Chapter 1079 - g

Do you wish to know the single greatest fact of a magically summoned mount, particularly when you require less sleep than other men and can see in the dark to guide said mount? You can drive them at a speed and pace that would have had others collapsing dead of exhaustion, hearts bursting in their chests as foam ran from their mouths. Five minutes once every six hours was all I needed, five minutes as time ground and pressed down on me before I was back in the saddle and moving once more.

I did not stop to think of the picture that I must have painted to those I rode past, as I made my desperate race to Sardis, even as the initial panic cleared and inwardly, I groaned. Just what had I been thinking!?! Oh wait, I had not been thinking at all. I reacted like I had against that chief rat, lashing out with a desperate and blind rage, all instinct and no reason, none of the intelligence that I prided myself having, little more than a powerful animal. It was, as the hours ground by, more than a little shameful.

Yet, at the same time, there was an important reason why I had to focus on the moment. I had not participated in the Sheep Race and so this was the first time in either life I had actually ridden anything other than a tricycle! As it was, I was staying in the saddle and I could grip the basics, but this was not something I was actually familiar with doing and learning it while doing it was…. Not the best way of doing things really. And ironically, as my head cleared and thought returned, it became harder as I was able to actually think about it instead of just doing it.

Still, I yawned, as I slid off the horse (and I might need a name for when I summon it again, largely to at least try and make it fit in), pulling to a stop near some of the trees that lined the path. Inwardly, I wondered how I missed looking over much of the lands along the path in my mad dash north, only a rough guess where Sardis actually was. Still, looking around and then to the stars, I tried to make some rough calculations.

It had been about noon when I had started my foolish in hindsight race, and from the stars… it was likely the second hour past midnight, or fourteen hours since I started riding. No wonder I was so tired, even as I examined the tree in front of me. This was around the time of night when I slept anyway, and honestly? It was the emotional high that left me a lot more exhausted then the riding, even if my ass was a bit sore.

Yet, I tried to focus, to remember some of the details of the day… I had passed at least one ruin for sure, and two rivers, so assuming ten miles an hour, as I had pushed that mystical steed at full speed, and fourteen hours of travel time… well damn. I had made a hundred and forty miles give or take. Now, with the hills, mountains and woodland, it might just be closer to a hundred and five… now, based on what my father said, it took roughly ten days to reach Sardis on a horse if we can assume thirty miles a day given the terrain, so I'm either a third of the way there or just under half in that single mad dash.

Which, huh. On the one hand, a stupid move for a novice rider. On the other hand, I can't really bring myself to regret it. Still, looking at the Fir tree before me, and the fact that the trail had been taking me into hills covered in fir with a dash of bushes and pine, I got ready to do as I needed for the night, not wincing even as bloody holes poked at my knuckles, bones sliding and slipping free as claws emerged, so similar to an X-man of a past life. Yet, as these metal coated claws gleamed in the faint moonlight, I put them to one of their side uses.

As it was, the sap of the Fir was fragrant, as I climbed up the tree, little holes there as I used the claws as climbing tools, managing to actually move as quickly as if I was on the ground thanks to the very same mythos that enabled said claws, as I settled into on the branches higher up, and proceeded to close my eyes and sleep. Alas, I would need to continue in the morning, and still have far to go.

Now, the next day was… well, I shall freely confess to waking up four hours later, taking a few bites of bread and some wine and then summoning back the horse to get back into the saddle as swiftly as possible. As it was, as I sped along the trail, thankful at least there were no bandits as I passed through the hill country and came to the woods and fields of Symrna, I was able to actually ask for directions to Sardis.

Now, as it was, I must have looked a strange sight, a child carrying arms and armor, mounted on a strange horse and asking for directions to the regional capital. Still, the old farmer merely informed me that I should continue along the trail, and to turn east at the river and follow that road, as death was haunting Prasneroáda (Green-Water Valley), and none that tried to take the road that ran through there had returned in recent days.

Still, I nodded and thanked the man, telling him that I would heed his counsel. He shook his head in the manner of elders that had tried, and could tell they failed, to warn boneheaded youths from lethal dangers. And to be fair… something as he said that seemed to resonate inside of me, that this was were I had to go. Well, it was either that or I was going 'okay, clearly a quest maker' inside of my head, as I pulled on the reigns, and headed for the valley.

Now, it was times like this that I deeply and sincerely regret not having picked up the fire option for Wrath Unleashed, particularly as fire would have been useful as hell against spiders. Or at least, their webs. Particularly as I now knew what I would be up against and just WHY this would be so bad. You see, there was a particular type of web spider in the depths of D&D 3.5 that was terrifying in so many ways that it was not much of a surprise that they were, by and large, not commonly known by those that looked at the later editions. Granted, this was also because the damn thing was connected to negative energy, which they did away with.

Of what do I speak? I speak, of the only spider in the damn series that literally has a type of zombie as part of its life cycle, the Tomb Spider. And the main reason I was aware of this, indeed, the only reason I was aware of this?

Now, the valley itself did not actually have any water in it, but it did have a number of pine trees that from the lip of the pass actually looked like green waves swaying in the wind, yet said trees seemed to be covered in webs and there was a gloomy, almost choked quality about the vale, yet it seemed clear enough to me that even entering this place… I took up my shield and readied myself on that horse, keeping my eyes peeled for danger.

And danger I soon found. Or rather, if they had spotted me first, it would have been dangerous. As it was, gathering up cold, launching it at slow moving zombies and retreating back, positioning to have some room between me and them, because as each of of the pair of them, sunken and ravaged and wrapped in thick strands of webbing fell, well, the thing about Web Zombies, is that they were incubators and a food source and destroyed them as frozen flesh shattered and released the swarm of tiny spiders, hungry and chittering?

Now, I had been lucky, as their mother was not around, even as I focused on bringing the cold in waves and wild blasts, to shatter the advance of the spiders as I made my fighting retreat, as they charged forward to try and burrow into me that they could have a chance to survive or at least devour me.

Still, soon enough, they fell silent and still, as I moved to inspect the bodies of the zombies. And said zombies, underneath the webbing, wore the remains of Persian military uniforms. I could only hope that wherever he was, likely in this very valley, Farrokh was still alive. And that if he was, that he was not poisoned. After all, tomb spider venom made mockery of healers….

Now, there was danger in this valley, grave and terrible danger, and yet there was also room to maneuver for a time, and the damning thing about tomb spiders was twofold as far as appearances went. Firstly, the spider was a web using spider, and should be able to throw strands of webbing at least a few times a day, when it was not able to position them to block the trail. Because that was the second ever so delightful thing about them. Unlike regular spiders who were ruled by instinct and were fairly mindless, tomb spiders had a crude and basic intelligence, that while extremely dull witted, was actually enough that they would be able to at least have some basic pattern recognition.

Hells bells, most predators could do that without negative energy running around in their brains! This kind? I was lucky that webs had not sprung up behind him and one moved to attack, and I would not be willing to bet money that there were not any in the hills watching and just waiting until I reached until he reached a choke point. Yet….

Frankly, if there were enough of them in the hills, I was going to have to flee. And if the mother showed up I was going to have to run for my life as from the Event Quest side of things, the hype and that apparently Sardis was going to be at least partially occupied even WITH a cities worth of trained soldiers? Frankly, I wanted that damn army. I wanted backup and support, and the worst thing? Asia was able to be in the backlines and protected, because she was a girl/. I was going to have to be on the freaking front lines as a man!

Still, I did not shake my head, as I looked around. You know, when I had a little time to think, I actually had a better than average chance of avoiding detection thanks to that Darkstalker feat, but that given how I was not a stealth arcane archer build? Now, I will freely admit, at least some of this was me complaining to distract myself from my mild and justified arachnophobia. You see, most spiders in my past life, and even here, while creepy as hell, are not actually all that dangerous almost entirely because we humans are far too large for them to actually prey on.

