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I am glad I wasn't the only one that made that correlation when Mr. Capaitlist and I began to plan this out...Looking forward to the new Kwisatz Haderach.
I apologize for the delay in a update. RL has been alittle busy. I expect to have one out by Sunday evening.
Stay tuned!
Stay tuned!
I've almost gotten the update squeezed out of Issac. He is new to the college lifestyle and thus has little time.
Chapter 2
Keystones
May 10th, 1103 AD
After the Council’s verdict that Maslaw the Pious’ son, Kazimierz, was to die – Castilian mercenaries in the area were tasked to deliver the will of Spain upon the boy. The method of execution: a cool blade across his young throat. The soldiers were not happy about their job. This boy was merely an innocent, and had no part in the designs of the Council and what they wanted to achieve. Adversely, God gave this fate to him. The son shall inherit the sins of the father, one soldier justified to himself. But Maslaw was named The Pious? What could he have possibly done? He had done God’s will by spreading Christian influences to Mauritania. Truly, that is what God wanted? Sadly, it was not their job to speculate. They were paid amply enough to “forget” that they were killing a boy-heir to the wrong of Leon.
Arriving at the gates of Maslaw’s castle, the flashed the Seal of the Council to the guards and were granted immediate entry. Removing their hoods from their heads, they strode to the structure’s inner sanctum. They found Maslaw with his son, playing Byzantine chess. The assassins were startled. The boy was supposed to be inert and useless, not intelligent and capable. Knowing that returning to Burgos empty handed was a very bad option, they cleared their throats to alert the King of their arrival. With a bleak stare, he got up and walked slowly over to the enforcers of the verdict. The men shook where they stood as Maslaw stared at them with a chilling, dead gaze – they had never seen a man so ripe with sadness. Giving a nod, he began to walk away from his guests. Then suddenly he stopped, and faced them again.
“Please, spare my son the agony. Make it quick and painless. He is only a boy. He does not deserve to have his last experience on this Earth be one of suffering.”
Finishing, Maslaw walked away. The leader of this duo of assassins stepped forward as Maslaw’s footsteps slipped away from earshot. Drawing his blade, and saying a prayer for the boy, he moved forward and positioned the blade across his neck. It was at that moment he realized that the boy was simple for he made no reaction to stop the assassins from doing their work. Maybe he just knew it was the end.
In one swift motion, the father-first born son bloodline of Michael Christopher was extinguished. Maslaw’s fate was sealed. His brother, Bolko, would inherit his domain.
July 19th, 1119 AD
It had been sixteen years since Kazimierz’s death. The darkness of depression and failure resonated over the head of Maslaw the Pious, God’s champion and liberator of Mauritania from the Heathen’s clutches. That same champion peered over the edge of his castle in Leon and stared down at the moat below. The towering structure seemed to separate the two worlds that Maslaw lived in: the world of his devotion and service to god and the world of his uncontrolled mania. Everything seemed to slip away from him. His wife was distant. His son was murdered. His courtiers distrusted him. His few public appearances even had the people wary of him. All seemed lost.
Looking once more over the battlements of his castle, he hopped up on the structure as a gust of wind caught him. Bracing himself over the side with his legs, his held up his arms to the sky and screeched a curse at his God.
"Lord, is this how you reward fame?"
As he said that, the villagers below heard the echo and saw their liege jump from the battlements to hit the ground below and die instantly.
Keystones
May 10th, 1103 AD
After the Council’s verdict that Maslaw the Pious’ son, Kazimierz, was to die – Castilian mercenaries in the area were tasked to deliver the will of Spain upon the boy. The method of execution: a cool blade across his young throat. The soldiers were not happy about their job. This boy was merely an innocent, and had no part in the designs of the Council and what they wanted to achieve. Adversely, God gave this fate to him. The son shall inherit the sins of the father, one soldier justified to himself. But Maslaw was named The Pious? What could he have possibly done? He had done God’s will by spreading Christian influences to Mauritania. Truly, that is what God wanted? Sadly, it was not their job to speculate. They were paid amply enough to “forget” that they were killing a boy-heir to the wrong of Leon.
