“It’s… a mausoleum?” she eventually said, her voice a delicate whisper.
“Yes,” he said with a nod, “though the word hardly does it justice. Jahan named it the ‘Taj Mahal’. It’s not just a monument to one woman, though. It’s a monument to love. Jahan drew upon the skills of the finest architects, designers, and craftsmen from across the continent. In turn, the Taj has inspired… well, everyone. Combined with the unification of the continent, the ensuing Pax Romana, and the success of Hanno’s trade mission, Rome is enjoying a period of unprecedented prosperity.”
“A golden age,” she said wistfully.
“Indeed,” he agreed. His arms lowered from her shoulders to circle her narrow waist. He pulled her slender body back against his own. He pressed his lips against the top of her head and tenderly kissed her red hair.
“Enjoy it while it lasts,” she told him.
Her gaze still drank in the beauty of the Taj Mahal, its marble changing from a reddish-pink glow to gleaming white as the sun rose. She placed her hands over his where they met over her abdomen. She enjoyed the feel of his strong, sinewy body against hers, his arms encircling her protectively. She felt the omnipresent tension flowing out of her body; for this brief moment, she relaxed and allowed herself to enjoy the illusion that she was safe from harm. Then he lowered his head so that his lips were nuzzling her neck, and she giggled softly, like a girl.
“I take it you’re hoping that this monument to love will inspire me as well?” she said, smiling as he playfully nibbled on her neck.
“Did it work?” he asked hopefully.
“I’ll let you know,” she said with a teasing tone in her voice.
She turned her face towards his, then closed her eyes as he leaned forward to kiss her. He was a good kisser, she reflected; not too forceful or invasive, but firm and manly. And he always seemed to sense her mood, her shifting preferences for tenderness or passion, and responded accordingly. Yes, he was good at kissing, very good, and at several other things besides. Sometimes she hated him for it. She broke the kiss, then turned to gaze at the monument again.
“They are so fragile,” she said, “aren’t they?”
“Everything in this world is fragile, and fleeting,” he replied, suddenly serious.
“Except us,” she said.
“It’s nice to think so.”
“Dangerous as well.”
“Hmm.”
She turned about to face him completely; his arms were still around her waist, and she placed her own around his neck. She didn’t like where the conversation was suddenly going, where it could go. It was best, she decided, to stop it. Best not to think about the inevitable.
“Come on,” she said, smiling up at him, her blue eyes shining, “let’s go build our own monument to love.”
He smiled broadly, the corners of his eyes wrinkling in that way that she liked. She wished, just for a moment, that they could always be together like this. But that, she knew, was impossible. He moved to go, but she stood there and held on to him just a moment longer. She pressed herself close against him and laid her head upon his shoulder.
She looked out towards the west, towards her homeland. A storm was brewing there in the distance, over the ocean. She looked at it and shuddered.
“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” she grumbled.
“I ask very little of you, my dear,” he responded, his voice as cheerful and patient as hers had been grouchy and truculent. “And as I said, I’m sure you’ll enjoy this.”
“At this ungodly hour?” she responded. “The sun hasn’t even come up yet!”
“Your powers of observation continue to astound me,” he responded dryly. She responded by giving his bicep a light slap, which made him chuckle.
“We are not amused,” she said archly, but as he looked at her in the dim pre-dawn light, he could see a teasing sparkle in her cobalt eyes.
“This way, your majesty,” he said.
He took her hand, giving it an affectionate squeeze, and led her on through a grove of cypress trees. As she’d said, the sun was still hiding behind the eastern horizon, but the birds were already awake, and filled the early morning air with their joyful trills and calls. In the west, the last stars were fading above a placid sea. An ocean breeze added a sharpness to the air, mingling with the scent of night-blooming jasmine.
He inhaled deeply and enjoyed the moment. It was so rare for them to have any time alone together, especially out of doors. Of course there were guards stationed nearby—both of their ever-present entourages had insisted upon it—but they were a good distance away and discretely out of sight, something which he, in turn, had insisted upon. Rank had its privileges—sometimes.
“The natives who inhabited the jungles in the far mid-western reaches of our continent call themselves Indians,” he explained to her as they walked. “I suppose in another world, they may have become a nation unto themselves.”
“Like the Chinese?” she posited, curious as to where this impromptu lecture was leading. She was also wondering where her companion was leading her, but knew, as she knew him, that they were connected.
“Yes. At any rate, we assimilated them and they’ve become good Romans. One of their number in particular, named Shahbuddin Jahan, rose to prominence. He became a business partner of the Rutulli—a very wise choice—and became very wealthy indeed. He also married a wonderful woman named Mumtaz Mahal. Whom he loved with all his heart.”
He paused a moment, and she sensed that there was more to the story.
“And…?” she prompted him.
“And… she died. In childbirth. Jahan was heartbroken.”
“How sad,” she said solemnly. “But not uncommon.”
“True,” he said, “but what Jahan then did was most uncommon indeed.”
“Ah,” she said, “the point of the story. What did Jahan do?”
“You’re about to see,” he said, then led her out of the pathway between the cypress trees to a vast open area.