Now, a spider as large as a man or the horse I'm riding? Yeah, humanity is back on the menu and I can moan and bitch about it all in the privacy of my own head so long as I give a warcry (scram like a bitch) and attack them, who will be able to tell otherwise?

And you know, it was at that moment, that I had to make a very important choice. You see, there was, a little ways off to the north-east, smoke and the flickers of flame through the woods. Which, if I went through the spider infested woods, the woods that they likely lit the flames in to try and keep the spiders at bay….

I did not cry, really, I did not, even as I pulled the reins and started to ride. Hopefully, I would be the cavalry, and not just lost in the darkness.

Now, here was the good side of things, as I dashed through the thicket, and actually emerged in less than half a mile in a ring of fields, a cluster of buildings (no more than a dozen perhaps), the trail that would meet up with the main one a quarter mile to the east. Yet, there was movement in the buildings, even as I moved close, ready to bolt.

"Hello there, anyone living?" I called it out, mostly because I was hoping that I would not be attacked… and since there was a low wall of logs, the smell of burnt pitch and oil hanging in the air, scorch marks on the wall and more than a few spider corpses and burnt webbing… well, I was hopeful. That, and the fire whose smoke I had seen was likely from a bonfire in the middle of the buildings.

Yet, it was a relieved voice that called out. "There are living and fighting men still here! And if you are some new trick of the damn spiders, we will lop off your balls and shove them down your throat!" The voice sounded tired, worn down, and if they had been here a while… it would be no small wonder.

"I am a citizen of Symaris, and the only business I have with these spiders is to slay them!" Now, the key to answering these challenges is to speak boldly and simply, as from the man's voice, he was terrified, even as I came closer and was able to get a better look. The village here was a ring of a dozen round huts made of round stones and patched with mud and wood, some ten feet in diameter, that had roofs of thatch, likely forming a circle around a simple altar and public ring where much of the daily crafts and social life took place. Now, what seemed like logs, as trees were hacked down and moved between the buildings, were put in place to act as walls, or at least to hopefully slow the spiders down a little.

Still, the man issuing said challenge was young, with a leather cap and hands on a shaky spear, eyes looking to the tree line. "Are you a scout, did one of the riders get through?" There was hope in his voice, which told me most of what I needed to know already. Granted, it made sense, that if they found trouble and did not think they could break free, that they might send messengers, but….

"I am not, and I do not know if they have. I was riding to Sardis due to a message from the gods," the GM totally counted as one, "and heard that there may be part of my errand this way." I kept my tone calm, focused and just a little grim as the horse moved forward, and I delivered what I hoped would be the thing that… well, it looked like our discussion attracted some attention, some other youths with spears looking over the walls. "Tell me, does Farrokh Bagherzadeh yet live?"

There is a ripple from those listening, as the youth, older than I am really, seems to firm up, eyes hardening. "Why do you wish to know!" Well, there was loyalty there, as I nodded, eyes firmly on his. I might as well have a little fun, and be honest about things, given grandfather apparently sends an annual 'can we murder this guy' letter.

"Because this is not, according to the gods, supposed to be his time to die, and I would see him live through this night." Which, at the ripples of the spear holding men… nothing inspires confidence, and a little bit of fear, quite like saying that the gods themselves want your commander to live. Granted, as I moved up the wall, jumping from the back of the horse as with a thought of a knot undoing. dismissed the mount spell, and looking at their gapping mouths as the horse had dissolved into sea foam, I inclined my head and smiled. "Would you kindly take me to him?"

Well, no wonder the quest had been to save his life. Apparently, he had been dispatched to hunt down some of the unusually sized spiders that had been spotted in the area five days ago and had brought along a decent sized hunting party, some fifteen men along with two local guides and two horses for each member of the party, extra quivers of arrows, nets and spare spears along with the three cages and supplies.

He had planned, according to some of the men, on making a sweep of the hills, but considering the reported size of the spider had planned to try and locate a nest, to take eggs if possible, as he had been unsure of his ability to actually capture one alive and not being overly willing to risk the lives of his men in this hunt. Still, they had entered via the road and noted the webs, and soon found themselves hunted.

Over the last three days they have lost their horses (though two of these were they had drawn lots and sent off two runners to try and break free and send a warning), and seven of their men. Yesterday, one of the spiders had managed to bite Farrokh, and while they had managed to find this village with the help of a guide, and fortify it, the spiders had sent forth periodic attacks, and their commander had turned pale, his breath shallow and he had begun speaking in a strange tongue, eyes filmy and white.

All at a contrast with the man who had, in the movie 300, had his arm cut off by the Spartans and threatened them. Yet… it would seem that what I had planned as my cover story might actually be somewhat true. Who would have guessed?

"The spiders," I spoke to his men, as we stood over him in the hut, vacated to serve as a medical center for him and the various injured, "are native to the underworld, a part of why they have only attacked at night thus far." Well, more that they told me that they were nocturnal, being used to living underground. "And it seems, that some of the taint of the underworld has lodged inside of him."

Or, well, he was being possessed by something, if I was reading the magical aura around the man correctly and reading the tinge of his soul light. Now, I did not actually have a lot of practice with the more esoteric aspects of my ocular abilities, because I did not get a lot of magical items, scrolls (that I did not make myself) or possession cases. Ability to see the light a soul gave off when within ten feet of them? Sure. Able to identify possession though? That was trickier. Still, I nodded.

"I require water and salt." My tone was firm, as I considered the matter. Now, here was the fun thing. Anyone could try and do an exorcism. Its just that if you could channel positive energy or knew the right spells, it was easier. How much easier do you ask? At the core of it, was the opposed will save, pitting your will against the thing possessing the victim. Someone able to channel positive energy? They spent a use and added the result to the save. Those who could not channel positive energy had to rely on pure willpower and authority. Oh, and presenting the something that the possessing spirit would hate.

But here is the thing. I'm a Magos. I have options. Oh, as they brought me the water, I looked at him and began to speak in English (as nobody here would recognize that one so was nice and magical), placing the salt on his brow, as I began to channel the energies into the water, to invoke blessings and joy of life.

"[Spirit! You are no longer of the living and I command you to depart from this stolen vessel!]" My voice was firm, my will hardening with every breath as I focused… and Farrokh leaned back his head and howled like a beast, little welts appearing on his forehead, as I gestured for two men to hold him down.

"[Begone to the house of Hades oh shade, depart back under the earth! Return to the long slumber!]" Each time I spoke, each word the thing inside of him screamed and shook, snarling and baring fangs… it was likely that this was not the ghost of a person at all really, or perhaps the fragment of a shade, a scrap of negative energy with the dimmest actual intelligence and will, but primarily driven by hunger for all that was living.

So, as the water started to glow from inside with a warm light, my hand took the vessel as I sternly chastised the spirit. "[Begone! Be washed away oh piece of the night, to the house of shades! Depart and be cast out!]" And then the water struck his chest, right over the warriors heart and his back arched, as smoke came from his mouth, an oily black sludge that whimpered and screamed, clawed hands of shadow reaching for me as it mewled.

"Begone and depart the living world!" And in so speaking, the last drops of blessed water struck the shadow, and it screamed, melting and drifting apart as it whimpered like a child in the currents of air and a smell of rancid meat. Yet, I took a deep breath… as in truth, saving his life was just beginning.

Now in truth, the main reason that saving his life was just starting, was that he needed to get out of the danger zone. The annoying thing was, that this seemed to have two parts to it, and while the healing part was (mostly) done, there was an escort aspect to things as well. Which… was annoying really, because he was just one person and he did not have the fire power or summoning options for backup. Or even some constructs, as iron defenders sounded useful as hell, or just some clockwork guardians.

Yet, he did not express this, as he looked around the hut, at the eyes that were wide and looked on in awe, even as several others close by had injuries, though none with the lingering darkness clinging to their souls. So, as they watched, he took out his wand, and spoke, as he tapped each of the injured in turn, golden light pulsing from the end as injuries closed shut and color rushed back into flesh, breathing evened out and vitality was visibly restored.

