Now, two weeks and a bunch of rats later, and I can safely say the following. GODS DAMN DOES DOING BRAIN SURGERY WHILE YOUR STILL AWAKE HURT LIKE A MOTHER FUCKING BITCH!!!!!! i mean yeah, expanded my range of information and 'skill' processing, as I'm now able to focus on additional streams of thought, but that does not stop it from hurting like hell. And of course my shield does not protect me from myself... I hate myself, but I hate these rats more.
That said, as I examine and feel it, as I finish with the level up and spending of my goodies (including making sure to buy Wrath Unleashed, variable Eldritch Blast, before I leveled up, to grab a sweet advanced manifestation right off the bat), there was a distinctly feral cast to my smile, as I giggled and unleashed the cold and deadly fury of the Canadian north down onto another rat, its flesh freezing as it screamed and stiffened, glittering crystals of frost in its fur. Frankly, a ranged option was a relief. A range option I could unleash at will and that nobody could take away from me? If you want to buy bread use copper, for everything else there is glorious violence!
That said, I did have to wait till nightfall to sneak away and head to the grain silo. Which likely had an entrance to 'the dungeon' in the bottom, that if I was going to guess right, only a toddler or rat could fit through easily. Mostly as this was a real world more or less, as I've seen some of the men patrolling as the rats get worse, torches in hand as they hunt down rats and lay traps in an effort to stem the tide. A part of me feels guilty as fuck, as I should have tried the dungeon sooner....
And then I come to my senses, a wave of frost flickering over my fingers, as it's not like I would have been able to do much with just my handy-dandy club and fairly fragile shield other than get overwhelmed and eaten alive. I mean, I managed to get the drop on small groups of rats, but even then they managed to occasionally break through the shield and I needed to chant my way back to health before mother noticed in the morning. Which, on reflection, was why I got so frustrated and terrified when I failed that quest objective. Potions and scrolls might have taken a while to set up and get ready, but damn they would have been useful.
Still, before I went out into the night, I grabbed hold of a piece of cured leather. To be honest, I was not sure about taking this, stealing it really, even if it was just a scrap, as I kneeled down and closed my eyes, feeling the leather and humming. It was a simple thing, as I reached down to that sea of power, and began to call it forth.
Honestly, as I focused on the leather, as I shaped it and ran streamers of power through it, as I focused… I thought of armor, of protections, of layered plates and steel, of leather padding and foam between layers, of wires and mesh that absorbed and deflected as everything pulsed and moved to the tune of my beating heart, as streamers of myself were expelled and hammered into place by my breath, as thoughts directed them to the forms they took even as they faded to the visible eye, as they buckled and rippled… and stayed as I thought as I thought only of protection, of defense.
And as my eyes opened to the silence of ringing steel, the little scrap of leather in my hand broke and crumbled, ashes in the wind as I donned the Mage Armor.
As it was, as I approached the silo, one of the reasons I needed to have finished the haunter's third bonus objective? Darkstalker ;let me hide from a creature with the scent ability. I could in fact, manage to hide from the rats now and make my way via ambush much more easily and with far fewer risks. Which, as the area I was going into was likely pitch black? Yeah, I would actually be in a better position than the rats would be, as far as stealth and detection went.. Which, when combined with my new ranged attack....
I giggled, as I made his way between the buildings, weaving and ducking out of sight, moving as quickly as I could afford to. Sure, ten minutes later I reached the grain silo (north star, so lovely tonight as you shine so bright!) and as I slipped inside.... yeah, there was a rat, there was a flash frozen dead rat. It did not take me too long to find the way down into 'the dungeon' which looked more like a few old cellars, but yeah, as suspected, this thing was only just barely big enough for me to squeeze through. Yet, a wide grin on my face, I took the plunge into the unknown. While I could fail, I would try to be a hero (in the Greek fashion if nothing else due to where I was living), and the heroic life was all about risks and glory.
That, and there was a relic down here that was causing disease. Odds were, it was something awesome and useful... but the side effects are not worth it. That and a cache of scrolls? My mystical research would benefit massively as I could just copy them over into the spellbook. Which... was mostly memory at the point. Huh. downsides really. Yet, what could I do, but shrug and move downwards to glory?
Now, the positive side. It was not a long climb to the first room of the 'dungeon' which really just looked like an old root cellar. Also, it was dusty, moldy and smelled like rat piss and GM fait. Granted, I had no reason to complain about that... even as I manfully held in a whimper. Now, as for why I'm holding in a whimper. Tell me, what is going to be your reaction when you spot a seething carpet of brown furred bodies, most of them busy crawling over each other and humping? There were a lot of rats. About three swarms worth of ,my guess was correct and frankly, I did NOT want to find out as my shield would not last long against that tidal wave of teeth.
So, as they were clearly occupied, I did what made sense, and examined the room, breathing and heartbeat quiet as I tried to get a rough measure. All in the range of darkvision, based on the length of the rats.....Well..... I positioned myself and briefly closed my eyes, hands moving before me, palms to the roof as they formed cups, as I took a deep breath in. As I breathed out, hands moved, cold gathering in them, as with a breath, a shout and the palms all but being thrown towards the rats I gave my most inspired battlecry yet!
"[I am Canadian!]" And with that, the cold embrace of winter winds lashed out, magic flowing and rippling into the expression of winters cold fury as i invested power to make this bigger, to burn through my reserves in a desperate gamble as they shrieked and squealed and howled, many rats on the edges dying of thermal shock, and yet.... the good side was I was only dealing with a third as many rats!
Which honestly meant I was dealing with a single swarm of rats instead of three. Which was reliving on so many levels. Though, as their little fangs and claws were eating at my shield and I was on the verge of freaking the fuck out, could have just been involuntary pissing as a fear response again. I'm a toddler. Kiss my tiny wiener. It is also ironic that it is likely the mixture of embarrassment, terror and ranting in my head that gave me the focus to blast again, chill winter winds savaging the remaining horde.
To which, as I shook off some frozen rats (I recommend against frozen rodent jewelry), I had but one thing to sum up and say. "[Thank fuck swarms are weak against AoE.]" Which really... rats. There was likely going to be a rat swarm at some point because its a logical way to keep the same kind of critter while making them a valid threat. And thank fuck I had been able to take them by surprise and they died like chumps.
Of course, looking around, there was a door halfway off its hinges, rotted halfway off, on the other side of the room.... and some snorting and shuffling sounds coming from said room. From something likely a bit bigger than the rats.
Now, it should not have been surprising when the 'boss' of the dungeon came into the room, and just what it was. So far, standard rats, rat swarm... and now a dire rat thats bigger than usual, with sleek fur and what appears to be opposable thumbs on its front paws. This was no rat, as it looked at me with beady and sleepy eyes, this was something on the verge of becoming a skaven! Which meant there was one logical course of action!
"[Die you games workshop piece of shit!]" Which was of course to try and blast it, as it squealed and dodged, even as the cold nipped its flanks... and as teeth managed to puncture the shield, sharp and throbbing. Which, ouch, ouch, pain hurt! I'm not ashamed to admit I went a little berserk with the odd appearance of the rat, as I tried to blast and bludgeon it. Granted, soon enough, as the red haze lifted (with the smell of minty hot cocoa)... I winced and whimpered, looking at the fact that... yeah, I was bleeding onto a corpse.
