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Minsk, Madmen, and Mamosa

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  • Minsk, Madmen, and Mamosa

    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.
    Last edited by Nylan-Nolan; April 5, 2005, 13:47.
    If I only had a brain...

  • #2
    When he descended into the depths of Madrid's underbelly, Miguel was hit by a wave of odors unlike anything he had ever smelled before. It was so bad, in fact, that he wondered how it was possible that the scum clinging to the walls survived. He was nearly knocked out by the many strange things his nostrils were meeting for the first time. However, more determined to find a way into the palace than to avoid sickness, he pushed on though the murky sewer. He was careful not to step in the river of filth itself as he marked the strange man, both out of practicallity, as he did not want to alert the man that he was being followed, and also out of sanitation.

    After a minute or so of traveling down this river of death, the "beggar" began knocking on the walls, as if expecting to hear something. He would stop, knock, shake his head, and then move on a few feet before beginning again. After a few tries, he smiled, and then pulled out a key of some sort. From his distance, Miguel could not see what it was, but he was able to discern that it was metal, probably gold, and that it it had a symbol on it. The "beggar" then stuck the object in a niche in the wall, and it opened. He checked to make sure that nobody on the other side saw him perform his actions, and then scurried inside.

    Miguel was quick to follow, but he got a pant leg stuck in the door as it closed behind him. He tugged on it, hoping to get it free, but to no avail. At length he ripped the ensnared part off and did his best to make the piece of cloth in the wall look as inconspicuous as possible, placing a Bonzai tree in a pot in front of it.
    If I only had a brain...

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    • #3
      "Wait, Bonzai?" Bonzai were oriental plants, and very expensive. The only people who owned them, or at least, that Miguel knew of, were himself and...

      "Philip! Consul Philip! I have an urgent message from the borders!" A scribe outside the room Ramirez had followed the so-called beggar was aparantly calling to Philip. This meant that he was in the Palace. For a moment Miguel was joyful that his suspicions were correct, that the beggar would lead him here. However, it disappeared swiftly when he realized the implications thereof. Who was this man, and what was he doing in the palace? Whatever it was, it couldn't be good. He needed to find him and stop him from doing whatever it was he was here to do before-

      "No!" Philip's cry echoed down the hall as Miguel was about to open the door. Instead, he pressed his ear up against it, trying to discern from the Consul's sobs what was going on.

      "I can't believe they've taken her. It- she was the most wonderful- what will I do without her?"

      "There there," the scribe replied, "Why don't you go into your study, and I'll be right there with something to settle your nerves. Some more Russian mamosa, perhaps?"

      The Consul sniffled, "I suppose that would be nice..."

      The door began to open. Miguel became alarmed as he realized that he would be caught. The former king, in his unstable condition, would probably have him imprisoned or killed, not realizing who he was sentencing.

      But then, the door stopped. Miguel spent no time diving behind an elaborate desk in the corner, breathing a sigh of relief and saying a quick prayer of thanks to god for causing the Consul to pause for a moment.

      After staying behind the desk for a minute, Miguel began to wonder what had caused Philip to delay his entry. He worked up his courage, and then decided he would take a peek outside the door. He crept across the floor, ready to dive back behind the desk at any sign of movement, an reached the door. It was still slightly ajar, and something was in it. Miguel looked down and to his horror saw the Consul's hand, bearing his ring of office. He opened the door to reveal his fallen form, crumpled upon the floor. He was wearing a red silk robe, and it was stained with something. There was also a glass in his other hand, the one outside the door.

      Miguel then heard men running down the hall, guards no doubt. Someone had sounded an alarm. They would find him, and he would probably be blamed for his death, as Philip was definately dead. There was no escape, unless...
      If I only had a brain...

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      • #4
        I read this earlier today while on the train, thanks. It is good to have something to read on the train

        and welcome back...
        Gurka 17, People of the Valley
        I am of the Horde.

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        • #5
          Hello, NN. Glad to see you back. I was catching up on some of the things I missed in the forums here in the past week or so, and saw this. It really is very enjoyable.
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