Yet, even as those in the hut were taken care of (and really, it was only eight charges of the wand), I wondered just how I would be able to get them out alive. Which honestly, would either be fairly easy, or painfully horrific judging by the later bonus objectives. Then of course, there was just how I could he prove the damn threat to the Satrap in time to actually matter?

Still, I looked to the men, who for the most part seemed seemed awed… then again, it was not like I was being subtle. This was not a time for half measures. "Tell me, was it mother of the spiders that inflicted the bite?" As it is… I was banking on the fact that I did not think that they would have survived a clash with the boss of the event. Mostly, because that thing read as an army killer. An army killer I was going to have to fight to prove what a badass I was. This feels me with so much joy, as my inner deadpan can tell you. I would not doubt that damn dove would show up just to sing 'You Died' again.

But, it was the first one that spoke, his head shaking as he did not look at my face. "I am not sure holy one. The one that managed to sink its fangs into the commander, it was a great beast, but we managed to drive it off, Jallal had managed to take one of its eyes with his bow, and it had been bleeding from several blows!" Now, that could be promising, as I focused on him, trying to be calm.

"What color was the spider?" There was eagerness in my voice, because… well, hopefully the GM was throwing me a bone, as Tomb spiders changed color as they grew, and those who were freed from their hosts prematurely rarely lasted long.

Now, the question made all of them seem a little confused, even as the man, and I really needed to ask his name sometime, gave the reply, hesitant even as he seemed wary and curious. "It was for the most part, the color of spilled blood, a dark red with stripes and blotches of much brighter hue." Now that, that had promise, and as I smiled and sighed, much to their confusion, I decided that I should explain.

"These spiders implant their eggs in the bodies of the dead, consuming them and each other as they grow. When one is ready to undergo its final molting, it bursts from the corpse. And an adult is grey in color, that of ashes and soot, while their immature forms are red. The one that has bitten the commander is one that was forced from its host too soon, and weaker. Still, its mother is likely not around."

Now, I pulled myself up, before I looked them over, and nodded. "I will hunt down the spider that has bitten the commander. The head of the beast should be proof enough, no?" Now at that there were cheers.

Now, the next bit, I blame on a combination of machismo and needing to make sure Farrokh stayed alive. Now, I managed to get them to stay behind as I went out to track the spider, though to be entirely honest? I was relying at least mostly on narrative and plot. I had a rough idea of where they were attacked, and where they fought off the spider (apparently just before they reached the village), and I was relying on the fact it had not rained in the last few days. Downside, if it had taken to the trees, I would lose it.

Yet, in a twist if either irony or the GM looking out for me, I was able to find the ichor, the spiders blood on the branches and brush, as I moved, moving with quiet steps and gliding among the shadows… and in truth it could be said that I was actually part of the darkness as I moved, no sound or pressure exerted on the ground.

Yet… as I came on the spider… I would try later, to tell a tale of heroism and glory, as I gathered the chill in my hand, as I focused and sharpened it, even as power flowed into my eyes to extend the range of the soul sight, to make sure that nothing living was about to leap on me. All the while, the cold gathered in a sphere, a point that ravaged away any heat that dared to exist even as I threw it as a spear into the very eyes of the sleeping spider to deliver a coup-de-grace.

A valid tactic, as it pulsed and leaped into its back, almost flipping over as it died, twitching a handful of times before it died. It just was not overly heroic, an assassins tool. Yet, as lips curled into a smirk, it was also the tool of those who were smart enough to know that a fair fight was a stupid idea. A fair fight was one you lost after all.

It did not take too long to return to the village with the spiders head in one hand, sword still in the other. Of course, it had only been an hour or two, and close to noon based on the position of the sun. Yet, even as I walked into the village? Well, Farrokh was awake and things were a hive of activity, as I walked into the middle ring, right up behind the man as his remaining men looked at me with wide eyes.

And the look as he turned and looked at me, the spiders head in one hand as my face was grim and war-like, now, I nearly broke down laughing as his jaw dropped and eyes bulged. He squeaked, at first just an expulsion of air that was high pitched, even as he gulped and spoke, something almost lost in his tone. "How?" Now, the thing is, he even sounded like the emissary from the movie!

Still, I made my visage stern, as I looked upwards at him. "I am Xenophon, son of Timon of the house of Víaios, whose home is the city of Symaris. And Farrokh Bagherzadeh, I am here as Aphroditie Areia would have you make your report to the Satrap in person. For this?" I brandished the head and he fell back, flinching, face paling as he looked into the eyes. "This was but an immature beast, weak and near returning to the house of the dead. Gather your men and the people of the village. We must away before the sun sets." Now, with each word I spoke he seemed to flinch, before he nodded. Now, as I returned that, lips not moving from their flat line, he began to shout orders. Hopefully, we would be able to make a break for it and actually reach it before any more spiders came across us.

Now, this is why a mage needs minions, and I was going to have to be working on my fleshcrafting. I needed to pick up the one that actually let me make some… or granted, I could work on some summoning. There were a few options all said and done. Granted, we did run into some additional trouble as we marched down the road.

As it was, there had been roughly fifteen men (aged fifteen to thirty), twenty two women (aged fourteen to forty) and a gaggle of thirty children under ten remaining of the village itself, and they decided to come along with us, for reasons of 'better in the city with its walls than here'. Now, for that I nodded… and took the twenty minutes to call up the four horses to pull their two wagons, the women, children and supplies in them.

Still, Farrokh had provided the women and children with slings and a collection of stones at my advice. After all, the spiders would hardly care of their meals sex or age, so they may as well provide sling fire to harass any spiders that show up. Pride is of use only to the living after all. And until we passed the walls of Sardis, as I sprinkled a handful of dust on us all, a smile on my lips, we were dead men walking.

So, as it was? Good news! When Web Zombies were hit with a barrage of rocks they got pulped! And then I was able to unleash waves of cold to decimate the swarms that emerged from the corpses, freezing and breaking the horde before the soldiers used their shields to smash and crush the spiders. Sure, would it work as well on an actual tomb spider? Probably not. Still, here is the thing. Yes, most of the stones didn't actually deal all that much damage, but when you had some forty stones slamming into a target at once? Enough of them would manage to get through.

Still, it was a good thing we managed to get clear of the forest and valley soon enough after the two hours after leaving the village, and the gates of Sardis a mere two hours away. And thank the gods, the spiders did not take that as an invitation to launch an ambush.

Spoiler: Poll

He was a loyal servant of the king, even if the kings brother could be a true fool. True, Artaphernes was part of the royal family, and his superior as the Satrap of Libya, and yet the man was far too permissive of the traitors and oath-breakers that infested these lands. It may be that the policy was to allow the barbarians to keep a great deal of freedom in their affairs and religion but this came with an all important consideration. That they remained loyal. And trying to pay your overlords off, bribing them in truth while doing your best to move on the side of the one who appeared to be winning? That was not loyalty. That was treachery under a thin and flimsy mask that his Satrap should have torn off and administered punishment.

And of course the barbarians had been attacked by the other rebels, they had likely had enough of their cowardice and moved to strike themselves! Yet, did that make the fools of the south marches realize their errors and from that realization did they move to throw themselves into the mercy of the court? No, they continued on as they had been all along. And so, he treated them as they were, as they proclaimed through their inaction. He treated them as the rebels they were. And yet, what did his fool of a Satrap do?

He made concessions and offers of conciliation without moving to punish this disloyalty! Still, his lord had issued his command, and unlike them, he was a loyal subject of the throne. He would obey.

For years, that son of whores and dogs Philokrates had delivered to the court at Sardis an annual request for his murder. Not even his death, but murder! How, in the glorious name of Ahura Mazda could Artaphernes allow this to stand! A request for his execution from that lord of rebels and scorpions would be one thing, as that would imply that the law had been followed and he was to have a trial by which he could argue his innocence of the slanders and crimes that they accused him of! No, the filth just wanted him murdered and killed without being able to defend himself according to the law.

