Wow. I can't imagine the Cherokee would much like the idea of a spirit turning against their spiritual leader. Kind of implies that said spiritual leader has done something wrong, doesn't it? Which, of course, he has.
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(Two chapters in four hours! Might be a record for me!)
Fulcrumvale: Yeah...Heyward's getting a good taste of his own power and capabilities. It's not really good for him.
Incidentally, I plugged your 'location' into Google maps and it says you live about fifty feet (fifteen meters or so) out to sea from a park. Neat!
Chief Ragusa: Well, mostly right yep. Tom has figured out who he is pretty much, but he doesn't quite get what it all means. He's letting it get to him. He has the power and knowledge to deal with Black, but does he have the wisdom to overcome his very human nature? He THINKS he's doing the right thing...but...
Judas Maccabeus: ...but of course he's not. When word gets out that he was fighting a glowing cat, either the brave will be dismissed as crazy, or the Cherokee are going to have serious questions about their 'savior.'
Fulcrumvale: Yeah...Heyward's getting a good taste of his own power and capabilities. It's not really good for him.
Incidentally, I plugged your 'location' into Google maps and it says you live about fifty feet (fifteen meters or so) out to sea from a park. Neat!
Chief Ragusa: Well, mostly right yep. Tom has figured out who he is pretty much, but he doesn't quite get what it all means. He's letting it get to him. He has the power and knowledge to deal with Black, but does he have the wisdom to overcome his very human nature? He THINKS he's doing the right thing...but...
Judas Maccabeus: ...but of course he's not. When word gets out that he was fighting a glowing cat, either the brave will be dismissed as crazy, or the Cherokee are going to have serious questions about their 'savior.'
-= 211 =-
Virginia
October 1784
"What the devil can they be playing at?" demanded Benedict Arnold, Commander in Chief of the United States Army. He squinted through his looking glass at the distant town green where hundreds of men, state militia supplemented by farmers and laborers, milled about forming ragged musket lines. "Do they mean to offer battle?" He looked at his second.
"I don't know," General Benjamin Lincoln replied slowly. He reached into his saddle bag and pulled out a folded map, tracing their route with his fingertip. "This should be Woodbridge." He frowned. "Doesn't look like much."
Woodbridge was a small town guarding one of its namesakes straddling a brook that opened into the Potomac River. A handful of roads meandered away from it towards farms and orchards, while the Post Road that ran from Boston to Savannah ran just to the west.
Arnold's orders on paper were two fold: First, to return the 'renegade' General Heyward to Philadelphia to complete his trial. No luck there, the man's trail vanished before Baltimore. Still he suspected Heyward would try to complete his private vendetta with Governor Moultrie and so head towards Charleston. His second command was to deprive the Carolinas of munitions and other equipment meant for American soldiers. If they wanted to break away, that was their own lookout, but they would do so without supplies bought and paid for by the other states.
Unofficially, Arnold was to make a demonstration (and general nuisance of himself) in the Carolinas until winter began. If Moultrie and Governor Martin of North Carolina then realized they were safer as part of a united nation rather than going it alone? So much the better.
His orders said nothing whatsoever about Virginia militia. He watched them unfurl a state and several local banners. "Oh this is quite enough. General Lincoln, we will deploy in three columns by regiment!" He pointed at a boy. "Show them our colors, sir!"
"Do you mean to fight?" Lincoln demanded. "Virginia hasn't declared against us."
"I hope you are right, sir. No, I do not intend to fight. However, they either misunderstand our intent or our force and I intend to advise them on both fronts."
Slowly the American army, twenty regiments strong, deployed in three wings with cavalry on either flank and cannon behind. Across the middle flags representing the regiments' home states: New York, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, Massachusetts and even Virginia flew on either side of the Stars and Stripes. Arnold shouted a command that echoed through the ranks and the army slowly advanced.
Virginian partisans wavered before the advance, many drifting away from their brethren to return to the safety of hearth and home. The militia closed ranks, the front rank dropping to their knees with muskets raised as the range narrowed. An officer on horse behind them waved his sword, shouting.
"What are they at?" Arnold demanded again. "They know who we are by now. They know they're outnumb... All regiments, halt!" Trumpets blew up and down the line conveying his order.
"Shall I ask?" Lincoln nudged his horse a few steps. "Perhaps some fool told them we're invading. It should be easy enough to clear up."
Arnold nodded, staring at the now motionless partisans. "Do that. Take an honor guard with you. Tell them our orders - our official orders - and ask them to step aside."