Wincing, I looked at my HP pool and... yeah, so many things I could have done better, differently or at all to try and prepare in what time I had.... even as one crucial detail stood out. Mage armor blocked the vast majority of the damage from said fangs from getting through, and it was only the few lucky bites on its part that I had the shallow injuries I did.
Yet, even as I winced and moved, there were a few things I needed to do. And honestly? Finding the relic was not that hard. I mean, an ivory arrow with a faint glowing green sheen around the head? Yeah, that was it. And the effect was interesting, though I lacked the mythos to really examine it. As it was, it let me use Cure Light Wounds as per the spells actual casting time, and it might do the same with other Apollo aligned spells.
Still, enacting the healing ritual, even at the vastly reduced time, was something I had somewhat more practice with, as I settled. Closing my eyes as I focused. Breathing steady as in my minds eye I brought the image of my Self, lens through the concept of the Forms, and imposed it over myself as I drew on power, as I drew on streams of potential and change to make my flesh and bones as whole according to the template of my ideal Self.
Healing was like feeling your flesh turn briefly to clay, or maybe water, as it rippled and moved into place, snapping back into shape and filling in, the mass coming from dreams and possibilities, or maybe just out of nowhere. My lips parted in a grin, as I gave a wild giggle. It was something I was going to have to find out!
Still, as I snuck out of the empty temple, arrow laying on the altar, the side effects were just not worth the cost. Yawning, I pulled myself back into the crib as the quest alert dinged and EXP and rewards flooded in. Meh, I'll deal with that in the morning.
To be a woman of Syramis was an honor and a step above what many women of the Hellenic cities could reasonably expect. While in many ways second class citizens, a free woman of Syramis was able to inherit (to a degree), could hold property (to a degree) and could socialize in the markets. Of course, the exact freedoms were more a matter of quiet custom than law, and those of the city saw no reason to loudly proclaim it, not needing to offend their neighbors and their delicate sensibilities when they did not need to. In many ways, despite being of Ioina, they have taken from their Doric neighbors. Of course, there were the more obvious scandals as well.
Granted, as she shook her head, a smile on her face, her cousin Antheia was never going to be married at this rate, even if she did have some suitors. After all, when the winner of a Olympic pankration event requests as her homes boon that only one that defeats her in a wrestling match be allowed to marry her? The look on young Pelonus's face! And really, it was good of her that she had not maimed or killed any of those hopeful boys that looked up to her.
Still, as she walked into the Academy (funded and supported by the amusingly named Athenian Sisterhood, no matter how much it tweaked the noses of those of Athens) where she was to teach, a hand lingered on her belly, and the swiftly growing bump, as a warm smile crossed her lips. She wished the child would survive, and be a boy. While daughters were a delight... well, a son would help secure things to her direct family and provide sweet Timon with some peace of mind.
As she lay on the birthing bed, panting and flush with sweat, she was... not really cross, no, disappointed perhaps that the Persians had called for her husband. It was understandable really, as he had been all but forced to accept becoming a minor official under the Satrap as the son of the one the houses great leaders. But, she had her daughters, as the child left her womb and he began to cry out. She wished to comfort him, to wrap him tight and embrace him... and yet... so many died in the first few days.
Still, she smiled at her Pythias, who but a short few years ago had learned what it meant to be a mother, whose hands were wrapping her crying younger brother in his swaddling cloth, even as Mykale and Katana whispered to each other, wide eyed and curious, not entirely sure of themselves and this strange new member of the household. Still, even as her new child suckled, she smiled and called them over, arm moving to hug and embrace them. She but hoped that Timon would be back soon.
When her beloved returned, he was wary and covered with dust, looking for all the world like he was a man bearing dreadful tidings. Still, Metis met him with their daughters and slaves, welcoming him back and embracing him, a gesture that he returned, that faint frown turning into the hints of a smile. "Metis, my wife." His tone was... well, really, he was tired and far more than just physically. As it is, while the revolt, to the best of her knowledge was over... well, while the Persians had punished those doing the actual revolting, the Athenians had their hands in things. As usual.
Still, there were more important matters to attend to at the moment. "Timon, my beloved husband." There was a smile on her face, as she bowed her head, hands squeezing before she let go and stood back with the rest of the household. "While you were away, a new life was brought into the household, for your inspection." Now, as it had been two months and her son seemed hale and healthy, it was largely ritualistic. He would have no reason to abandon him, and besides, he needed a heir if he would not take Medios or Kallon did not return. Sadly, she was not sure Kallon ever would.
He may as well be dead, or drunk in a gutter somewhere, but her boy had barely been able to move from one end of the city to the other without getting hopelessly lost. So far from home? Only the gods would tell if he makes it back.
Still, Timons smile is curious, as he cocks his head, and she smiles, knowing and pleased, as she begins to move, hips swaying gently as she turns, gesturing for him to follow. There is a huff from her man, but, she would make it up to him later.
Yet as they entered the womans quarters, where her little boys crib lay, there was the faintest shroud of doubt in her heart. While her son was a child of hers, she had, at times, doubts if he was truly Timon's. Not for anything physical, but... as gurgles in something, as if the child was attempting to mutter or speak in some strange language, the fact that he seemed unbothered by the extremes of heat or cold... and then, there had been the rat. The rat that had been covered in frost (similar to what she had heard of ice or snow that was on the highest peaks in the cold months) and as stiff as length of wood?
And if her baby boy had looked surprised she could have passed it off as merely divine protection, though given the strange nature it might be a foreign god. Instead, he had, as she came into the room, a guilty look in those far too knowing eyes, eyes that watched and you could feel trying to understand everything around him. It was, to put it lightly, uncanny.
Yet, as Timon stepped into the room, his pace measured with a warriors tread, he spoke, shoulders betraying the relief that he felt. "A son. A heir for the house." Which was it would be. Yes, as her husband walked forward and picked their son up (for as he acknowledged it, so it was), there was the pain that only a man could inherit the full width of political power... but they were aware of those who became too outspoken. "Xenophon, son of Timon of the House of Víaios, a boy of the Syramis I name him."
Her husband pronounced the words with the weight of truth, with stone carved fact, she smiled, moving to take her son, her Xenophon, into her arms, as he continued to watch, as her little one kept listening. Still, as she looked at her husband, smile on her face, there was something just a little teasing, a little more youthful playing at her lips. "I thank you my husband, for accepting him into the house." Still, even as she gently put him back into the crib, lips brushing his forehead, well, she had some important questions to ask her husband.
"Are you heading directly for the assembly, or shall you be refreshing yourself after this long journey?" As she spoke her hips and shoulders swayed, and her Timon, hands moving to slide across the curve of her back replied, his tone amused and yet weary.
"Alas my wife, while I would desire to refresh myself before facing them, there is no time." His tone was heavy, the warmth seeping out of it, but more in the way of a man that was about to leave than one who just came home. "The muster has been called, as the King of Kings has seen the hand of Athens in this revolt, and wishes to remove those who would stir discontent in his empire from the face of this world. And our Satrap," his tone was hard, firm and with just enough venom that made the fact he was leaving now all the more disappointing, "and that gutless and mindless jackal Farrokh of Sardis has called for us by name."
