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I thought I'd let you guys in on a work I have in progress. Yes I know "I thought he was dead b/c he hasn't posted for so long." Well I'm back and glad. I hope you guys are too.
Enjoi!
MINSK, MADMEN, AND MAMOSA
It was a grim sight as the rioters were mowed down by Republic Guards. Wave after wave of protesters pushed up the steps, climbing over the bodies of their fallen comrades as they went. Each time, they would only get so far before another volley from the guards silenced them. All seemed hopeless.
Miguel Ramirez watched it all from the balcony of his house across the square. Rioters had poured the park in front of the Senate, demanding that the capital of Spain stay in Madrid. When First Consul Philip refused, the mob attacked, hoping to catch the Senate and force a compromise, Miguel knew what the outcome would be. Unarmed peasants and merchants stood no chance against Spanish rifles. Philip was effectively destroying all opposition to his decision my massacring all those present at the protest, and would not stop until the job was done.
Disgusted, Ramirez stepped away from the balcony, closing the curtains as he entered his study. Sitting down at his desk, he contemplated the events of the past few days. He was a wealthy man, and a former noble. When Philip was known as King Philip II, Miguel’s father had ruled much of the Iberian Peninsula. His desk was engraved with the finest carvings, and the paint on the walls contained flakes of gold. He was a very wealthy man indeed.
Miguel thought back to how this had all happened, when the chaos had begun. It seemed so distant, like a fantasy. The world could never be the way it once was. Once, Spain had been a prosperous republic, containing The Iberian Peninsula, Southern France, and Northern Italy. But then, Philip grew ambitious. He declared war on Germany, and soon it was his. It was in the middle of a bitter struggle with Russia at the time, and stood no chance against the well trained Spanish armies. Before 1823, Spain ruled most of Western Europe. But that could not satisfy Philip, he wanted more.
In 1834 he declared war on Russia. Again, his foe’s armies were tied up elsewhere, warring against the mighty Mongolian Empire. There were a many early Spanish victories, giving almost all of Europe to the greedy Philip.
Miguel had spent a lot of time with Philip, being the governor’s son. The former king had been kind to him, playing chess and telling him stories. They got along well, despite the age gap between them.
…But that was before the sickness…
Gradually, Miguel had noticed that Philip had begun acting strangely. He would suddenly break out into maniacal laughter, or wake up on the roof. A former believer in the voice of the people, he began to manipulate the senate, bribing or threatening those who opposed his will. He became more moody as well, ranting and raving at nobody in particular, and always talking about “Minsk”. If Miguel hadn’t known better, he would have thought it was a woman, and not a Russian city. The sickly Consul would lavish over his map, and speak to it as if he was wooing the city.
When Minsk was finally his, Philip went haywire. He ran though the halls, yelling “She’s mine! She’s mine!” Miguel could still remember how he felt when he heard the news. The Spanish Capital would move to Minsk. Rioters took to the streets, declaring the Consul a “Madman, Traitor, Spaniard hater!” Many believed that Philip was mad, others, that he was more loyal to Europe than to Spain. Regardless, they all wanted one thing: his head.
Now Miguel’s thoughts turned to his father. A good friend of Philip’s, he thought he could talk some sense into him. He would spend hours arguing with him, but nothing ever changed. “You cannot steal my Jewel! No one can! She’s mine, and nothing will ever change that!” One night, after a particularly violent argument, he imprisoned and killed him.
That night had been last night, and now, Miguel was unsure what to do. Avenge his father, or protect his leader? Join the rebellion, or remain loyal to his country? The wealthy landowner was at a loss. But then, it dawned on him. Philip must have been poisoned. That is the only way he could have gone insane, become the twisted man that he is. Miguel decided he would find out what it was. He looked out the window and saw that the attack on the Senate was over, and the rebels were either dead or dying. He would be relatively safe as he went out this night.
He left the house as the last rays of sunlight left the sky and Madrid plunged into the ominous darkness of discontent and death. Miguel wrapped his coat closer around him as he hurried through the chill towards the Palace. As he approached the gates, he saw twice as many guards as usual, which did not surprise him. The rebels could attack anywhere at any time. When he tried to pass though, one of the guards stopped him.
“Excuse me sir, but you can’t go in there.”
“Perhaps you don’t recognize me, I’m Miguel Ramirez, and old friend of Philip’s and son of the Governor of Iberia.”
“Sure you are. And even if you were, I have orders not to let anyone in for any reason.”
“Fine.”
Ramirez turned around and stomped off, stopping his furious act as he turned the corner. He would have to find another way in. He thought of scaling the wall, but rejected it almost immediately, as he knew that would never work. Maybe if he dressed up as a servant…
Just then, he saw what looked like a beggar enter the sewer down the street. As he descended into the foul darkness, Miguel noticed the reflection of something shiny on his belt. Intrigued, he followed, careful not to alert the man to his presence. He had the distinct impression that this man was heading to the palace, although he couldn't prove it.