He lifted his head proudly when, several minutes later, Lincoln nudged his horse into a trot and approached the waiting Virginians. Their officer shouted some sort of command and advanced as well, meeting the Americans on the outskirts of town. A few minutes after that Lincoln withdrew, shaking his head.
"Well?" Arnold asked.
"They refuse us passage, sir." He shook his head again.
"They what!?" Arnold glanced at the militiamen, now redeploying to straddle the post road. "Did you explain our mission!?"
"Yes, sir. Captain Grogan, that is his name by the way, advises us he is under orders from Williamsburg to not allow any American soldiers past Woodbridge."
Arnold searched his face. "Has Virginia declared against us then?"
"No, sir. Captain Grogan says that Williamsburg intends to stay out of any disagreement we have with the Carolinas, and that means disallowing either side passage. In other words, they wish to be treated as a neutral, sovereign state."
"Did you tell him we outnumber him forty to one!?"
Lincoln smiled. "I think he's aware. He says that he relies entirely on the honor and dignity of the commanding general not to force the matter."
"Well, bugger him." He glared at the Virginians. "Serve them right if we did go right through."
"If we do, then Williamsburg will declare."
"I know that! Not that they could muster enough men to stop us before we were across the Carolinan border!"
"Benedict," Lincoln touched his sleeve gently.
Arnold looked up and glared, jerking his arm away. "Remember your place, General."
"Do you think they'd stop chasing us at the border?" Lincoln retorted. "Or would they help the Carolinans stop us? We don't have enough men to fight a bloody war!"
"I know that as well, sir. Pray do not speak the obvious." Arnold glared about him, face flushed. Those soldiers and bannermen who drifted closer to hear their argument shrank from his furious gaze. "Recommendation?"
"There is another road, sir. We passed it some leagues back. It goes west to the Shenandoah, then south, skirting Cherokee Country through the Carolinas. The British used it to send messengers back and forth to outposts along the border. I doubt many use it now."
"It would take too long."
"For infantry? Yes." Lincoln pointed at the extreme right of the American line. "We have a full regiment of horse, and it's far enough away Captain Grogan can't possibly complain."
Arnold followed his finger. "Very well. We will retreat to the Potomac and make camp. Then send Colonel Leyton and Major Whiteaker to me. We'll let them run along the outskirts of Virginia while we send to Philadelphia for instructions."
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It looks like former Heyward & co. (now Bast & co.) will have federal support. Which is probably good…until Benadict Arnold gets his body taken over by Black, at which point all hell will break even more loose then it already has.
And as to my location: that’s just where I went to camp (it’s the only place where I have latitude and longitude down to the minute). I actually live a couple miles to the north. It’s still nice though.
And as to my location: that’s just where I went to camp (it’s the only place where I have latitude and longitude down to the minute). I actually live a couple miles to the north. It’s still nice though.
Well, after Heyward's tirade, it was refreshing to get back to some good ol' political strategy. It's a shame the Virginians have blocked off I-95, it's such a convenient route. That's construction for you. Too bad the detour will add many more hours and more tanks of gas to the trip. But I don't think a final confrontation with Heyward will be put off forever.
But I don't think a final confrontation with Heyward will be put off forever.
We know that power corrupts - and we all know the remainder of that quote. It's a shame to see Bast provoking him but really I'm at a loss as to how she could actually make things better.
Allowing anyone to impede the progress of the US Army is a dangerous precedent but might just be the best way to avoid a messy situation. The best solution I see is for Arnold's men to back up the road a bit, pitch camp and then send in a picked force to size the bridge and the town after dark.
Allowing anyone to impede the progress of the US Army is a dangerous precedent but might just be the best way to avoid a messy situation. The best solution I see is for Arnold's men to back up the road a bit, pitch camp and then send in a picked force to size the bridge and the town after dark.
Seems like Heyward absorbed all of Wasp Sting, including her responsibilities.
Wonder if Arnold has food to spare for the Cherokee? If he has, they've probably got braves who can shave hours off his march and be unobserved. The South Carolinans won't know what''s hit them.
As the Carolinas are now a sovereign state, what's to stop the British sending a "little" force up from Georgia to discuss their re-entry into the Empire?
Wonder if Arnold has food to spare for the Cherokee? If he has, they've probably got braves who can shave hours off his march and be unobserved. The South Carolinans won't know what''s hit them.