Her lips closed as her eyes narrowed. "So, it will be war then." War meant death and rape. No matter how sweetly the poets spoke of glory... was glory truly worth the cost of their sons and husbands? Of the dead that would litter the field? She did not think so. But, as her eyes hardened, as she shared a grim nod with her husband, she would do her duty.
After all, in the house of Viaios, it was not just the men who were trained for when life came for them.
Spoiler: Authors Notes
Now, I could go into long and glorious detail about what happened over the next two years and eight months of my life, after I had battled the terrifying as hell rat of unusual size. Sadly, it was mostly wandering the house, occasionally sneaking out at night to run around a bit... and a day spent in horrific agony because I am a dumbass. Sure, removing some of the extended nerve clusters I wove into my brain to expand them and enhance them as I sung a song of growing and learning stung like a wasp decided it wanted to get to know you better via its stinger. Sort of a short sharp thing, a sudden spike of pain and a long period of dull throbbing as I expanded and enhanced the tiny little tendrils that would be woven back into my grey matter.
Now, to make it clear, magical brain surgery where I removed my brain, tinkered around with it and then put it back in was not the horrific agony I was talking about. No, that was when I made my selections for mythos, and picked up that which would make me Wolverine. Augmented Bone-Bolstering Empowerment (Howling Berserker Augments). Now, this came with benefits that would likely outweigh all the problems in time. After all, greater resistance to disease and poison? Show me anyone who says those aren't worth it, and I'll show you someone who does not have to live in a land without all the medical advantages we take for granted.
So, for twenty four hours I cried and wailed and tossed and turned, as I shook and screamed, as nerves were exposed to liquid molten metal that seeped into and bonded with my bones, as my bodies ability to heal increased, just to survive this. Tell me, what would your reaction be, as molten fire spread from your bone marrow outwards, as you could feel yourself melting and burning as your bones were transmuted with the howling roar of beasts in the back of your mind, of the rip and tear of flesh parting and the sheer stench of the battlefield flowing into your nose? Of your body devouring itself to feed the inferno even as it throw patches up to be devoured, hoping against hope that the flames would burn themselves out? And then, with dull aching thumps, the fires recede, leaving ice so cold that it burns behind, your bones grinding and tearing as all settles into place? Never really fading, just getting used to it.
The sad thing is of course, that the physical agony was actually the least painful part of the entire procedure. You know, I had forgotten something important, and something that tripped up more than one Isekei protagonist that also had a 'game system' as their cheat power. That is, while it may use a game mechanics to provide a framework, it was a real life, a real world and drawing on primordial narratives had consequences.
As it is, I did not really notice it until this moment, as my mind turned inward to try and escape the pain, a sort of deep and unintentional meditation that allowed me to get a good hard look at my soul. Well, more like a look through a funhouse mirror, at night and with a dense fog as all while the eyes are going back to the old 'needs glasses to see more than colored blurs'. Which, when it comes to looking at your own soul, is pretty damn clear.
It was that, or my spirit animal was some sort of giant cancerous badger whose body was either mutating and self devouring flesh with metal in the form of countless weapons erupting in bursts of gore even as they melted back into the churning maelstrom, runic patterns whispering and screaming as they raced across flesh and steel to that single and baleful cry of 'WHY!'
That was one hell of a day.
Good and bad thing? Mother had been praying over me, invoking Asclepius and Apollo that I not pass into Hades realm. Which... yeah, from the tears on her face, and that of my sisters? They cared for me.... which... well, I was feeling things. Confusing things, but that comes with the clash of being aware of a previous life. I think. I only had the one I'm aware of and getting this second one kind of had circumstances.
But yeah, was taken to the shrine after that... which actually, was pretty neat. You see, my family lived on the west side of the hill, not on the central forum, but pretty damn close due to the fact that Father was from what I could make out, the eldest son of one of the leaders of the Houses. On the one hand, upper class family means I have opportunities. Downside, I'm going to be deeply involved in politics. Joy.
Still, the house we lived in was somewhat fancier than most of the others, it had a second floor for one thing, but in general I'm guessing that the upper class homes were pretty similar. From what I could make out in my nightly explorations, those families who were not able to dwell in more central areas of the hill had one story houses made of just three rooms. Granted, I could be guessing a bit, as I was not sneaking into peoples homes!
The shrine itself was a simple thing, a rectangular building on the east side of the public forum, made of the same rounded boulders patched with clay, sand and hay as the rest of the buildings. Or in other words, nothing near as uniform and pretty as all the media would lead you to suspect. Still, there were a few things that bothered me in some respects, on reflection. Wasn't Greek culture sexist as hell? Or, as mine little eyes looked around, was that just the literature that survived to the modern era? After all, the victors write the history books and the dead couldn't give more than the bare bones about the social fabric of the times. Or maybe they could? Look, there are only so many fields a guy can look into and I never looked into the reconstruction of social fabrics via archeological forensics.
Still, we went into the temple, she gave thanks and left a little clay tablet with... well, me drawn on it, before she left, making sure I was waddling beside her. All in all, not a bad outing.
Now, there were benefits and drawbacks for growing up. While in the last life this included things like no longer being able to access the areas with video games and fun activities (such as board games with other people and strategy gams) and instead being herded towards food, booze, shopping and gambling in this one? Well, I was deposited with others of similar age. Well, more like most of them were a bit older (including my nephew. Huh), but still. For the most part, I sat in a corner and had the other boys laugh at me because I was willing to listen to the girls instead of trying to pick a fight to prove how hard I was.
I knew how hard I was, and I had nothing to prove. That, and sitting there as a two year old and staring, while occasionally nodding is considered nothing too unusual and it was excellent practice for tuning things out! Also, I was trying to figure out how to sleep with my eyes open, as I had been this close to figuring out the trick in my past life! And it would make things so much easier in this one as well... particularly if I could figure out the legendary combined Lucid Dreaming and Sleepwalking Trick!
Still, for the most part... it was good getting to know some of the others. I mean sure, I might have gotten a bit of a brain upgrade, but I was still shit at actually remembering peoples names. If it was used around me all the time? Sure. Otherwise? I was a good and quiet child that only really spoke when spoken to... and watched.
Incidentally, for my habit of watching and keeping quiet I'm either considered to be simple, creepy or a wise young soul depending on a few people. Which yeah. Mixed bag but at least its not all negative?
Now, I finally found out the year, and mostly from context and chance really, as I kept sneaking around even with my now much heavier bones. Good side of said bones, they don't break easily and allow me to throw a mean punch. Downside, my bones are literally made of living metal and I've been getting so many ideas for how to incorporate steel, bronze and iron into flesh. That... and until their numbers plummeted, I did not really notice that the drives of the Krekeri had been influencing me as much as they had. The need to hunt, to gather the flesh and make it whole again... and of course, it clashed with some of the other elements that made up my metaphysical being.