Enjoi!
MINSK, MADMEN, AND MAMOSA
It was a grim sight as the rioters were mowed down by Republic Guards. Wave after wave of protesters pushed up the steps, climbing over the bodies of their fallen comrades as they went. Each time, they would only get so far before another volley from the guards silenced them. All seemed hopeless.
Miguel Ramirez watched it all from the balcony of his house across the square. Rioters had poured the park in front of the Senate, demanding that the capital of Spain stay in Madrid. When First Consul Philip refused, the mob attacked, hoping to catch the Senate and force a compromise, Miguel knew what the outcome would be. Unarmed peasants and merchants stood no chance against Spanish rifles. Philip was effectively destroying all opposition to his decision my massacring all those present at the protest, and would not stop until the job was done.
Disgusted, Ramirez stepped away from the balcony, closing the curtains as he entered his study. Sitting down at his desk, he contemplated the events of the past few days. He was a wealthy man, and a former noble. When Philip was known as King Philip II, Miguel’s father had ruled much of the Iberian Peninsula. His desk was engraved with the finest carvings, and the paint on the walls contained flakes of gold. He was a very wealthy man indeed.
Miguel thought back to how this had all happened, when the chaos had begun. It seemed so distant, like a fantasy. The world could never be the way it once was. Once, Spain had been a prosperous republic, containing The Iberian Peninsula, Southern France, and Northern Italy. But then, Philip grew ambitious. He declared war on Germany, and soon it was his. It was in the middle of a bitter struggle with Russia at the time, and stood no chance against the well trained Spanish armies. Before 1823, Spain ruled most of Western Europe. But that could not satisfy Philip, he wanted more.
In 1834 he declared war on Russia. Again, his foe’s armies were tied up elsewhere, warring against the mighty Mongolian Empire. There were a many early Spanish victories, giving almost all of Europe to the greedy Philip.
Miguel had spent a lot of time with Philip, being the governor’s son. The former king had been kind to him, playing chess and telling him stories. They got along well, despite the age gap between them.
…But that was before the sickness…
Gradually, Miguel had noticed that Philip had begun acting strangely. He would suddenly break out into maniacal laughter, or wake up on the roof. A former believer in the voice of the people, he began to manipulate the senate, bribing or threatening those who opposed his will. He became more moody as well, ranting and raving at nobody in particular, and always talking about “Minsk”. If Miguel hadn’t known better, he would have thought it was a woman, and not a Russian city. The sickly Consul would lavish over his map, and speak to it as if he was wooing the city.
When Minsk was finally his, Philip went haywire. He ran though the halls, yelling “She’s mine! She’s mine!” Miguel could still remember how he felt when he heard the news. The Spanish Capital would move to Minsk. Rioters took to the streets, declaring the Consul a “Madman, Traitor, Spaniard hater!” Many believed that Philip was mad, others, that he was more loyal to Europe than to Spain. Regardless, they all wanted one thing: his head.
Now Miguel’s thoughts turned to his father. A good friend of Philip’s, he thought he could talk some sense into him. He would spend hours arguing with him, but nothing ever changed. “You cannot steal my Jewel! No one can! She’s mine, and nothing will ever change that!” One night, after a particularly violent argument, he imprisoned and killed him.
That night had been last night, and now, Miguel was unsure what to do. Avenge his father, or protect his leader? Join the rebellion, or remain loyal to his country? The wealthy landowner was at a loss. But then, it dawned on him. Philip must have been poisoned. That is the only way he could have gone insane, become the twisted man that he is. Miguel decided he would find out what it was. He looked out the window and saw that the attack on the Senate was over, and the rebels were either dead or dying. He would be relatively safe as he went out this night.
He left the house as the last rays of sunlight left the sky and Madrid plunged into the ominous darkness of discontent and death. Miguel wrapped his coat closer around him as he hurried through the chill towards the Palace. As he approached the gates, he saw twice as many guards as usual, which did not surprise him. The rebels could attack anywhere at any time. When he tried to pass though, one of the guards stopped him.
“Excuse me sir, but you can’t go in there.”
“Perhaps you don’t recognize me, I’m Miguel Ramirez, and old friend of Philip’s and son of the Governor of Iberia.”
“Sure you are. And even if you were, I have orders not to let anyone in for any reason.”
“Fine.”
Ramirez turned around and stomped off, stopping his furious act as he turned the corner. He would have to find another way in. He thought of scaling the wall, but rejected it almost immediately, as he knew that would never work. Maybe if he dressed up as a servant…
Just then, he saw what looked like a beggar enter the sewer down the street. As he descended into the foul darkness, Miguel noticed the reflection of something shiny on his belt. Intrigued, he followed, careful not to alert the man to his presence. He had the distinct impression that this man was heading to the palace, although he couldn't prove it.
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