This, how could any of sound mind accept this continued challenge to the laws which the Gods had passed down to the throne? This was something that he spoke of only with his closest friends and kin, for this... even with the proof that Artaphernes was growing mad, allowing traitors so close to whisper poison into his ear, to let them do despite their continued sins against the gods... it tore his heart and soul, tears flowing freely that he could even entertain thoughts that bordered so close to treason!

For what was he, if not a loyal servant?

He was given the command, to hunt for rare spiders from the fool. A task that was given after the yearly humiliation, after those cold eyes looked him over and broke off. It burned him, that he was dismissed, he who was of noble blood and generations of service, in favor of this traitorous son of a traitor. Still, he would obey his orders. For HE was loyal at the very least, loyal to the throne and the crown, even if those who wore the satraps crown were unworthy.

He made ready, making sure to make sure all was in order, that all was prepared. It was unlikely that the quarry actually existed, but still, a few days hunting would help clear his head.

Oh, the beast existed, or the beasts rather! Spiders as large as he was! From what pit of this foul and forsaken land did they crawl out of! Even the dead were not safe, and these creatures nested their young in the corpses, made to walk via this Greek magic! Still, he would make it free with his men, bring back a larger party to deal with the creatures... only for the road to be cut off by walls of webbing.

They turned back, riding hard to the west, one of their guides mentioned a village, we might be able to find walls, a defensible position there!

Pain and darkness, a thousand eyes and mouths, a burning and screaming in his veins that clawed and screamed and whispered as the strength left his arms and legs, as the shadow fell across his vision.

He could not say how long he was there, down in those strange stone halls, his blood burning as he began to hunger, as lips turned dry and like parchment, the fog so thick he could barely see at once grey and yet reeking of blood, each beat of his heart making it caress his eyes, stinging with copper and salt blades, digging into his flesh like maggots. Fingers clutched and felt at the rough stone, as feet walked over blades of stone, feet reduced to hunks of bone and meat.

Yet, there was no sound, no color, no sound. The feeling and the smell, the most vague of sights and scents and the taste... each gulp of air sent a mouthful of the taste to his aching belly, the tinge of iron and copper, of blood, promising him relief he if but closed his eyes and gave in.... yet he could not. He was a loyal servant, and he needed to return to his men!

And so he walked, he hungered and thirsted through this hell, through this torment. He was a loyal servant! His feet were bloody stumps, his breath rattled his ribs, so tight each breath was as tight as a vice, hands bloody claws as gums retreated to leave fangs, cutting his tongue and lips with each movement. Yet, he had to return, for he was a loyal servant, he was a loyal servant, wasn't he a loyal servant? Did not his oaths go beyond life? Or was he damned for his disloyal thoughts?

The mist surged back, the smell of fresh earth, of clean soil after the planting in his nose, as the mist seemed to gather, forming a shadow of oil that screamed in thwarted rage, as the walls rumbled with water, washing over him as a voice called out.

Eyes flew open, the mist and shadow coming from his mouth and nose, as he screamed, the slime of rotting meat passing through his lips, eyes wide with terror even as the shadow screamed once more, and darkness fell.

When he woke, his soldiers spoke of an impossible tale, of a holy child come from the den of traitors that drew a demon from him, a demon carried in the venom of the spider (he refused to think it a dying juvenile, it could not have been!) And then, the child appeared behind him, the beasts head in one hand, bloody sword in the other.

My voice was a croak, as the thing in the shape of a child spoke. It was smaller than me, but the presence of the spirit... it towered over me like a vast statue, eyes burning and flaying me, taking each of my secrets and weighing them, all the while finding me so small and weak that... I was nothing. I was dust and ash in the wind, as the thing claiming to be the grandson of the lord of rebels spoke with strength beyond iron.

We were caught up in its wake, unable to really resist, for how could we, when the gods themselves send a messenger?

But, our hearts chilled, looking at its grim smile, a smile that accepted death as dust, as it spoke the words and performed the rites as bare as they were, as we were given a ritual funeral. Death awaited us, and we would away, back into the light. If from this I survived, I would throw myself at the great scorpions feet, before making my way to the armies of the king of kings, to be a part of the first waves that swept Greece away! To get away from those eyes! From the memories of stone and shadows!

Honestly, a part of me had expected to have to fight our way to Sardis, even if, well, I could but hope that by taking the villagers, that would be sixty seven less web zombies in the coming storm. Because honestly, that was one of the main reasons to evacuate and save civilians when you had undead spawn creating threats around. Each one that died got a lot more dangerous, and in the case of Tomb Spiders… well, I could see just how they would be able to overrun a city and why keeping the casualties down will be difficult to say the least.

Yet, there is the main question… just how many bodies has the spider been able to access, and just how large will the assault be when it comes? Because, looking at things? There were a number of small villages that had no name with under a hundred people scattered around outside of the places large enough to actually have a name, not to mention missing travelers and merchants…. And if this spider was operating on more than instinct and actually had something of a plan or goal? Things could get ugly.

Yet, what was there to do, but make for Sardis, and to rally the city before the storm broke and it fell once more?

In truth, Sardis was a shell of its former self, though that was quickly being repaired, and in many ways was nearing the first stage of its repairs. Its population was still on the scarce side, and even if all the wooden parts of the city had gone up in flames, not to speak of the damage to some of the stone buildings, that had been years ago, and the city was, as far as things went, quickly returning to something close to what it had been before.

Sardis was surrounded by a wall of stone some twelve feet high, though there were gaps along the river. A few buildings were on a rise and visible from some way off, I would assume that was the Satraps palace. Now, once on the main road we had made good time towards the gates (which appeared to be hardwood planks with bands of bronze holding them together), yet using a combination of the spiders head and Farrokh's authority, we were able to quickly move past said gates. The, we parted from the villagers, save for three elders brought along with us, selected largely as they were 'official' for the village they hailed from, or at least were old enough that they could be trusted to have some level heads.

And yes, I was aware of the irony that an eight year old was thinking that.

Soon enough though, we reached the rise, moving up as soldiers, mostly Persian with a handful of Greeks, Babylioans and Cannaites watched, muttering among each other as they caught sight of me and the spiders head I was holding. Yet, as it was, we had not outpaced the messengers that ran ahead of us, that announced our coming to the master of the city and all of Libya.

Artaphernes was a tall and well built man, though age had taken its toll on him. He was broad of shoulder and had a face that was at once tired and resolute, and the built of a man who in his youth had been a great horseman, archer and hunter and age had not robbed him of that body. Indeed, next to him was a man that if you removed thirty years from the elder, could have been him, and stood behind him to the right. Both wore robes that were deceptively simple, blue with brass and silver symbols woven in that spoke of justice and wisdom. However, the younger also wore armor, of good bronze, and had a sword on his hip and bow on his back.

To his left, and looking right at me, face in a frown and eyes narrowed, was my father. Which really, was looking to be somewhat awkward really. Yet, it was Farrokh that first spoke, moving forward and clasping his left hand into a fist into the middle of his chest, right hand at the ready to take his sword in what was clearly a military style salute. "Satrap! I bring news of the hunt you have tasked me with."

Now, fun thing, it was at that moment there was a little ding in my head, as what do you know, that completed the quest. Still, the Satrap looked him over, and then his eyes turned to me, and I met them, even as he frowned slightly, but did not flinch. "And tell me Farrokh, did I not command that you were to bring them back alive? From the head you have this child carry, it is clear that it may have been somewhat larger than expected, but you have hunted large and dangerous beasts before, have you not?"