Arriving at the gates of Maslaw’s castle, the flashed the Seal of the Council to the guards and were granted immediate entry. Removing their hoods from their heads, they strode to the structure’s inner sanctum. They found Maslaw with his son, playing Byzantine chess. The assassins were startled. The boy was supposed to be inert and useless, not intelligent and capable. Knowing that returning to Burgos empty handed was a very bad option, they cleared their throats to alert the King of their arrival. With a bleak stare, he got up and walked slowly over to the enforcers of the verdict. The men shook where they stood as Maslaw stared at them with a chilling, dead gaze – they had never seen a man so ripe with sadness. Giving a nod, he began to walk away from his guests. Then suddenly he stopped, and faced them again.
“Please, spare my son the agony. Make it quick and painless. He is only a boy. He does not deserve to have his last experience on this Earth be one of suffering.”
Finishing, Maslaw walked away. The leader of this duo of assassins stepped forward as Maslaw’s footsteps slipped away from earshot. Drawing his blade, and saying a prayer for the boy, he moved forward and positioned the blade across his neck. It was at that moment he realized that the boy was simple for he made no reaction to stop the assassins from doing their work. Maybe he just knew it was the end.
In one swift motion, the father-first born son bloodline of Michael Christopher was extinguished. Maslaw’s fate was sealed. His brother, Bolko, would inherit his domain.
July 19th, 1119 AD
It had been sixteen years since Kazimierz’s death. The darkness of depression and failure resonated over the head of Maslaw the Pious, God’s champion and liberator of Mauritania from the Heathen’s clutches. That same champion peered over the edge of his castle in Leon and stared down at the moat below. The towering structure seemed to separate the two worlds that Maslaw lived in: the world of his devotion and service to god and the world of his uncontrolled mania. Everything seemed to slip away from him. His wife was distant. His son was murdered. His courtiers distrusted him. His few public appearances even had the people wary of him. All seemed lost.
Looking once more over the battlements of his castle, he hopped up on the structure as a gust of wind caught him. Bracing himself over the side with his legs, his held up his arms to the sky and screeched a curse at his God.
"Lord, is this how you reward fame?"
As he said that, the villagers below heard the echo and saw their liege jump from the battlements to hit the ground below and die instantly.
The Order of Saint James of Compostela
Prologue
Elders in the Order of Saint James of Compostela tell a story of a prophesized heir to the houses of Spain who would help unite the warring Christian Kingdoms against an evil greater than any know in Europe. The Order referred to him as The Son of Spain and his enemy as the Thane of Cathay. They believed that by slowly manipulating the blood lines that eventually the Son of Spain would be born and defeat the Thane of Cathay in a cataclysmic battle in Constantinople.
August 21st, 1120
“The Kendall family has really disappointed me with this invasion of Aquitaine,” a hooded figure said.
“Yes, very, the entire war was a disappointment to start; and the ending was only slightly satisfactory to their original plans. The hope for a permanently weakened Capetian France was lost.” Around a central, round table sat the sixteen Elders. They wore quiet, face-like masks and hoods to conceal their identities from one another. They all looked identical to one another; that way no Elder’s opinion would mean more or less than another’s because of their position outside of the Order.
“The capture of Bordeaux was an important step forward for the Kendalls.”
“It was a waste of time and money.” Silence filled the hall. “Now that we have the Zielenski heirs back on track as sons of the daughters of the Kendall dynasty it is important to not mess anything up.” In the corner of the hall sat a blind leper, idly carving symbols in a block of wood; apparently meaningless curves that he couldn’t see or feel.
“Call the reader,” a voice asked. Others nodded. A bell was rung and a young girl entered the room. “Sister Isabel, please read the carvings.”