As the Carolinas are now a sovereign state, what's to stop the British sending a "little" force up from Georgia to discuss their re-entry into the Empire?
What? Heyward delaying? Blast...
I see the drama is still ratcheting up!
<hoping for the good guys to win!>
TheExecuter
I see the drama is still ratcheting up!
<hoping for the good guys to win!>
TheExecuter
Fulcrumvale: Quite the pessimist.
Mettermrck: I-95!? Bastard!
Unfortunately you may have a point. Road Map 1800
I mistook the Western/Cape Fear Road for the Post Road and didn't notice it does go through Raleigh. Ah well
Director: Bast is a bit at a loss as well. Part of her thought something like this might happen, but now what to do about it...
Chief Ragusa: Nothing's stopping the British whatsoever. They may just try that when they find out what 'Moultrie' has been up to.
TheExecuter: I hope so too. I'm starting to wonder.
Mettermrck: I-95!? Bastard!
Unfortunately you may have a point. Road Map 1800
I mistook the Western/Cape Fear Road for the Post Road and didn't notice it does go through Raleigh. Ah well
Director: Bast is a bit at a loss as well. Part of her thought something like this might happen, but now what to do about it...
Chief Ragusa: Nothing's stopping the British whatsoever. They may just try that when they find out what 'Moultrie' has been up to.
TheExecuter: I hope so too. I'm starting to wonder.
-= 212 =-
Philadelphia
October 1784
Gentlemen:
I have the duty to inform you that on the twenty-third instant, at about two hours forenoon we encountered a large party of state militia and partisans, under the command of a Captain William Grogan, at Woodsbridge in northern Virginia. There, proposing to be acting under orders from his superiors in Williamsburg, he denied us access to the Western Road citing Virginia's neutrality in any possible conflict with the Carolina Federation. Despite our insistence we had no interest regarding the property or people of Virginia, Captain Grogan continued his obstinate refusal, and so to avoid an incident we withdrew two leagues to the north.
"Would you care to comment, Mister Monroe?" John Adams, newly appointed second delegate for Massachusetts, stared at his Virginian counterpart. "You go to all the trouble of saying we should find my client and finish his hearing, and now you won't give us access to a government road? What balls, sir!"
"Mind the language, Mister Adams," Jefferson replied calmly from the president's chair.
"Oh come, Tom. You cannot possibly support thi...oh, but of course. You are a Virginian, and so your loyalty is something to consider isn't it?"
Jefferson slammed his gavel down. "That's enough!"
"Searching for a fugitive is one thing, Mister Adams," Monroe replied. "Marching an army through the commonwealth is quite another. One does not need twenty regiments of foot to find one man. Indeed, so many men cannot help but hopelessly hinder such an effort. There is only one use for such a force, sir, and that is to engage in bellicose actions from the safety of the Virginia border."
"From the safety of the American border, or have you forgotten?"
"The fact we have agreed to this confederation does not allow northern states to engage in adventures from our soil," Monroe growled. "The integrity of each state's border is inviolate, and..."
"That is a government road, sir! Paid for partially with northern funds!"
"A road passing through our state, sir."
"Mister Adams, I will ask you to moderate your tone," Jefferson added. "And remind you that you are here on the sufferance of Congress, and..."
"Incorrect, Mister President. I am here on the sufference of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts. If Mister Monroe wishes to prate about state integrity, then I will note that Massachusetts may appoint who she wants, when she wants."
"Alright, Mister..."
"After all, the Carolinas apparently sent their mongrel dogs to us for years."
"Mister..."
"Not that they didn't fit right in."
"Mister Adams!"
He smiled and sat. "The question remains, gentlemen. We gave General Arnold a mission, and he is now unable to carry them out due to," his smile broadened, "territorial concerns. It is this very Congress who charged him with taking back munitions and supplies obtained during our alliance. What does Mister Monroe propose? We ask nicely?"
"Virgnia did not vote for General Arnold's mission, and we frankly do not care how you go about it, so long as you leave Virginia out of your planning."
"Geography makes that difficult."
Monroe spread his hands and smiled.
*******
So, Governor Moultrie was right. Eric Maslow sat in the third row, listening attentively as the debate swung over to whether General Arnold should just take Woodbridge and tell Virginia to get stuffed. He looked like any of a dozen people there, a pale man in his thirties with short brown hair, thin with a brown coat and breeches. He drummed his fingers nervously and looked around to see if anyone noticed.