Have you ever heard a true master of the art give a scathing rebuke while calling the one he is addressing as a boastful idiot? All while speaking in a polite and calm tone, not a single word actually the barbed lash you had been expecting, yet somehow, as Farrokh flinched, it cut deeper than shouting would have? "And of course, there is the curious matter of having ridden out with fifteen men and thirty four horses, and having lost all but four of the horse and seven of my soldiers? When you have, in the past, hunted lion with only two others and come away with no injury at all?"

Now, in Farrokh's defense, he was opening his mouth to reply to this, when another messenger approached, distressed and wild eyed. "Satrap! When we moved to take the horses from the wagons, they melted into puddles of water!" Now, all of those who were not aware of that trick looked at the messenger as if he had taken leave of his senses, as whispers of madness spread like a ripple in a pond.

Yet, cutting through that, it was one voice, annoyed and stern, that cut through it. "Son. Explain." As it is, I am fairly sure that my father was under the impression, that I had planned this. Still, I shrugged, drawing all of the eyes onto me, many of them going wide with shock and… well, I'm guessing that it was more that I was answering.

"Ah, that particular spell only lasts a span of time, as its more imposing the idea of a horse onto some water than actually calling up a horse and I'm not strong enough to have that last?" Now sure, I phrased it as a question, mostly because hey, it was both true and false in equal measure. Sure, it would take some time, but I would be able to make a permanent mount. Just not with magic alone.

"But, if you mean the situation in general? The dove landed on my head, told me a spider had escaped the halls of Hades and that she did not want him," at that I gestured towards Farrokh, "to die there. I'm guessing there are plans, but I do not really want to know. So, found him possessed, cast out the shade trying to devour him from the inside and killed a premature and dying spider all while trying to avoid attracting its mothers attention and getting the villagers out of there before it could implant them with eggs, wrap them in webs and use dark arts to turn them into walking corpses that would grab hold of others to help create more hosts for the spiders young." I paused then, looking to Farrokh. "That pretty much summarizes things, doesn't it?"

Now, Farrokh nodded, as everyone around looked fairly shocked, just a little spooked and was looking at something behind me. "There is something unusual behind me, isn't there." I did not speak it as a question, because it was not.

"IN A WAY." Now, the voice was deep, it was echoing and it was sculphercal, as I turned, looking into the eyes of a black ram that stood six feet tall at the shoulder, whose ivory horns seemed to somehow be made of silver and eyes of glittering ruby. "YOU HAVE WORK TO DO."

Now, just because she liked Disney, did that mean she had to keep using animal messengers?

Now, here is the good news. I completed the quest and more than one person around me is looking like they are seriously reconsidering their life choices. Then again, the sudden appearance of a ram that was pulling out all the 'messenger of Hades' tricks? Still, I got quest rewards and my father is NOT looking to actually do anything other than watch as me and the ram look into each others eyes.

Neutral side, I now have three more quests, a combination of fetch quest and craft quests, along with at least one combat challenge. All doable, and clearly a means to try and build things up for the Storm and Liberation quests.

Now, the bad side was simple. I had a rough time table. The storm would take a week to build up its forces and be ready to attack the city, and attacking it in the open would just be feeding numbers into its horde. Now… I just have to convince the Satrap and my Father of all of this….

Spoiler: New Quests!

Now, there were good and bad sides to being publicly seen as favored by the gods. On the one hand, people did pay attention to what you said. However if what you said did not match up with what they wanted to hear? Obviously it was all some very elaborate trickery and a hoax (please ignore that the giant black ram stomped a foot and a crevasse opened, vanishing into the underworld before it slammed shut with a sound exactly like a coffin lid), as obviously the gods are smart enough to agree with THEM.

Still, as I was hustled off by Father, I did managed to reassure him that I mentioned where I was going, even if I had been in somewhat of a hurry (I think I did anyway, I had sort of been a little panicked at the time after all), to give some more in depth explanations, spider head left with Farrokh, so that he could be grilled by the confused and worried looking Satrap. Granted, the man had every reason to be worried, given that a sacred animal showed up, stared at someone as ghostly whispers echoed and clawed at the edges of hearing as the shadows lengthened and then departed in an obvious manner. Really, there was NO subtlety there at all.

Still, I explained things as best I could (likely poorly), as the best way of translating it? I was blessed by the gods and I knew many deeper and profound mysteries than what normally passed for a magical ritual, even if I did not quite phrase it that way. Mostly as that was rude. And while I be Greek now, in my past life I was Canadian, and it just felt wrong to be rude for the sake of being rude. Because really… it was not like there wasn't something of a template for powerful magic users already in the Greek Mythos… though the exact 'okay, from what ancestor are you getting these gifts' could be somewhat on the hard side to try and explain away.

Now, as a dutiful and loyal son, I told my father what I would be doing overt the next week… though truth be told I DID hesitate and did not tell the entire truth of the shrine of Ishtar. Mostly because I was having a bad and lewd feeling about that one….

Now, I am not ashamed to admit that I started in the house of Hades. Mostly because there was a crafting element to restoring his shrine, and that could take a while. Still, actually finding the shrine had not been two difficult, as it lay on the southern side of Sardis, almost at the wall, and yet there was a sense of quiet about it the area, a grey cast that was solemn and deep, that spoke of respectful silences and a vague sense of the living being not entirely welcome.

The shrine was, for the greatest part, not damaged overmuch by the sack for a simple reason. Almost none of this shrine had parts of wood. No, this shrine was made of stone, for the rich lord of the underworld. And much the same, as I moved closer, for the actual pair of altars I would need to work on.

Now, for the most part, after looking them over, things were fairly simple and straightforward, it largely being some iron fittings and repair work to the stone that needs being done… and yet, if I was to seek the bonus? Well, looking into the area were blood would flow into the pit and drain down into the earth, there actually was an ingot there, radiating a darkness so deep that it stood out in total darkness. In all other ways, as my hands closed on the metal, it was iron.

Yet, a cry was torn from my lips, as the chill of the grave seeped into me from the ingot. Okay, so this was the actual challenge. It dealt 1d6 damage per hour of working with it, half cold and half negative energy. The longer it would take to finish the shrine (approximately three days of eight hours of work a day), well…. 8d6 damage per working day. Thank fuck I knew healing magic and had a wand.

Still, all things considered…. Eight hours, I only needed to sleep for four a night…. I might be able to also hit up one of the other shrines, I could actually go this! Now, I would save Isis's shrine for last because that was the one that had a demon I needed to banish. Mostly as that one would need so much blasting.

Now, the main problem with Ishtar's shrine is that when it was open due to lack of statue (the 'Vessel of Ishtar') is that it doubled as a brothel and ale house. And yet, they could not make a new one, as anyone who had sex here or drank here since Sardis was sacked was plagued by terrible dreams of crying, darkness and rotting hands either groping them or trying to tear their dicks off. Now, this had been going on for years at this point, but one could not rule out the GM retconning things so that there would be an adventure hook.

Now, the interesting thing is, that further west Ishtar is worshiped under a different name. She is called, in the land of my birth, as Aphrodite. But, in the east, she is, to use the common and much beloved summary of her, the slut-queen of the gods. Basically, a goddess whose libido is set to 'okay, I just fucked that army into exhaustion and at least half of them died of shattered hips and burst hearts, yet because they did not satisfy me, I shall curse and smite them and then use their wives and children as sex toys to warm up before my hot date/orgy tonight!'

Granted, this may just be because of the murals and mosaics which look like they got lifted from rule34.xxx, gelbooru and a host of other erotic art sites. Including how the stone casks in the ale area seem to be shaped like pregnant women, the ale actually meant to come from their crotches. Which… damn, that is a theme if nothing else.

The fun thing is, the shrine is actually built on a small cave system, mostly for some rituals that mirror the descent into the underworld apparently. And it is into those that I begin my delve. Now, as it is, they worked the caves to try and appear as natural as possible, save for an actual path forward, the road that the dead take to the house of rest. And so, there were seven gates that in the good days would have had guards there to challenge me, to force me to go naked into the dark as part of the mystic experience.