The young woman went up to the delirious leper and took his wood plank, causing him to begin weeping uncontrollably for it back. She looked at the lines carefully, using her best judgment to figure the lines. “The lines say point to a brief reign, a war in France, instability in Navarre, a new dynasty in Germany.”
“What do they say about the Son and the Thane?”
“I see nothing, Elder of the Order,” Isabel said quietly.
“This is non-sense!” an Elder cried, “What are we? Pagans?! This reading of blasphemous carvings of moronic lepers and mentally sick virgins is pathetic! I will have no more of it!” He pounded his fists on the table, knocking over his goblet and spilling red wine over his papers. The other Elders remained perfectly silent. “This is not how an order of a Christian Saint should act.” He walked across the room and took the wooden plank from the hands of the girl and threw it into the fireplace. As it burned the leper cried harder and began to mumble incoherently.
“The lines have been right in the past!”
“And they have been wrong!” Again the room grew eerily silent. The only sound was a weeping leper and the faint breathing of the young Isabel. “Where were your scribbles to the death of Kazimierz? Where were your scribbles to the death of Maslaw?!” The room resonated with the word Maslaw.
A silver face clanged on the floor and the Duchess of Fez marched out of the candle-lit room.
Prologue
Elders in the Order of Saint James of Compostela tell a story of a prophesized heir to the houses of Spain who would help unite the warring Christian Kingdoms against an evil greater than any know in Europe. The Order referred to him as The Son of Spain and his enemy as the Thane of Cathay. They believed that by slowly manipulating the blood lines that eventually the Son of Spain would be born and defeat the Thane of Cathay in a cataclysmic battle in Constantinople.
August 21st, 1120
“The Kendall family has really disappointed me with this invasion of Aquitaine,” a hooded figure said.
“Yes, very, the entire war was a disappointment to start; and the ending was only slightly satisfactory to their original plans. The hope for a permanently weakened Capetian France was lost.” Around a central, round table sat the sixteen Elders. They wore quiet, face-like masks and hoods to conceal their identities from one another. They all looked identical to one another; that way no Elder’s opinion would mean more or less than another’s because of their position outside of the Order.
“The capture of Bordeaux was an important step forward for the Kendalls.”
“It was a waste of time and money.” Silence filled the hall. “Now that we have the Zielenski heirs back on track as sons of the daughters of the Kendall dynasty it is important to not mess anything up.” In the corner of the hall sat a blind leper, idly carving symbols in a block of wood; apparently meaningless curves that he couldn’t see or feel.
“Call the reader,” a voice asked. Others nodded. A bell was rung and a young girl entered the room. “Sister Isabel, please read the carvings.”
The young woman went up to the delirious leper and took his wood plank, causing him to begin weeping uncontrollably for it back. She looked at the lines carefully, using her best judgment to figure the lines. “The lines say point to a brief reign, a war in France, instability in Navarre, a new dynasty in Germany.”
“What do they say about the Son and the Thane?”
“I see nothing, Elder of the Order,” Isabel said quietly.
“This is non-sense!” an Elder cried, “What are we? Pagans?! This reading of blasphemous carvings of moronic lepers and mentally sick virgins is pathetic! I will have no more of it!” He pounded his fists on the table, knocking over his goblet and spilling red wine over his papers. The other Elders remained perfectly silent. “This is not how an order of a Christian Saint should act.” He walked across the room and took the wooden plank from the hands of the girl and threw it into the fireplace. As it burned the leper cried harder and began to mumble incoherently.
“The lines have been right in the past!”
“And they have been wrong!” Again the room grew eerily silent. The only sound was a weeping leper and the faint breathing of the young Isabel. “Where were your scribbles to the death of Kazimierz? Where were your scribbles to the death of Maslaw?!” The room resonated with the word Maslaw.
A silver face clanged on the floor and the Duchess of Fez marched out of the candle-lit room.
So very dark I don't remember reading anything quite like this in the CK forums. I like where it's going.
I don't remember reading anything quite like this in the CK forums. I like where it's going.