Maslow was born in a farm near Georgetown, South Carolina and served in both wars against Britain. After a time he joined the Carolina Guard, then while his commander was off dealing with an Indian incursion near Greenville he'd received special orders. He at first refused, unable to believe Philadelphia would be up to anything threatening enough to kill over, yet here was the proof.
Leave Carolina alone! We've suffered enough! he wanted to scream, but didn't dare. What would they do if they found out he was Carolinan? Show him the door, probably. Or worse. He clenched his breeches and stood abruptly.
"Have a care," snapped his neighbor as Maslow pushed past him. Angry glares followed in his wake as he reached the aisle, turned and headed for daylight. Moultrie was very clear on where he could get what he needed: Good, reliable men, one holding a 'special delivery' just for him. Smuggling it into the records room beneath the meeting floor would be the hard part. He brushed past a slight figure at the door and two guards, who frowned as he stepped onto the busy street and headed downhill towards the docks along the Delaware River. He had plans to make.
The slight figure straightened. It was hard to tell her age or looks, for she wore a hooded cloak against the late October chill despite the bright sun. Slim, with wisps of blond hair peeking out on either side, and piercing emerald eyes. She cast a glance at her protector, sitting on the Massachusetts bench, then stared after the man who'd rudely brushed past her.
Perhaps he is agitated because there's something he needs to do, she thought and turned to the nearest guard, a youth of perhaps twenty. "Excuse me, sir. Do you know the gentleman who just left?"
He glanced out the door. "No, ma'am. Rude bug...er, that was impolite of him. Pushing past you. I hope you are well?"
She smiled sweetly then turned back to the proceedings. Something bothered her about that man. Perhaps they'd meet again...
For the last couple of weeks I've spent a considerable share of my nights (time I should have spent sleeping or studying) reading this epic. And I don't regret a second of it. There have been so many interesting twists and turns I don't where to start telling how great I think this story really is. So I'll trust people who've been reading along already know that.
Right now I'm starting to think Adams might be the greatest character in this AAR since the original Edward Rutledge was overthrown from his body or when von Zähringen made his last appearance. And at the moment I'm also a lot more concerned with Tom than John (in whom I've never lost my faith ever since our dear Dieter shook him out of his self-pity).
Now, unless you start writing several updates a day, please excuse me while I go on a desperate search for a cure for my withdrawal syndrome
Right now I'm starting to think Adams might be the greatest character in this AAR since the original Edward Rutledge was overthrown from his body or when von Zähringen made his last appearance. And at the moment I'm also a lot more concerned with Tom than John (in whom I've never lost my faith ever since our dear Dieter shook him out of his self-pity).
Now, unless you start writing several updates a day, please excuse me while I go on a desperate search for a cure for my withdrawal syndrome
The sufferance of Congress...such cheek from Mr. Jefferson! I'm so glad Adams rightly slapped him down for that, but definitely shows how weak the American government is. Luckily Arnold proposes to literally go around that trouble. Fast and furious updates, Mr. Knight sir, but I enjoy them all!
Early American congress….
Well, at least we don’t have senators caning each other on the senate floor yet.
Well, at least we don’t have senators caning each other on the senate floor yet.
Abraxas: Welcome and thank you! As you can see my pace has picked up notably over the last two days. (In fact I believe this is a record - four chapters in under 48 hours.) I doubt I can hold this pace forever, but I'll try not to disappoint.
I like Adams: He doesn't take guff from anyone and helps propel the Congressional scenes nicely. Your analysis regarding the others is also pretty sound: John's a pretty safe bet at this point - his blinders are finally off. Tom...well, he's still figuring out what to do with himself.
Mettermrck: The pre-Constitutional US Government is.... well, sometimes I'm shocked we survived. Still, I think it's much more amusing than the modern version.
Fast and furious...thanks! As I told Abraxas, I don't know if I can keep it up, but I'll try to be more consistent. I've removed some major distractions and mean to finish this bloody story within my lifetime.
Fulcrumvale: That's next week.
*******
COMMENT: This upcoming post marks the first time my fiance (KelliKatZel) actively helped with its development. Maslow's new 'plan,' which is a bit less likely to draw suspicion than what I came up with, is hers as well as other little tidbits here and there.
I like Adams: He doesn't take guff from anyone and helps propel the Congressional scenes nicely. Your analysis regarding the others is also pretty sound: John's a pretty safe bet at this point - his blinders are finally off. Tom...well, he's still figuring out what to do with himself.