Sometimes, I really think I should have gone for something less metaphysically complicated than tying my power to narrative/conceptual power sources in which I was an outside agent used as a canvas and tool for greater tales outside of the direct control of said forces. Yet, how to explain the mess in clear and 'simple terms' that don't make me sound like a raving lunatic? Granted, on second thought, I was going to do as any more or less sane person did and tried to ignore the worst parts of this. Sure, I was going to try... indulging at some time, because you never miss the little things, like a more or less normal and human soul, until you twisted and stained it for power.
But yeah, tangent on my fucked up metaphysics aside, apparently the date of my bones going metal was the same day that the Battle of Marathon occurred. . Which yeah, I was not even a year and a half old at the time, so... second invasion and the Spartans would, assuming shit did not happen to disrupt things like in Occult Classic (please oh mighty and awesome DM, no Necronomicon in Egypt!). Thankfully, my father was not among the casualties of said battle, which was a relief really.
But yeah, time passed, and on my third birthday my father explained the reason for the sword. Turns out, its a family heirloom, passed from father to son to be a training weapon. A connection to our ancestors, as we learn at least the basics of the family trade. Which yeah, came as something interesting, as he mentioned one of the reasons why he was annoyed with the Persians taking him away to become an official. As it turns out, our line of the family were smiths. It was a trade that brought honor to the house, trained the body and enabled us to always have good armor and weapons.
Which actually was the keys to the houses power. The house itself owned the cities iron mine, the smithy, much of the land by the river and the best weapons and armor. Our claim to fame, such as it was, was the fact that all of the members of our house could fight, even those who were not part of the family. And that threw me for a loop, as I learned the lore of the city, or the basics.
So, each of the 'Houses' was actually a tribe as far as organization went. There was the family at the center, of the house and its branching lines (My uncle Lukos would be Lukos son of Philokrates of the house of Vilos of the line of Philokrates for example, while his sons would be son of Lukos of the line of Philokrates, because thats were they branched from the center family), and then those 'Sworn to the house of Vilos' as vassal families. Which to be entirely honest, seemed to be more complicated than I was expecting. Then again, just because the technology is not as sophisticated in some respects did not mean that their political systems were any less complex.
Now, as it is, most of my time leading up to the age of six was spent listening to the tales of Grandfather, Philokrates. Now, what can I say about that old man? He was easily sixty years old, his hair thin and white, posture somewhat stooped from a life at the forge, but damn if the old man was not a tough old coot! Now, his skin was bronzed and weathered and yet the impression you might get if you came across him as he sat on a stump was who carved and stained an oak sculpture of an old warrior temporarily at rest. If not for the weathering of his skin and color of his hair? He had a built a thirty year old warrior would be envious of.
And what did this old grandfather like doing in his old age? Well, from what I could tell, having grandchildren around him as he talked about the old days, how you can't trust either the Spartans or Athenians and how the Persians at least would usually leave us alone. Well, that and he regaled us for a few hours each day of the family history, of the legends and myths, of the feuds and favors owed and owing, of the raids and wars and the fact that the greatest treasure of all was peace.
Which honestly, as I listened to him I was confused about, until he did elaborate, pointing to the constant wars and fighting of the mainland greeks and asking a simple enough question to all the boys and girls looking up at him with wide and attentive eyes in that courtyard. What was the point of it all? It was one thing to fight to defend home and family, this was noble and just. But to war for the sake of war, to kill that you might have your name spoken of? That was the path of someone afraid of hard work. He actually pulled out the single and bundle of sticks lesson... and as well as tasked us to each create, using buckets of sand , some rocks and sticks, little buildings in the middle of the courtyard, as adults watched on, amused.
As it was, we formed up our own little groups to create said little sandcastles, as he had said nothing about how we could not work together (not to mention he had just gotten done telling us stories of how working together was good), so as it was my cousin's Auxesia (Pumba's daughter, she was maybe three months older than me. Cute kid, she had strawberry blonde hair, sea green eyes and freckles on the end of her nose. Not to mention a mean right hook) and Thoë (Aunt Thessala's kid… and if Thoë looks like her when she grows up? Golden blonde hair, sea green eyes and the sort of body that you fully expected her to be laying on a rock, a knowing smile on her face as beckoned sailors to their deaths while giggling. Now in discount 'potential is there' form. Including said knowing smile) joined up, taking one third of the room as we started to build.
Now, our opposition also broke into teams, though only one was family based, it seemed, of Leandros and Phigaleios of the line of Carenos (they were maternal cousins, but looked as if they were brothers. Both were broad and stocky, but in a way that seemed like they were compacted into a smaller place, as dark blonde hair was atop their heads, and the family sea green eyes rested in deep set eyes. Their noses were broad and flat and for the most part? If they had beards you would have thought them young fantasy dwarves. Turns out, their line runs and works in the various mines of the city) along with Phigaleios's sister Kyra, older than her brother by a year (and really, she was fairly similar, if taken to a more femenine build, to her brother and cousin).
The third team? Now, this was a team of kids sworn to the house. The reason they were here? Well, Laomedon, Father of Lycophron was one of my grandfathers sworn brothers, having saved his life several times over, so his children had the opportunity to learn at the feet of the patriarch of the house. As for Lycophron himself? Think of a young boy of five, now imagine him having limbs of wire and something of a wolvish cast to him, eyes a darker shade, but still close to green (likely a sign of having some Vilos blood in him). Alongside him was Euphenes, whose mother Medea was a woman I REALLY wanted to get to know! By reputation something a witch, who learned secret arts and the virtue of many herbs and stones and the hidden tongue of birds, she was also the closest we had to a full time priestess. Euphenes himself was paler of skin, still tanned but there was a quality to it that seemed leeched? His hair was short and black, even as his pale blue eyes seemed to almost bulge and his lips were bigger than most of the girls! The last for that team? Trust me, I could not make this up if I tried.
Kleopatra, daughter of Agapia who was the owner and manager of the largest, oldest and most successful brothel in the city. Also, I would give even odds that the only reason I'm not calling Kleopatra my aunt is because Agapia did not agree to any contracts and had the influence to stay mostly out of Grandfathers household (though also according to rumors she was as much grandmother Sappho's lover as my grandfathers). Still, for all that Kleopatra stated with happiness that she was going to follow her mothers trade, she seemed happy enough with us.
Still, each of our teams worked to make the buildings, to do as good a job as we could. For a brief time, we were just laughing and playing kids, even as we mocked the others building attempts. We were toddlers and most of it was fairly simple, but hey, we were vicious little shits at heart. Still, hours later, we were finished, little sandcastles built up and ready.
So then he then tasked us, destroy the works of others! Each of us moved to protect our own creations, fondness and possessiveness fierce in our young hearts, even as we smashed and broke the others little sandcastles. There was much pouting and grumbling afterwards, as he asked that simple question. Which gave us the greater joy, building or breaking?
Which, really was likely a strange lesson to try and teach five year olds, but it made us thoughtful for a little while at least.
Now, to a young mind, the city was a large place and full of wonder, even as I grew up and started to notice that really? It shrank. It shrank massively. At least, the city that was Syramis on the mound seemed to, as I explored it. Now, the mound itself was massive, approximately half a mile across at the top and roughly a hundred feet high, stretching out to a mile wide at the base, it was clear just WHY my distant ancestor was considered to be the king of the city, as he made an artificial hill. Even by modern engineering that was a sizable task and no small feat. But still, it was the heart of our polis, even if it was closer to a 'Greater Syramis Area' than a singular city.