Now, as I came to the sixth, I could hear crying ahead, along with a low guttural growl and the sound of flesh smacking onto metal. Moving to try and blend in, to hide behind cover as I slowly moved forward… well, I had an idea of what I was going to find, but the reality of it?

Past the last gate, there was a man seated on a throne, that looked at once burnt almost to ash and what was not burnt was rotten, naked though given the state of the body that was a bit of a downside. His bread, such as it was, was strands of wired grease, as the nails were black and yellow from rot and fire. There were no eyes, merely red burning pits and a jagged mouth full of fangs black from soot and yellow from decay.

Yet… at his feet, bound and chained, was a golden statue, nude and ample. The jewelry and sheer red silks that would adorn said statue missing, as the construct weeped once more, only for a foot to kick her in the face. "I tell thee again, oh goddess, as I tell thee each night. Restore to me that which the fire took, restore my root and my pride and freedom shall be thine. Or, as every night, wilt thou be unrelenting in thy withholding my due! Did I not save thee from the fires! Did I not keep thee from the hands of the rebels! Did I not earn my boon!"

At this, she looked up at him and wept, not spitting at him as she spoke. "And nightly you have befouled me, nightly you have defiled me and kept me from my temple! Speak not to me of rewards earned, as you defecate and grind my face into your rot and filth, as you grind yourself against my face, only to wash me with your urine as you are forced to squat like a woman! I hate you and curse you!" Now, the thing was, revolting words aside, this seemed almost… routine? Like they had been trapped here, the both of them, repeating that night for years and becoming mired into the cycle.

Yet, yet… as I looked at the pair, there was opportunity here as well, because where else was I going to find an undead in the city on a reasonable timeframe. Still, I checked, and noticed something, something that made me grin madly. I did not have to repair the Altar of Hades first, for it to accept the sacrifice. The pit alone would be sufficient.

So it was that I walked into the room, bold as brass. "Now, it seems to me that you need a little outside help for this situation, help that I might be able to provide! Now, you see my good fellow, I am a worker in flesh, and from my medical knowledge, I can tell exactly why our good goddess here would not be able to assist you with your problem." Now, there were two clear expressions on the two faces at that.

The zombie, who at the very start looked surprised, had morphed into anger and then desperate curiosity with a side of need. The statue of Ishstar on the other hand was looking at me with wide eyed incredulity, as if unable to trust her senses. Still, the zombie leapt to his feet. "Tell me this secret!" Now, there was hunger, there was need, there was madness in that voice, as I nodded.

"You see, she is a goddess of the living. You on the other hand, need to make this request of the kind and just lord of the house of shades, as his house is the house of the dead. But," I raised my hand, "I would be more than willing once you have submitted your request in his temple to begin work on you! Flesh is flesh after all, and there are no shortage of corpses after a battle!" Now, the thing was, this largely worked because the damn thing wanted it to work, his face eager and almost like that of a puppy as he walked forward.

"Lead me thus mine friend, and when my manhood is restored, why, I shall reward thee with both my hands full of gold and jewels!" Now, it was disturbing as hell to listen to the burbling, but I nodded and smiled.

"Just follow me my lord, and soon enough, why, all your problems will be a thing of the past!"

On the one hand, I was tricking someone who followed me in good faith to kneel on the edges of a sacrificial pit. On the other hand, that somebody was a crazy ass zombie that had been tormenting a (hopefully) innocent living statue all in the hopes of growing his dick back so he could rape her and continue a grand spree of rapine and murder (he would not in fact, shut up about it), so even if it WAS evil, I was willing to take the hit to deal with this crazy fucker.

"[Oh Hades, lord of the house of shades, to you I dedicate this,

A man who while dead still walks this earth.

I commend him to you, oh guardian of mens souls,

Lord and master of the departed souls.

Be fair to him, and look on him with wise eyes,

That he may be judged as he deserves to be judged,

And adds to the glory of your kingdom.]"

Still, with the final word, I brought the blade down, lopping off his head, as his body tumbled into the dark of the pit, a sigh seeming to escape his body, as it broke into ashes on the way down. Which really, was a relief. Now, to check on the vessel and hope she was not too angry about all this.

Now, there were good and bad sides to doing what I had done. On the positive side, I had managed to remove the zombie from the situation quickly and cleanly, and before it could start the nightly humiliation it sounded and looked like. On the other hand, I had taken said zombie and offered it to another god, and not worked on slaughtering it in plain view of the one that was likely eager for some revenge.

Still, there was nothing to do, but to return to the shrine and delve back into the caverns. As it was, I had my suspicions on just why she had not torn the zombie apart herself… though I was wondering if it was just because things matched the myths closely enough, and that she had to obey said guidelines? Mostly, as I've only seen animal messengers, and I know the GM was behind those as no real gods was part of the setting.

Which of course, hardly prevented adding elements like this, as I looked over the kneeling and bound form the vessel. "Ah, the triumphant hero returns. Tell me, was his new cock quick to shoot and that the reason you are back so soon after he rewarded you with it?" Now, there was some nice sarcasm and biting edge to her words, as I kneeled down next to her, looking over the links of the chain.

"Not quite my lady. I had told him that he would have to petition lord Hades, and so, as he kneeled over the sacrificial pit, well, his body joined his head soon after." Because lying to the likely physical manifestation of a goddess was likely a bad idea, not if I wanted to cultivate a working relationship with her. Yet… that just made her pout.

"You sacrificed him to another, and did not just tear out his heart for me to feast on?" Now, let me tell you this, it was disturbing on several levels to watch wide golden eyes just fill to the brim with moisture as full lower lips quivered and shook. Which on the one hand, adorable. On the other hand, damn that got Mesoamerican fast. Yet, faster than it would take to say it, her face moved to a determined one.

"Then your compensation will be this! For an entire passage of the day and night you will attend me!" She gave a sniff at the end, nose rising into the air. "And if your service is adequate, I may make use of you when you are older." Now, have you ever listened to one of those haughty brats, the one that were born into money and privilege and find it endlessly amusing to have the peasants do as they command while strutting about in slutwear while picking out jocks based on 'his face would be just lovely as a seat'? Yeah, she had one of THOSE voices. Still, as it was, I needed her for the defense of Sardis, as my father was one of the soldiers that could get killed.

So, I nodded, as I internally sighed. "As you command Lady Ishtar." And anyone who has experience with cats would be able to recognize the look on her face, smug cat expression three.

Now, the thing was, she did not want sex right away. No, she wanted something much more understandable and important. She wanted her freedom and a bath, as she had been on her knees down here for at least five years. Which, all said and done, was an extremely reasonable first order of business. Now, the freeing part was easy anyway, as I removed the chains (first time I used the claws for cutting really), at least before she… grudgingly admitted that she needed her ritual jewelry back at each of the gates leading out to actually leave, in a mirror of the myth.

So, I looked around each of the chambers, and wouldn't you know it, said ritual clothing was not even hidden. It made me wonder, just how strong had that zombie have been, if he managed to overpower her and strip her? Granted, there was a bit of me that wanted to just strip and spank her myself, because at each of the gates?

I knelt down, before rising, a piece of her raiment in hand, and spoke the same words (now, I was fairly sure that they were not needed, but I needed her happy for the quest). "Oh radiant and divine Ishtar, be clad once more in the garments of life and return to us from the house of shades!" Now, I tried to keep it happy and welcoming, but from the smug smile? She knew how I felt and it amused her greatly, filling her heart with smug and evil joy if that smirk was anything to go by.

Still, once we reached the last one and she was dressed in the full scope of her ritual jewelry, as her foot rested on the surface of the world, she gave a sigh of pleasure, closing her eyes and shivering, as the fragrance of rose petals and frankincense filled the air, the scent emerging, predictably, from her crotch. Because of course having her strength restored to her was orgasmic.

