Isabella's Crusade

It was rare for much noise to intrude into Isabella's suites. Separated from the throne room and other localities where she might be forced into contact with lessers by a hundred foot hallway and several feet of stone, it was thus with some alarm that she abandoned her diary to investigate. Indeed, as she rose, a small silver bell connected to the throne room began to ring, signaling that her august presence was desired.

That, of course, did not mean she would deign to run.

Stalking down the hallway, the babble of her many servants growing to a crescendo, she threw open the door and was immediately mobbed, a semicircle of frantic chattering courtiers forming instantaneously at the threshold. "SILENCE, you fools!" Silence was had. Immediately.

"Tch." Pushing her way through the crowd to sit down, she cleared her throat and swept angry eyes over the crowd. "Are you not men? Behave. Now, Domestic."

A spindly man with graying hair emerged from the crowd of advisers. "Slave revolt in Barcelona." "That's it? I trust there must be something more important. Given the situation, mollify them somewhat." The crowd shrunk by one. "Military, go."

One of the largest men - muscles long since grown flabby - pushed out of the crowd to report. "We've stumbled across Russian spies in Valencia. That city holds almost half our army, including the few Knights we've managed to train."

Clatter. Smash. A pair of unsuspecting vases were dashed against the floor. "Very well. It was not entirely unexpected, even if it does mean that we'll have very little of the element of surprise. Ready the troops, Spain will likely declare this turn, maybe next. I want reports now on how much stuff we can get across the border this turn." She paused. "I can live with two stacks, but don't split into three." Minus two courtiers.

"Please don't tell me there's more." For a few seconds, all that could be heard was the sound of shuffling feet and muted whispers. "I see, there is more." Clunk. The room had run out of vases. Statuary wasn't nearly as satisfying to dislodge, but one did what one had to do. "Right, man up. You're only making it worse on yourself."

An apparent member of the aristocracy snuck out of the crowd. A little foppish. "We've just had contact with a caravel. Hannibal of Carthage is on line 1. And...he's already met Catherine, according to the Diplomacy screen. And...they're friendly."

Crash. Bang. Rattle. The assembled servants had already started to shuffle back. This was before Isabella toppled her throne to the ground, sending chips of marble flying from the floor to mix with gems that had just been dislodged from their gold inlays on the edge of the now-prone seat of Spanish power. More than half the courtiers had now decided on what exit to run for if things got really ugly.

The tantrum suddenly stopped, Isabella dropping to her knees."Forgive my anger, Father, but have we not been your most humble and obedient servants at all times? How have we sinned such that you would lead us so far into darkness." A pause. "Right. Hannibal and Catherine friendly means at least some technology trading has occurred. Please tell me Catherine doesn't have Gunpowder." "Ah, em, no sign of Gunpowder. I believe only Paper for Banking was consummated."

"Well, that's something. It's barely worth asking, but I'll do it anyway. We have nothing to trade Hannibal, correct?" She received a nod, barely managing to restrain a renewed assault against her various possessions. "He has all strategic resources?" Another nod. Spain would've happily spared an extra Iron for the four resources it could bring in return. "Hannibal shouldn't want anything for open borders, and it would be really strange if he was isolated, so hopefully we can find some others in the near future. If nothing else, he's not terribly far ahead."

Having run out of breakable objects and confronted with a host of problems, Isabella's anger had begun to subside. If not subside, she had the control to push it underneath rational thought, at least for the moment, while she paced the throne room. "Okay. He's below both of us power-wise and Galleons still aren't soon. I trust there is no more news?" A silence. "Let us thank Him for small mercies. I therefore see nothing stopping us, go ahead and declare on Catherine. I may yet decide to join the troops in a few turns, but let's hope our field commanders find sufficient success to render that unnecessary.

Isabella completed a few more laps of the spacious chamber before drawing to a halt. "Am I forgetting anything?" Another silence. One of the drawbacks of such a rule as Isabella maintained. Advisors had short life expectancies, which had long-term costs. She wasn't going to try to start ruling through rainbows and daffodils anytime soon, though. "Well then, it seems our business is concluded. I expect good reports in the very near future. Dismissed."

They were only more than happy to oblige in an extremely rapid fashion.

Anger could be suppressed, but it took a little more to get rid of it. Stress led to bad decisions, and leading Almighty Spain for six thousand years and change had a terrible habit of being extremely stressful. As this had been one of the worst turns in recent memory, Isabella was already on her way to her personal scratching post before the last of her courtiers had even managed to escape.

She didn't bother to change. Heels clacked rapidly down the stairs. Only a third of the usual torches were lit. Elizabeth, one can only presume, was well aware of her warden's foul humor even before a word was spoken. Of course, what conversation that occurred generally was very one-sided.

The stocks and maggots had been a good treatment. The stumps of Elizabeth's arms had taken on a deep red color. Black or green would have been troublesome. There was still some specks of dried blood on the floor from the surgery, but nobody would be able to see them by torchlight. "Well, I'm sorry to inform you, Your Highness, that tonight might be a bit worse than usual. Blame Hannibal, blame your incompetent military, I don't care. Just pray."

Isabella perused her selection of implements. She was in the mood for something heavier than usual. Hard to blame her, though. Grabbing a small, spiked hammer, she turned to face her captive, still bent over in the pillory. "I'm going to enjoy this. I want you to know that." With those words, she brought the hammer down in a wet crunch on Elizabeth's left kneecap. A scream Then the right kneecap. A louder scream. Then a succession of frantic screams echoed back and forth throughout the vault. Those injuries weren't going to be fully healed until the advent of Future Tech, but Isabella wasn't expecting that either of them would see that.

Elizabeth's body jerked backwards as far as the pillory would allow, as her legs were now unable to support any weight. Lashing out at the knees a few more times without real effect, Isabella suddenly reversed the hammed and jammed the spiked end into Liz's remaining eye. That wasn't going to heal anytime soon either. The volume of screams didn't intensify, but that might be due to physical impossibilities.

"Oh my. Decisions, decisions." Isabella let her hand run gently down the side of Elizabeth's emaciated and shaking body. "We've had a good run, haven't we?" Of course, no answer was forthcoming. Turning away for a split second to procure a torch from the wall, a truly wicked smile broke out over the Spanish monarch's features. "Unfortunately - or fortunately, perhaps - I believe our journey ends here."

Then with one quick motion, Isabella touched the torch to Elizabeth's long, ragged red hair. Arms trapped in the pillory, broken legs scrabbled against the floor, desperately prying for a grasp to escape the heat. The instinct only succeeded in driving the shin bones further and further into the dank air of the dungeon, spilling growing amounts of blood onto the stone floor.

The fire quickly climbed up the reddish locks towards the scalp as Elizabeth's screams reached a new frequency, realizing this was the end. Stumps of arms waving furiously from the stocks, twisted legs pushing helplessly against the floor, the fire jumped from her hair to the skin of her back and shoulders.

"Goodbye, Elizabeth."

Isabella was already feeling much better as she turned away from her screaming captive. The screams did not fade as she strode up the stairs, a smile on her face. They just stopped, replaced by the soft cracklings of a dying fire.