At the mound, we had the public forum in the center with the assembly, shrine and houses of the leaders and elders of the three houses attached to the forum, yet there was one building that I was to be attending that drew my attention, and made me consider the education standards of the city... and how unnervingly they were similar to those of my old modern life. You see, from ages three to five, we got dropped off at an elders house for a few hours, where they told us stories, had some lessons and in general we talked with our cousins and members of the house, playing and socializing a bit. Said stories tended to be focused on the houses and families deeds and heroic figures, but also a core message, at least that I heard, of strength through unity.
Ironically, there was also a mixture of striving for excellence, but disdain fighting for fighting's sake. Which hey, there are worse things to try and teach kids than 'don't be violent unless it is with need and purpose both', even if I'm not sure how well it sank into our hard young skulls.
So, how was it that the Academy reminded me of modern school? Because I had class alongside the girls.
Now, I'm not sexist. It's just that most things I've read about Ancient Greek culture lead me to think that while I would be getting an education, all the girls would mostly be learning from female relatives on how to run a household. In a bit of irony? Our mathematics teacher was a Zilbhant matron who also taught finances to the older youths, so the more things changed in some respects, the more they stayed the same. Now, I'll freely admit, that just how the classes were arranged were…. weird and had more in common in some ways with my brief and largely unsuccessful university career than what I could remember of lower education.
As it was, we were escorted to our elders house for two hours after the morning meal, were he pretty much taught us the tribal lore and did similar exercises as before, getting us to work together to solve little issues and challenges while making sure to hammer house unity into our skulls.
After that? We began to do laps and train with slings. No seriously, each of us was presented with some slings, showed some targets and given dried fruit with honey if we managed to strike the marked areas seven out of ten times at fifty feet. Which, as I nibbled on the grapes, was one hell of a reward scheme for children, and really hammered things in that we would need to be fighting. Now, the laps were not that hard. We needed to walk and then jog around the length of the courtyard. Starting out, it was not that difficult, only two to three laps. Of course, by the time we could comfortably jog ten laps of the courtyard in three minutes? Then we began to run a circuit around the public forum.
Still once we were done that little bit of working out for the day, my grandfather walked us across the forum to the Academy itself. There, we moved to the classroom were we were taught how to read and write, copying poetry and stories from a tablet up front and onto a waxen one that we could 'reset' and use again and again. All said and done, Sour Sabas more than earned his little nickname, as he drilled us relentlessly and that sour faced old man (who was missing a foot and had his face locked into the expression that he had bitten down on a lemon and found it rotten as well as sour), but he made sure that we were able to write with our eyes closed.
No seriously, he would have us close our eyes and then dictate speeches for us to copy down and then grade us depending on how well we did. And there were consequences to doing poorly to the vein of being struck with that cane he carried. Never enough to actually hurt, but to sting and shame it worked. Would still love to toss him into the sea.
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Now, thing was, he only kept us for… well, truth be told I'm not sure and he would get crabby and use the cane if we asked, as education was a privilege that we should be honored to be receiving. Which was true on many levels, despite him being a passive aggressive dick. Yet, when his time was up, he was replaced with that glorious MILF, Shenhav of the house of Zilbhant.
Now, here is the thing. The house of Zilbhant was a recent addition to the city founded by Nahar ben Kaya, who was given the name of Zilbhant for their mercantile prowess, how 'their hands made the silver multiply', and while according to my grandfather (as according to HIS grandfather and father), the man had always claimed to be a prosperous merchant who backed the wrong candidate for the throne of his home city, but it was widely thought based on his wealth that he WAS that failed candidate for the throne of the city, and he fled before his rivals could kill him. Still, they came from Cannan, and so were ancestors to the modern Arabs,
And what was how you could describe Shenhav. She was an older woman, in her fifties, and she had the body that was thick with age, but was still strong from a life of wrangling children and grandchildren and a face whose wrinkles told of smiles and laughter, as brown eyes twinkled with eagerness and mirth, long still nimble fingers pointing out mistakes as a voice that was just as chocolaty as her skin (a fine milk chocolate that melted on the tongue mind you), and with breasts that had supported many children, all bound in the humble chiton.
As it was, were Sarbas taught us letters, she taught us numbers, both how to recognize them, as well as the basics of addition and subtraction, as she ran over the basics and bare bones of finances. As she told us boys, "While the accounts of the house and the managing of its money are a womans work, in this manner you shall learn not to be cheated and the value of your household." Well, there was also the fact that Math was the gateway and key to the mysteries that lay waiting all around us, that we would learn more of when we were older.
So, advanced math courses are confirmed basically.
Now, for our studious youths, you might be surprised what formed the next part of our basic first year of education. Or, if you were familiar with the culture, maybe not. You see, there was a reason I had not been able to participate in any of the festivals and rites so far. I had not been taught the songs performance related arts.
Now, in this, there was a bit of a gender divide, as us boys learned the Drum, Kithara and Horn (two of which would double as signaling devices for the army). The girls learned the Flute, Lyre and something not unlike a combination of bells and cymbals that were worn at the ankles and wrists. We both learned to sing and dance, though there were both shared and different songs.
Now, there was a touch of an amusing incident that made me laugh. You see, one of the songs we were to learn celebrated the 'wisdom of the children' that was to be sung when the results of the election to the Child's seat in the assembly. When I wondered out loud, after finding out that said child was elected for a one year term when they were five years old why I had never heard of it? Apparently I had been considered.
But, the general consensus was, and the reason that I had NOT been elected, was that I was too mature for my age to properly fulfil the duties of the chair.
Now, the important thing to note is that I was not disgruntled by the sad fact that I had not been chosen to be a child representative. No, not in the least as I threw myself into the training for the coming year, even as in the second year we focused less on mathematics (though it was still there), and interestingly enough mostly as it applied to the other subjects. Interestingly enough, as it expanded?
We had classes late at night, as we understood a study of the stars and their functions, how to properly use them to navigate and tell the seasons and how one could use math to predict the natural cycles and how they reflected on the earth. Of course, we only got taught of the visible stars, and there were far more in the sky little marked by centuries of pollution, and they were a part of creation that the gods made, not the great burning spheres akin to our very own sun as seen across the black gulfs of space.
In a bit of irony, it turns out that a Heliocentric model of creation was being discussed as well, and it was mentioned as a theory that came from the teachings of the scholar Pythagos, there was some evidence to suggest that the sun, moon and planets were in motion. Though, as it was, the details hardly got shared with the class, only as a theory, as we looked at the wonder of the stars. Mostly as something to border on the fact that 'we strive towards wisdom and understanding of the cosmos around us, and yet, look and see how grand the works of the Gods are! So, approach with humility and wonder in your heart, but never be daunted.'
Which honestly? Was pretty damn impressive for 'we can never know for sure, but lets try and find out anyway while having fun'.
Still, the final bit of the quadrivium (because huh, they were organising things into roughly those lines), was our initial forays into the nature of shapes and their meanings. Basically, geometry with a dash of mysticism. As it was, this was the simple stuff, the kids stuff, because hey, six year olds moving towards being seven.