"Now, my brave little hero, this IS normally the part where I would pin you down and ride you. Alas, your cock is too small for me to be playing with it properly. Which really, is a pity." Now, she sighed, even as golden fingers moved down my stomach, dancing over my tiny shaft. I was eight. I had not even entered puberty yet. Still, she smiled. "But, how about a little game? There are, or should be at least, three fluids holy to me in the shrine. I need a special bath before I have my fun."

Now, between the smug-cat face and the licking of her lips? Inwardly, I was just thinking 'cougar'. That thought might have also been because she looked like she was in her mid to late twenties and I was eight years old. "Each one you can bring me for my bath, and I'll give you a boon when your older. Each one missing…" There was a grin on her face, feral and wild and knowing, as if she knew that I'd never be able to find them all or guess correctly. "And I shall have myself a week of service." The last e was drawn out, as she leaned down, arms pulling my head between those breasts (surprisingly soft, almost like silk, for all that they were gold, and with the warmth and feel of flesh), as mocking and smiling laughter came from her lips. "Am I not a generous mistress?"

Now, the ranks in Knowledge (Religion) actually managed to pay off as more than 'what sort of undead is the GM throwing at me'! Mostly, as I was mildly stumped as Ishtar sashayed off to the baths, hips rocking and swaying… before there was a clatter of dice in my head and I got a tiny little history blurb, even as I blinked because on their own, each seemed to make sense, but when combined? Okay, there was still some sense.

Now, the first such fluid, I went to the part of the temple that served as the ale house, grabbing one of the casks. Ale was a divine secret that she had stolen via seduction and then used to get more dupes nice and easy to swindle more divine secrets and powers from. And if he had to guess, that would be used as the main part of washing her, as ironically, you could use alcohol to clean and sanitize gold with no issues.

The second item was located in the brothel section, and it was a simple flask of pressed fig. Fig, the plant that denoted life and prosperity…. And ironically made for a good shampoo and conditioner thanks to its various properties.

And the last took him some searching, yet he managed to locate a still somehow fresh pot that contained milk. Milk, which was the result of pregnancy and flourishing life begetting new life into the world. And also effective (supposedly, medical science is mixed) at clearing the pores and cleaning oils. So, if he had to guess, the final wash to clean things off?

Look, I was a guy. I used water and occasionally a very useful cantrip and paid no more attention to the little details beyond that. The mysteries of female skin and beauty care are some that by and large I knew enough to stay well away from because I was just going to get it wrong anyway and have to deal with upset women lecturing me on things that to my ear and understanding contradicts itself while looking down at me in a way that seems to suggest something was wrong with my basic intelligence.

Yet, walking into the bathing room? Which was close to what would in time be the roman model of baths, with the three containers (and featured of course, a massive amount of pornographic art in actual mosaics and sculpture), I would say that the greatest sight was Ishtar looking at the containers and pouting, hands under her breasts pushing them up as she glared, huffing and stomping a foot, even as she moved to an actual tub.

Now, as things began, I can thankfully say that she did not seem to be holding a grudge, even if from that pout and grumbling she had not expected to to actually get my hands on all three, and so would have had me at some point. However, as hands moved over her, , pressing and grinding the ale into her flesh and breasts… well, she was complaining slightly even as her right hand was positioned over her folds, middle and ring finger sliding in as I moved to polish and rub out the ale onto her form.

'I mean, it used to be that I had attendants and handmaidens, and those girls were well trained! At least one of them would be in the tub and praising my perfect ass as another would moan her thanks at being able to serve right into my sex!" Okay, she was upset that I was not going to be her slave for a week when I was grown, as every complaint was some variation on 'mortals should be honored to serve the gods', as hands glided over her thighs and calves, fingers rubbing and kneading at her feet slowly.

Still, she huffed and nodded, as I was done that part… and gestured to the fig juice. "Hair first, then a rinse and then milk." Her tone was sharp and demanding, as she gestured with one hand, nodding curtly. "After that, you will be putting that greek mouth of yours to the test…." Or basically, oral sex on the golden idol. Which really… I should not be that upset about all said and done. No dildo and strap-on or her turning into a massive dicked futa as she decides to 'teach the mortal some respect', so a win really!

And for the fig juice... look, I was not a professional. I managed to do it, running the juices through her hair and along her nipples (her command) without pinching or pulling any hair, so all said and done? A good first time washing a girls hair. And after that was the milk bath. Most of which was simply pouring it on Ishtar and then rubbing it in, sealing it in with a few kisses (and really, how did she manage to taste of rich cream, honey and strawberries of all things?), before she rose from the bath like a towering goddess, picking me up as she hummed. "And now my little attendant, I require you to sing my praises while I sit on my throne."

Which as she dumped me on the ground before her throne, sitting down as she spread her legs, right foot on my shoulder and neck, left little to the imagination of how she wanted them sung. The sad thing? I was wondering if I was going to sleep today.

The next nine hours of my left were spent on my knees in a single position, as my lips and tongue delved into a range of honeysuckle, cream and various kinds of berries and ice cream, even as things kind of got weird after the first hour. Mostly in the 'honey, I be tripping balls from this honey pots snatch' sort of way I think. The world was at once much more clear, yet also misty and foggy, golden boundaries the entire defining characteristic of the world. There was only the need to kiss and lick and taste, as hands rose and kneaded something, cupping and rolling around.

I could not tell you at the time just how much time passed, entirely because of whatever it was that she did, as fluid broke over face, tasting of gold and ride of the Valkyries and cherry vanilla ice cream as the texture of it was closer to lap-dance and red with a side of Valhalla be calling me. It was something that got fuzzy and strange as my lips closed on a bulge and began to suck and nibble and the fluid came faster and faster, until there was a warm voice that said something indistinct, and all was a golden darkness.

You know, there were worse ways to wake up, than literally laying on top of a golden woman, the physical vessel for a goddess. She was surprisingly warm and comfortable, even as she was holding me much like you would see a girl holding onto and cuddling a giant plushie or body pillow. Now, I could not see her face from the position I was in (head under her boobs), but she was actually breathing in and out like she was asleep.

Which, you know, she could actually do. She just didn't need to most likely. It was part and parcel of being a living construct I imagined, of being a representation of a fertility goddess in a not so living body. Which really had to be creating a bit of a cognizant dissonance, though how much of one? I was not exactly qualified to say, as really, I lacked the training in psychology and in any case would be hesitant to try unraveling the thought patterns of a goddess.

But, I think I must have moved or otherwise given myself away, as she squeezed me, muttering something about her snuggly was not leaving her. Now, there are a number of things I could have done. More than a few paths that I, as a well versed student of the mystic arts and shaper of flesh could have tried to do. However, when all the paths were weighed and options tallied, examined with a stern and critical eye, I did NOT nod to myself as I came to the most logical and prudent course of action!

I lay there and snuggled with her, planning on not waking her and letting her sleep. Unseen to me, a pair of lips moved into a happy smile.

Now, I might have dozed off again and woke up later with my head resting right on her ass. Still, as I gave a breath, it was then that Ishtar spoke, wiggling her golden booty. "Aren't you going to give me a good morning kiss?" Oh, her tone was playful, but I sighed, lowering my lips to her rosebud, tongue sliding in and wiggling even as lips pressed to her flesh. And then she gasped and giggled. "You know, I just thought it would be a chaste kiss on my rear, not such a lewd sign of affection!" Which she was milking and finding funny, of course. This was my life more or less it seemed.

But, as my head left her rear, she sighed. "You know though, I do have a task for you in what time is left of your service. While your oral skills are passable, I find myself needing a nice big cock to really get my juices flowing. You will, of course, arrange for a suitable man to pay me a visit, will you not? He needs to be of high standing and breeding, at least to break my dry spell. Feel free to send the army in afterwards, though…."