Mettermrck: The pre-Constitutional US Government is.... well, sometimes I'm shocked we survived. Still, I think it's much more amusing than the modern version.
Fast and furious...thanks! As I told Abraxas, I don't know if I can keep it up, but I'll try to be more consistent. I've removed some major distractions and mean to finish this bloody story within my lifetime.
Fulcrumvale: That's next week.
*******
COMMENT: This upcoming post marks the first time my fiance (KelliKatZel) actively helped with its development. Maslow's new 'plan,' which is a bit less likely to draw suspicion than what I came up with, is hers as well as other little tidbits here and there.
-= 213 =-
Philadelphia
November 1784
The first day of November, a Monday, dawned cold with a bitter, humid wind blowing in from the Atlantic. Sailors and farmers frowned at the heavy, grey sky and muttered about an early winter as flock after flock of birds soared southward, some in perfect 'V's and others in huddled masses as if abandoning Pennsylvania to her fate. Those less versed in weather lore huddled in overcoats and cowls, arms raised against wind that whipped at face and hands.
One of these men stood by a warehouse along the docks, watching as coatless men rolled barrels into his wagon. He glanced around to make sure no one paid too much attention to their progress, but why would they? Just another journeyman collecting materials for his master, that was what he was.
"Alright, Mister Johnson." The warehouse master, a short, balding man in his mid-forties, stepped forward. "That should be all of them. Christopher!" This to one of the laborers. "Get a tarpaulin for Mister Johnson. It would not answer if it rained on his cargo!"
Christopher, a former sailor down on his luck, saluted in the haphazard naval fashion with a knuckle to his forehead and ran off.
"Do you have a place nearby to store this?"
Eric Maslow, a/k/a John Johnson, squinted at the darkening sky. "I think to bring it to Hearle's for the moment. His stable is only a few houses down. Tomorrow night I will enter the archives under cover of darkness."
The master frowned. "And how the devil do you plan to do that?"
Maslow grinned. "They're preparing their winter fuel stores tonight and storing most of it with the records. I signed on to help bring it in. In fact, I must go."
His deadly cargo stored, Maslow ran up the street to find the Congressional work party already gathered: Nine men, including the unhappy, suffering master of records, Jerome Winslow, and three wagons.
"Mister Johnson!" snapped Winslow. "Where the devil have you been?" A thin man in his fifties with spectacles, he dressed in enough layers to make an Eskimo blush had he known what one was. He sneezed violently and pulled his scarf up. "If you do not need money, sir, then I am sure I can find another!"
"I apologize." Maslow lowered his gaze so Winslow wouldn't see the burning anger. Enjoy lording it over me, he thought. You won't last the week.
"Well then. Pick a wagon. We're already behind schedule thanks to your dalliance." He sneezed again. "Smyth! Let's move!"
Three wagons slowly wound their way to the farms north of town where Congress paid farmers and loggers well to put aside several hundred cords of wood to get Independence Hall through the long winter ahead. Congress itself would not be meeting, but the Committee of States would soon take over to run the government until they met again in spring, not to mention records and the other half dozen offices the United States government maintained all year round. At each site they stopped and men piled out to throw cords onto their wagons before heading for the next destination. Winslow didn't help, which perhaps was just as well. The cold and damp didn't agree with him, nor did the rain just before midday, and he huddled miserably under several cloaks and a tarp.
Finally the sky began to darken and the wagons wound their way home. Maslow stretched his arms and legs, watching his companions closely for signs any recognized his double character. To a man they seemed tired and worn after a long day's work. In time the creaking of wheels and gentle rap-rap of hoof beats lulled him into a vivid fantasy, where a beautiful woman clad only in a chemise lay by a bright fire and beckoned to him. As he pulled her close she wrapped her arms around his neck, tilted her head back, parted her lips and whispered...
"WAKE UP GOD ROT YOUR EYES!" Winslow shook him hard. "What is the matter with you, sir! Your business with me is not done yet!" The light from Winslow's lantern made him look old and savage. "Get up!"
Maslow emerged into a cold rain that froze on cobblestone. They'd parked along a side street near the east entrance, and in the sputtering street lights he saw men run back and forth between the wagons and darkened hall, through an open door and down stairs into the basement. He grabbed two cords of wood and trotted after them.
The basement was surprisingly wide, divided into three chambers: East, Center and West. Most of it stood empty except for several shelves filled with curling papers and a lone elm desk with chair. Winslow acquired this seat and shouted orders in a hoarse voice as the laborers slowly piled their cords along one wall.