He directed her gaze across a long, slender reflecting pool. There, at the pool’s far end, was a tall building of gleaming white marble. The base of the building was slightly wider than it was high, and was fronted by a large, elegantly arched entranceway and four smaller archways, two on either side, one atop the other, that copied the elaborately sculpted shape of the grand archway. The pointed crests of the archways drew the eye upwards to the building’s most spectacular feature, a marble dome as tall as the building beneath it, its height accentuated by a tall marble ring which it sat upon. Surround the building were four tall, slender marble minarets. It was a beautiful vision of symmetry in every way.
His timing was perfect. His companion’s gaze fell upon the building just as the sun broke over the eastern horizon; its rays bathed the structure in reddish-pink light, transforming the white marble so it seemed to glow with the sky’s transient hue rather than merely reflecting it.
As he had hoped, the building and his carefully-timed revelation of it had the desired effect. She gasped, then became silent, awed mute by such astounding beauty. He rested his hands on her slender shoulders and let her drink in the sight before her.
“It’s… extraordinary,” she said breathlessly. “Beautiful.” She shook her head. “Words fail me.”
“I know the feeling,” he responded.
“It’s… a mausoleum?” she eventually said, her voice a delicate whisper.
“Yes,” he said with a nod, “though the word hardly does it justice. Jahan named it the ‘Taj Mahal’. It’s not just a monument to one woman, though. It’s a monument to love. Jahan drew upon the skills of the finest architects, designers, and craftsmen from across the continent. In turn, the Taj has inspired… well, everyone. Combined with the unification of the continent, the ensuing Pax Romana, and the success of Hanno’s trade mission, Rome is enjoying a period of unprecedented prosperity.”
“A golden age,” she said wistfully.
“Indeed,” he agreed. His arms lowered from her shoulders to circle her narrow waist. He pulled her slender body back against his own. He pressed his lips against the top of her head and tenderly kissed her red hair.
“Enjoy it while it lasts,” she told him.
Her gaze still drank in the beauty of the Taj Mahal, its marble changing from a reddish-pink glow to gleaming white as the sun rose. She placed her hands over his where they met over her abdomen. She enjoyed the feel of his strong, sinewy body against hers, his arms encircling her protectively. She felt the omnipresent tension flowing out of her body; for this brief moment, she relaxed and allowed herself to enjoy the illusion that she was safe from harm. Then he lowered his head so that his lips were nuzzling her neck, and she giggled softly, like a girl.
“I take it you’re hoping that this monument to love will inspire me as well?” she said, smiling as he playfully nibbled on her neck.
“Did it work?” he asked hopefully.
“I’ll let you know,” she said with a teasing tone in her voice.
She turned her face towards his, then closed her eyes as he leaned forward to kiss her. He was a good kisser, she reflected; not too forceful or invasive, but firm and manly. And he always seemed to sense her mood, her shifting preferences for tenderness or passion, and responded accordingly. Yes, he was good at kissing, very good, and at several other things besides. Sometimes she hated him for it. She broke the kiss, then turned to gaze at the monument again.
“They are so fragile,” she said, “aren’t they?”
“Everything in this world is fragile, and fleeting,” he replied, suddenly serious.
“Except us,” she said.
“It’s nice to think so.”
“Dangerous as well.”
“Hmm.”
She turned about to face him completely; his arms were still around her waist, and she placed her own around his neck. She didn’t like where the conversation was suddenly going, where it could go. It was best, she decided, to stop it. Best not to think about the inevitable.
“Come on,” she said, smiling up at him, her blue eyes shining, “let’s go build our own monument to love.”
He smiled broadly, the corners of his eyes wrinkling in that way that she liked. She wished, just for a moment, that they could always be together like this. But that, she knew, was impossible. He moved to go, but she stood there and held on to him just a moment longer. She pressed herself close against him and laid her head upon his shoulder.
She looked out towards the west, towards her homeland. A storm was brewing there in the distance, over the ocean. She looked at it and shuddered.
Terrance888
Discord Reigns
I got first post! exellent! marvelous! ur my hero! woooooooooot!
Terrance888
Discord Reigns
Bravo! so, are Ceaser and Liz going to get married (Permanent Alliance?
.... so he can ax liz....
Spoiler :
Sisiutil
All Leader Challenger
Bravo! so, are Ceaser and Liz going to get married (Permanent Alliance?
Nothing's ever that simple in my universe.
e350tb
Stupendously Illogical Englishman
Can I make a simple request? One of the Great Engineers is Brunel, and one of the Great Scientests is James Watt. If you could write about either one (both railway related in thier way, Watt as a door-opener, Brunel as a builder) I would be eternally garteful.
And up Ceasar and Elizabeth!
And up Ceasar and Elizabeth!
Sisiutil
All Leader Challenger
I'll look into their stories and see, but I can't make any promises regarding what may or may not inspire me.
aronnax
Let your spirit be free
Truly magical the words you type. Im good for another week and half.
Liz and Julie sitting in the tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G.
Come on, go make a colony!
Liz and Julie sitting in the tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G.
Come on, go make a colony!
- Status