It was a fateful April first that I came across the fiend that would plague me for years. And by fiend I mean the bitch really buffed that damn dove.
So, there I was, minding my own business and sneaking down to try and find some herbs for the potion pot that I had more or less been hiding. Granted, I'm fairly sure the household knew I had been making something, but they had not actually said anything, so I was going to count it as hidden, when this, I kid you not, dove with pink, blue and green stripes in its feathers lands on my head and proceeds to make itself comfortable.
Which honestly, was weird. Very weird. And then, I heard a voice in my head. Now, said voice was just like one of those New York Gangster movies, and as I looked up, that beady little eye was looking right into mine, a smug smirk on that beak. "Oi, boss lday sents me, tells ya bout the patches and fixes rollin out and headin yer way little man." There was snickering from the bird.
"Sos, boss lady been watchin, and she be thinkin, cause she is a right smart dame, that ya don't be usin EXP fa squat anywhos, dat youse gonna move onta a milestone based progression path, dat way ya not just grindin an powalevelin more dan ya already are." Okay, that was it, the bird was getting off my head, hands moving to dislodge the avin's behind… as a pair of wings delivered a crisp sharp stinging swat to my hands.
"Nah, dats not hows you show gratitude and respect, not it is not! So, here be the score. Youse gonna move your little ass, feed me an thank me, capachie?" Now, said demand was delivered as that eye looked like it was contemplating trying to peck an eyeball out.
"Fine you bloody…" Now, I did not get to finish, as the women, celebrating the bloody Mustering of the Doves turned up. Oh, the fucking thing on my head was one of the oracular doves don't you know? Now, I did the only thing I could do, as the bird on my head started to laugh its head out (letting out 'adorable coos'). I swore and started to run like the hounds of all the devils and hells were after me!
It needs to be said, I neither escaped the huntresses, nor the damn bird, as this years mustering apparently turned into a series of girls hunting boys. On the one hand, I put up a good chase and they were not that handsy due to my age. On the other hand some of them licked their lips and said they looked forward to hunting me down again in a few years. My memories of boners to come say they can't wait. My mind not disturbed by hormones, makes note to invest in escape strategies as I'm not sure if my masculinity could take it.
Now, after THAT particular adventure and becoming the source of various side glances and giggling from my mother, sisters and some of the slaves (whose names I really should try and learn), along with the girls at the Academy…. Well, Kleopatra asked me point blank if I would be interested in visiting her mothers business, The House of Roses, when I was older, as her mother was very much interested in seeing if I had the blessing of Aphrodite and would be more than glad to see to 'my education in the mysteries of the goddess'.
Now, I am mostly sure that she was joking. As it is, most of the people saw that damned dove just making a nest on my head and… well, given the times they are by and large seeing it as a sign from the goddess. Granted, as our house worships her in a more warlike form, I'm apparently either destined to be a legendary lover, warrior or both. That, or my potential is so great that she sent one of her doves to inspect me.
That and… well, I got an answer as to if they knew about my potion craft. You see, it was something known to happen, that mortals blessed by the gods could 'learn magic' (as a side note, I looked into Medea. She had a knack for training birds and herbal remedies, but much like in the saga of Conan, that could be enough), most often in the form of wands and potions. Both of which I had made.
Now, Father laid out the rules simply and firmly. Unless the goddess told me so, I was not to use my magic to bend the wills of others and I was not to be brewing love potions or spells of lust while under his roof. However, as a good son, I would share my blessings and knowledge to help my honored father out as needed, would I not.
Or basically, my dad asked me for martial aid potions. Thank the gods that it had not been my mother. Then you may kill me and send me into the blackest depths of the abyss.
Now, the embarrassment of my secret and hidden late night brewing aside, it coming into the open had a number of… possibilities for me all said and done because I did not really have to hide it. Granted, as I mulled over my resources and expected rate of mythos gain I had to weigh options and make choices.
As it as, enchanting ,my weapon did not cross my mind for a moment. As it was, as far as a personal weapon went, Weaponized Will was better as I could then apply its manifestations to any weapon I picked up, turning any weapon I possessed into a magical one. On the other hand, while taking Armor of Arcana was tempting, oh so tempting for the fast healing manifestation once I unlocked some chakras, there remained the simple fact that I was a male and so expected to wear armor, it being a way to display both my wealth and prowess.
I mean, sure, looking at things, some of what we saw in the various movies was not all that accurate. The Spartans, and Greek warriors, did not go to war with just shield, helmet and underwear as armor. Only the poor went with just a shield and cap (richer young warriors got a helmet) and when we had proven ourselves we could get a breastplate. You were considered skilled and good? You got an apron or strips of leather on a great belt, the Peturgis. And if you were a very noted warrior, or came from a rich family, you got greaves. As it is, given how those three hundred were a kings personal bodyguard? Yeah, they, not to mention given that they were a mostly professional standing army, likely had a fairly uniform and complete set of gear.
Those that joined up with them? Yeah, those guys it actually fit that there was a hodgepodge of available armor.
Still, I could make six hundred mythos points in a year, so I could, as we entered into weapons training, enchant the shield. I mean, I was going to have to look into the Resize cantrip to keep any enchanted gear I made while as a kid and grew up anyway, but this just sort of increased its priority a bit. After all, I wanted to keep my magical shield that would get many, many nice additional enchantments, yes, yes I did! Granted… I might need to tweak some bits of said cantrip if I could…. use it as the base....
Now, at the age of Seven, we had begun to learn the other Greek dialects, as well as the rudiments of Medean (as we were technically part of the Persian empire) and Phoenician (in large part because it was spoken by most in Cannan, one our neighbors we traded with), in large part because we may desire largely to be left alone, but we did have to interact with the various other groups close at hand, and it was best to have some understanding of their language that we are not seen as foolish. Also, so they cannot cheat us or hide important details in their dealings with us.
Of course, math lessons continued as they had, devoted to mixed study of the other three of course, but for the most part it was now clearly about weighing and measuring the weights, how to identify weighted coins and ironically, it used factions in the form of currency exchange. We learned the math of music, their relations and how to use math to predict the flow of music, how music was shaped by its numbers, even as we examined a little more of the sacred mysteries of shapes and how they were used by the gods in nature.
Yet, all the while, our physical aspects of the education had been increasing, ramping up with our bodies, though the worst, we were assured, was yet to come. We were each fitted with a basket and that was strapped to our back, along with actual waterskins filled with sea water. With a smile, my grandfather set us to our laps with the weight on our backs. On returning He split us boys into two teams and equipped us with wicker shields and wooden poles,.one longer to mimic the spear and one shorter for the sword (those of us with blunted bronze blades were permitted to use those instead), even as the girls with weighted cloth pads for their slings and assigned depending on the day and exercise.
You see, each of the houses had its own training ground for the youths off the mound, and it was a simple thing. It was a rectangle some two hundred feet long and fifty feet wide, with there being a small mound on one side of the field that had a simple set of earthwork walls to mimic defenses. When not in use by the houses, they were filled with free and slave youths alike, dreaming of glory and making their own little armies as they fought and wheeled, at least one elder usually on hand to act as a referee and to consider them for martial talent.