As Maslow worked he continued refining his plan. Two staircases, one on each end, led to the basement wings. On the other side the stairs opened onto the halls leading into Independence Hall proper. Theoretically if a man could manage to be inside the building alone, then reaching the basement archives was as easy as kiss my hand.
That was, of course, the plan.
*******
Fifteen feet above them Congress finished up with its usual furor, casual insults about Connecticut's integrity intermingling with 'unconfirmed but reliable' rumors that Delaware didn't actually exist, but was only King George's mania induced fantasy meant to confuse mapmakers, school children and idiots alike. Phillip Waymouth, senior delegate from Massachusetts, pushed past the handful of visitors to a woman waiting in the last row.
"It is a wonder you get anything done," Anne Foster said. She kept her hood up, partially against the chill and partially to avoid recognition. "I've never attended Parliament, but I assure you if they acted with half as much rancor the Empire wouldn't last the day."
"Hush, ma'am." Waymouth murmured as men pushed past him to emerge into the cold autumn rain. "You don't want anyone to recognize you, do you?"
Foster laughed and touched his arm, though her eyes flashed emerald. "Please. These muckrakers wouldn't know if their own mothers walked in. Half are drunk and for the other half it would be an improvement." One man turned and frowned. She lifted her head and stared fiercely. He looked away.
"Come with me." They emerged into a cold rain and she gripped his arm for support.
"Did you make your inquiries?" he asked, glancing up and down the street for a carriage.
"I still have a few people to check, but I find nothing linking Virginia's decision with Governor Moultrie. They appear to be motivated by neutrality as they say." She pulled her cowl lower over her face. "I do not know how you plan to hold this 'union' together if states are free to ignore problems at will. It would be like if Norfolk decided not to allow the King's ships to port."
"You let me worry about that." Her habit of comparing America unfavorably to Britain grated on his nerves. "There's a carriage now. Driver!" He trotted across the street with Foster in tow. "Driver, take us to Hearle's. I have rooms there."
"Very good, sir!" the driver bellowed as the rain switched to sleet, pellets crackling on the cobblestone to shatter in ruin before freezing. "Hold tight now!"
As the carriage surged into motion, Anne Foster glanced at Independence Hall and started forward. "Driver, halt!"
"What's wrong?" Waymouth demanded.
"That man there. What is he doing?"
He stared out the window. "Oh, it looks like they're bringing in wood. Why?"
"He's been at the last few sessions. He usually sits in the balcony. He seems to become agitated or nervous after awhile - never stays until the end."
"What of it? Maybe he was waiting for a chance to ask for a job."
"What's amiss back there?" the driver shouted. "Sophie doesn't like the sleet!" As he said this the horse neighed and shifted a few steps, dragging the front of the carriage several inches.
"Nothing, driver! Carry on!" Waymouth replied.
Foster watched the workers as they rolled away. "No, this is something," she replied quietly. "I just don't know what."
Ah the blow up the Congress ploy. Best thing for Black/Moultrie is that Britain would get the blame. Meantime the rancour between the states would flare into open warfare. There'd be nothing to stop black rolling up the States one-by-one.
Miss Foster will save the day.
Miss Foster will save the day.
Waymouth is ruining this! A spy knows another spy way better than a soldier can. He should just trust Foster when she says something is amiss.CatKnight said:
I understand maintaining such a pace for long would be practically impossible for anyone who doesn't spend all their time in front of a computer (which I hope you don't, especially now that you have fiance who seems like someone worth holding on to). And I think my mental health's secured for the time being. Reading canonized's Timelines should keep my alt-history levels high enough while waiting for your updates. Now, if only I could find the time to study so that my fall term at university would not go wasted. :wacko:CatKnight said:
Actually, this reminds me of something I forgot to add in my last post (such things may happen at 2amCatKnight said:
). Reading this AAR has taught me a lot about US history, in which I wasn't very well versed before. Or rather I should say reading this has encouraged me to learn more by searching for more information on things referenced here. Such as the articles of confederation, I always thought the constitution was written more or less right after the declaration of independence. So reading your work has not been just entertaining but also educative which is always great.
Why are visions of an American Gunpowder Plot crossing my eyes? Or am I just too paranoid. Appreciate the newest update this morning, sir!
Normally I don't follow EUII AARs, but I'lll definitely follow this one once I've read through it.
I'm personally of the opinion that one can never have too much paranoia.Mettermrck said:
Especially when Black's pulling the strings...