So it was, that if it was a siege day, the girls would be on the side of the defenders, gleefully slinging those balls at the attackers. If it was a field battle day, they would be split behind us boys, there to provide ranged fire as we locked shields and maneuvered. Sometimes, poles with cloth resembling trees were brought out and planted, giving some areas cover and we would use that. At times they planted markers with string to represent rivers and lakes, complicating things.
And near the end of the year our grandfather invited us to gather what children we could and were free of their chores for the day, that we could practice with greater numbers. Each of us boys who had been there originally were given shirts to represent breastplates, as we practiced our duels and marching and fighting with all the other screaming youths. It was a surprisingly fun part of things, even if I had never been all that social.
Now, I had been working on making that shield, crafting it and putting it together as best I could. Honestly, it was a learning experience. Granted, I had also not been going for anything fancy, but I had actually been smart about it. You see, I asked grandpa Philokrates if he could teach me how to make a shield, as I was interested in making my own equipment. Now he had heard the same rumors as everyone else, but as it was, with this request? Well, he looked at me, eyes searching and piercing before he nodded.
So, I got to spend some of my previous free time learning in the little forge he kept in his house (which made sense, we were descended from smiths), and taught how to examine and weigh the ores, to refine them and create the iron before I ever so much as tried for the actual shield. And it was, as they were easy enough to make, a round shield.
Look, as it was, I was looking for simplicity here, for something that was easy enough to make that I could then focus on the deep work of actually enchanting it… though honestly? At least some of it was the fact that there was alternate crafting rules in play (which, honestly, made a lot more sense and sped things up), and well…. Between my grandfathers help, the fact that he let me use the heirloom tools and my focus for Crafters Fortune (disguised as a prayer before work, and sadly, it did not work on Spellcraft, or as she put it 'nah, can't be too easy now, can it ~♥'), well, I had started singing in English during the last of the four days of work, enchanting the shield as it took shape.
Yes, it was a dwarf song, but if I had to be a fantasy race, it was either a norse dwarf or a troll. Yet, looking over the shield, I smiled, taking it up. It was a simple thing, sure, but it would keep me alive in the quests to come.
Now, were there things I had regretted about my new life and how I was treating things? Well, the fact that for the most part I was only staying in the classes with my peers because quite literally, tradition should say quite a lot. I was not the best student in my first life, being, ironically, more of a gamer that occasionally looked into the wide and wonderful world of fantasy than someone who had hit the books and gained great success. And therein lay the thing that actually made the school valuable for me.
In terms of the raw concepts and 'advanced' knowledge, I could likely qualify as something of a sorcerer or magician, even if did not actually know a lot beyond 'this is possible, and here is roughly how its done'. For example, I knew the rough steps for gunpowder! Kinda. Roughly. The three main ingredients at least but how to actually mix it? I had to delve into my memories of the Safehold series to get some clues, but that did not help me that much with the actual base mix ratios and how to refine it.
Not to mention the social aspects and helping shore up my weak points. Look, my first life, if I could carry a tune it was entirely by accident, and I think it reassured people that while I was good with the instruments taught, I was not exactly supernaturally so. I mean, math. That was addition and subtraction and I took some accounting classes in high school. I mean sure, I just did what they told me to do and there were some new things there. Mostly in how they taught them, but eh.
Granted, the course that was the biggest emphasis for me as a young man? Look, physical conditioning and weapons training was, despite the fact I was going to go the magic route, vital for me as a Greek male. Asia from Occult Classic was able to get away with it because she was a girl from what a modern person would think was a typical greek city and so hardly encouraged to be athletic. On the other hand? As a young man, particularly one from the upper classes? I had to be an example. I had to follow the virtue of physical excellence to not be shunned until I reached the point where it did not matter any more.
And even then, here is the thing. I only needed four hours of sleep a night. If, and this was a big if, I could qualify for a mediation trick monks could pick up in 3e, I could reduce that to two hours. And then there was a feat that could knock it down to one hour a night. So, this was important because of the following reason; The only thing I had been grinding was eight hours a day spellcrafting. This would give me a lot more time over the course of a week, particularly once I was able to let go of several of my social obligations.
And truth be told, when you strip away everything else, there was a simple reason just WHY I had not been cheating and metagaming my ass off since I got my second shot. Outside of event quests, I had fully intended to enjoy my second childhood. In no small part because… well, there were a few routes to going 'I live as long as I like' that were open to me really.
Two of which opened up at level seven and just added a few centuries to millennia to my lifespan (one by making it so I aged at a twentieth the normal rate combined with fleshwarping options that opened up to boost my lifespan by a decade, or two hundred years, a pop fairly cheaply), and given my rate of advancement? I had not really been all that worried.
Was some of it boring and repetitive with periods of excitement and mental stimulation? Yes… but so were most modern jobs. That… and I had goals and plans. Reach fifteen or so and become a Hero, travel and do some adventures, learn and have an orgy or three, maybe make a fantasy face via fleshcrafting and let them loose into the world.
Then, bare days after I was done the shield, that damn dove landed on my head again.
Now, there are many things that can move a mans heart to rage and homicidal fury. But, I had snuck away with my mothers bemused permission, promising to come back the day after the mustering of the doves, as I just knew the damn bird would try and find me. And lo and behold, the fucker lands on my head just as I had gotten settled in my hiding place.
"[Okay bird, what the fuck do you want?]" It should be noted, the being chased down by all the girls last year? I'd rather avoid that again if I could, at least for a time. And so I had left the mound and decided to try my hand at hunting along the coast, inwardly hoping for a shark attack that I could maul it and kill it and harvest its flesh as I laughed….
Look, in the last few weeks I had been getting lots of glances thrown my way, knowing giggling and licked lips and had overheard more than one whispering and giggling conversation if Aphrodite was going to send her dove to mark me again this year, and that they could likely… follow their own mission on the campaign. And of course, my fellows merely rolled their eyes and went 'girls, what can you expect?' Truly, I am spared them wanting to gut me purely because they have not developed an interest in sex yet.
And words cannot describe how annoyed I am that they keep bringing up requests for sexual magic, despite my claiming not to be able to do that. Because hey, I thought I had years before I needed to break out the Book of Erotic Fantasy or the Guide to Unlawful Carnal Knowledge! As a side note, Agapia has given me a standing commission for 'when I have learned those mysteries' as I sort of gave the impression that it was more a matter of not yet than inability.
Yet, it was not long before the herald of my childish angst spoke (and hey, for all that I lived a previous life? New body, new hormones). 'Guess whose backs, guess whose backs, backs again!' The mental voice was just as obnoxious as last time, as that feathered rump settled down. "Nows, rejoice an all dats, cause Iz be the bringer a great news! An nah little man, ya not startin puberty yet so ya balls ar gonna remain inside yas and shrivel frum lacka use.." Must. Not. Kill. Bird.
Well, as eyes darted to a scream of 'Mine' as my hand moved, as fury and rage bubbled up and lashed out like the howling of northern wolves and the seagull fell to the ground, teeth ground as I spat out the word. "[The message?]" Because the damn thing seemed to find pestering me a welcome break from his routine, or at least… thats what the damn bird told me last year as it left my head. "[And I hope you don't mind frozen heart of seagull]?" Oh, my voice was sweet and cheerful as I moved towards the frozen bird, the one on my head huffing.
"You little man, ara mean little shit, youse knows dat? Still, yeah, tha message. Now, from tha boss lady herselfs cuse tha dame finds it funny, I be delivering yer new Event Quest!]" Even as the blasted bird spoke, the first quest popped up, and everything seemed to slow down as I began to read the description, the smell of guts and brine fading, the sound of the pounding surf all but vanishing as I stood, heart in hand and tossing it to a snapping beak. Because the Event Quest was not the only one to appear.
Spoiler: Quests!
Now, looking things over, as I shake my head, finding myself on my ass, yet, the dove was long gone… well, it seemed I would not be getting a quiet time at the moment, as really… if things were just as bad as they were in Occult Classic, that would be bad. However, from the quest descriptions, this was going to be… bad.
That the Venom Storm bonus objectives had half of the soldiers and civilians of the town as the cut off for an achievement? It was going to be brutal. Yet, as I took a moment to simply breathe in and out… there was not much I actually could do. I could try and ignore it… but could I really leave people to die when I could make a difference? In fact, from the sounds of it, I might be the only one able to counter things in a decisive manner. Which was bad. Yet, what else could I do?
I did not pay any attention to my surroundings, as I walked up to the mound, a few of the girls that approached me suddenly silent, almost nervous, even as I walked, silent as I moved through the street and up the path, as I moved through the city. I was, well, focused for lack of a better word.
The sad truth was, I was scared of spiders, and I was going to be going to face down at least one, one that could easily be the size of a horse or a full grown man. I was going to be wading into battle with them willingly, because that is what I signed up for. I did not really hear my mother ask what was wrong, my sisters why I looked so gloomy on such a day, not even as I gathered my book, my shield, my blade and the little sack I kept my potions and wand in.
Moving, not speaking, I moved out to the courtyard, as a terrible, terrible thing was pulsing in my bones. My Father was in Sardis. My father was in Sardis as it was to fall and be occupied by a storm of spiders that would overrun and kill most of those in the city. My father was a brave and noble man, he would plant himself in front of the women and children and try and buy them time to flee with his life. My father, if I did not act, was going to die.
I stood, my gear on me, as I sank into focus, as I reached towards the sea and began to sing. I sang of speed, of need and the dangers of the sea, as in my mind I pictured a stallion of sea foam, racing across the land, the earth pounding underneath their hooves. I could not tell you were I ended and the magic began in that moment, as fear and panic burned and melted, crystallizing into determination and need, for I would save them if I needed to ride into Hades itself!
And as the horse gathered from the foam, from the handful of water I let fall from my hand, I swung myself onto its back, as I spoke, a single word, my throat constricting as I needed to move, needed to ride, needed to get there as I had no idea how long until those fangs and striking legs would impale my father.
"Sardis."
It had been so far, a lovely mustering of the doves, even if it was only the second she had participated in, and last year had been... amusing on several levels. Oh, she was hardly the only one that looked at Xenophon and wondered what he would be like in a few years, even as she considered, idly really, if she would be a worthwhile marriage prospect? Granted, as she listened to some of her friends, perhaps something more like what her mother had with his grandfather and grandmother? It was, a smile tugging on her lips, something to consider. Still, sadly he was missing this year, and while the dove had seemed focused, moving off to the coast, it had returned soon enough and without Xenophon.
As it was, it was a pity as last year he had blushed and was so flustered with all the attention, even if usually he was either so passive or so focused, as if he was there and yet he was not. Or rather, Doris mentioned, he was just one of those boys that was a simple fellow and content to be? Which was an odd thought to entertain, but at the same time, she would have thought such... if he had seemed to spring to life on the training grounds, moving with those firm and almost knowing strides as if that was were he belonged, that his home was with a weapon in hand as around him combat raged. It was, to be entirely honest, one of the strangest combinations of ferocity and almost gentleness that she had ever seen.
Which was another quality about him that was at once odd and endearing. His sense of pride was strange. He was not humble, but he had no need to boast either. She remembered the boys finally managing to get him to fight them as he had been content to simply watch beforehand. The frightening thing was, just how quickly it was over with, even as he stood in front of them and looked at them in the eye and spoke in that quiet way of his that they could strike first, all of them. And as they did, he did not even flinch. Yet, as the last of the boys struck him, he nodded and moved.
It was like watching a bear move in, striking to scatter and thrash them aside, deceptively strong and powerful blows knocking them down as he scythed through them. And once they were down, he spoke the words they cemented his place as odd and their leader. 'I know my strength. Now stand, and know yours.' Which, boys being boys, he began to wrestle and fight with them, leading them and getting them to boast less.
And yet, that made it all the more interesting that the dove nestled in his hair. Of course, her musings were cut short when Phoebe nudged her side. "Look, there he is!" Well, that was good news! As they perked up to go and steal a kiss, giggling and speaking of his features and their hopes... they paused as they came closer.
He had always been intense at times, but now? Now there was something unnerving about him, a chill that lingered in the air, as everything about him seemed to be like a unsheathed sword, of violence and fear and blood spilling over the streets in his wake as a beast howls and screams and kills, grappling with a foe as a spear ran through his guts yet driving himself forward was what was pain and death, slaughter and violence raged as seas of blood boiled and froze around them all....
It was then, a hand on her shoulder snapped her out of it, as Doris, sweet and gentle Doris spoke, her voice wavering, even as around them eyes following the boy as he marched towards the mound, sandals almost echoing like the beating of a drum. "Kleo, what was that?" It frightened her, as she shook her head, lips pale, that she could not give a reply.
Yet, they followed him, wondering... what had occurred to this one, touched by the gods that had made him like this? He was walking with purpose, so, as the crowd began to whisper, perhaps the dove had whispered some task into his ear, or he was touched by the goddess herself, who took the place of the dove and this brief touch of divinity had filled him with spirit so grim and warlike that it could not fit entirely into his flesh and seeped out through his eyes, which none could look into for long?
It was a thought that had a terrible sort of sense to it really, as he entered his house and emerged soon after as if going to war. Yet, there was silence, as he seemed not to notice the crowd, as he turned, his gaze towards the sea as a hand rose and his mouth opened. He began to sing then, or pray perhaps, in that strange language that none recognized and was either a product of his mind, or a gift bestowed to him by the gods.
There was a feeling in the air, of fear, blinding and choking fear, that seemed, even as he prayed, as he sang, to change, beating pulse by beating pulse as drops of water fell from his hand, as they burbled and frothed like sea foam, growing and surging as fear was blasted and tempered into a will to shatter iron and crush cities as from that fountain of the sea came a horse the color of fresh sea foam, neighing and stamping, unfamiliar gear between its teeth on its back, even as Xenophon, silent,. threw himself onto the beasts back, hands taking the grips that gleamed like waves formed into physical shape.
He spoke but one word, a growl like that of some great beast, savage and wild, a snarl more than the calm and careful words that he was known for. "Sardis."
And with that, the horse leapt, moving as swiftly as a wave, thundering as he departed. And all were silent, eyes on the spot where the horse had sprung full formed at his offering of water and prayer-song. This was, Kleopatra thought, something right out of the myths.
Spoiler: Authors Notes
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