Now, licking her lips like a lioness was supposed to be just a saying, as she moved over, flipping to watch me as I moved to stand. "Its only a pity I just can't have the whole city, men and women alike worshiping at my temple." Now, as she sighed and giggled, one hand reaching up to grope one of her breasts as the other sent her fingers to wetly plunge into her sex as she giggled and dreamed of debauchery… yes. I had things to do, and I moved slowly, to make sure I did not attract attention with sudden movement, not turning my back until I was out of sight… and then turning and running to pick up my gear and arrange for a incoming satrap to visit a brothel that there might be a battlefield blessing as the city was overrun with giant spiders and zombies.

He looked at me, a blank expression on his face. "You are telling me that Ishtar, patron of Uruk, has a vessel that is aware and active in my fathers city. And that this vessel demands the presence of either me or my father?" Now, as he looked at me, there was the faintest traces of unease and wariness in his tone and position. "And would this have anything to do with the figure you had been seen escorting from that temple?"

And yeah, I had hardly been subtle. Kinda the opposite there really, even as I nodded. "Yes. Let us just say that there should be no more curses and nightmares in the temple. Hopefully. Unless someone angers Lady Ishtar." Which given her temper? Yeah, I'm honestly surprised that I managed to get away after showing her that I was capable of thinking of disrespect.

Still, the man across from me nodded. "Still, what does she desire of us, that one so chosen by the gods cannot provide?" And there it was. An acknowledgement of the drama to come, and a sense of 'okay, it involves the gods, why aren't you dealing with it'. Yet, there was just one way I could reply, my face solemn and grim.

"As I am eight years old and not even entered into the changes to manhood, I am rather unable to fuck her as she desires. And as she needs to have sex with the ruler of the city, and you are Satrap by years end…" I gestured towards him, as the man looked almost flabbergasted.

"Really, THAT is what the goddess was demanding?" There is a sense of disbelief in his words, as I nod, face grim.

"Aye. And while a divinely beautiful woman, she is also a fertility goddess and has claimed that she wishes to sample the charms of the army if you are not up to the task, in her words." There was resignation in my slumping posture and sighed tone, as I looked at him with an expression that said 'what can you do' as I shrugged and held my palms into the air.

Yet, this seemed to have lit a fire in him, as he stood. "Ah, I have not yet met the woman whose appeties I could not fill in the bedroom or at the table!" So boasted the poor SOB who was goaded into this. "I shall visit this goddess and participate in the rites. Of course, if this is a trick…" He stared at me a moment, thinking, before he rushed off.

Now, across from me at the table, the current Satrap Artaphernes looked on and sighed, head coming to rest in his hands as he muttered something about how he really should have had the boy married before this, or at least visited a courtesan.

Oh. Did I just send Ishtar a virgin sacrifice? Well, better him than me!

Now, that little debacle aside (along with the warning that the satrap was going to check on his son later).... I actually got a ding when I was almost at the temple of Isis on the riverfront, and the weight of a book in my little satchel. Checking it, yes, that was the guide to unlawful carnal knowledge. Which meant that the Ishtar shrine restoration was a success!

Which was really just the thing as I entered into the Temple of Isis, a spring in my step and demon killing in my heart! Because I was a;lready writing the demonology book off for a very, very simple reason. You do not make deals with demons. You do not try and outwit or trick demons or devils. Trying that usually ends up with you suffering an even more ironically twisted fate instead! Or just an existence of woe and pain that eventually ends in agony and horror and transitions into an eternity of horrific brutality that mutalities your very self and identity.

So in short, demons are for killing!

Yet, as I approached, I noticed thing interesting. The pylons, rectangular towers with the gates between them, actually had more than just the hieroglyphs, but actual Medean script that proclaimed the love of learning the great king had, and that possessed by the Satrap. Still, the gates were open… and something about all of this smelled of smoke and soot as I ventured into the forecourt. Now, this was a sizeable area, made smaller only by the fact it was not in Egypt. It was open to the air, with columns under overhangs, and what seemed to be a number of small altars and workstations for craftsmen.

Yet, all here is silent, a sort of stillness over the entire courtyard as I walk through the ashes, a shiver running down my back. As I breathed in, I could taste something almost like loss and despair, even as to the side… I looked, because I had sworn I saw a flicker of embers, and movement in the shadows.

So, I took out in one hand my sword, and a vial of water in the other. "Demon!" My voiced seemed to echo, pulsing and little dust devils kicking up the ash. "I know you are here! Reveal yourself!" Now the thing was, as I moved power into my eyes, as I looked more in the realm of souls and enchantment… well, I did not know exactly were it was.

"Any why," the voice echoed from around me, scratchy and dry as a throat parched for ages with no water, "little mage, should I do that?"

There was a pulse, for lack of a better word, of malevolence and sullen fury, that seemed to come from the ground like a dense mist, rising and clinging… even as I took off the top of the vial, and began to make a circle in the ash, the blessed liquid sizzling and glowing as it made contact with the ashes, until there was something of a barrier around myself. "Because oh demon, if you do not reveal yourself before me, I will find you and cast you out beyond the far gates." There was steel in my tone, even as the figure stepped forward from one of the side rooms.

It was as tall as a full grown man, yet it despite the roughly human frame, enough of it was inhuman that few would think it even related. Its feet were like a monkeys paws, save webbed, and its knees almost bent like a satyrs. From its shoulders and collarbone came a helm of spikes, even as its face was that of a skeletal dogs, half on fire, half obscured by billowing smoke and ash, even as its hands were more claws aflame, the tips of bone sticking out. The reptilian tail was almost easy to overlook really.

"Really, a stripling youth cast ME out?" There was the laughter, booming and echoing, as my eyes kept looking, kept seeking. "You cannot match me, little mage, but I admire such boldness. Fall to your knees and swear to worship me, and I shall let you live." The demon gave the offer casually, as if knowing the outcome, as it stalked forward, footfalls distorting the ground as I slowly nodded.

"A tempting offer, if you did not reek of illusions!" Now, in that moment, I hurled the vial, twisting almost behind me to strike at the base of the western pylon, a shriek of surprise as clay and blessed water snapped the actual demon out of hiding. It was a small creature, almost spider like, made of twisting shadows and burning smoke as it fell to the ground, two of its legs actually seeming to melt, as I gathered my cold and frozen wrath in my hand.

"Spare me mighty one!" Now, the demons really voice was high pitched, chittering and almost grating on the ears, like the grinding of glass. "Spare me, and I serve, many secrets I have found here!" Now, it was begging, as I looked over it, even as I reached down and grabbed it, positioning it so that my hand was on top of it… and the cold was kissing its back.

"Tell me of these secrets oh demon." Now, the odd thing is, it began to spew a list of 'secrets' mostly made up, more than a few contradictory and no small number of things it twisted from passersby. Still, I nodded, before it came to rest on one of the offering altars, and I spoke, my voice cold. Demons, from what I could see of them with my eyes? I was fighting down the urge to vomit merely listening to this thing.

"I give you my reply, weaver of lies. May Isis have mercy on you, because I shall not." And with that, the killing cold surged forth as it screamed and thrashed, claws scraping against me, but my shield more than holding, as the cold ate away at the screaming shadow spider. Still, as I pulled my hand away… there was a simple looking key in its place as the Isis shrine was dealt with. And huh… if I could find the repository… I would have a few days before the storm to do some magic study!

To the victor goes the spoils… or in my case, went the search for where that 'hidden repository' was. You see, the thing was that Isis was the Egyptian goddess of magic (among other things) and I was hoping that the repository would have a number of scrolls and tablets I could copy over, tricks and tools that would help in the storm. Because there was something that was bugging me. Mostly that the quest reward to negate the tomb spider venom was that easy. And the GM was a playful and dramatic bitch, so frankly, there had to be SOMETHING in the battle to come that would mean that the loss of venom was acceptable.

But, as I looked at the obvious (to me) hidden door, near the sanctuary and hidden by illusion magic, I was actually wondering if I was overthinking things. This stemmed, largely, from the simple fact that some things might not be as much of a challenge for me, because I could actually see the magic? Which, yeah. That said, key in hand, I entered into the quiet of the little library, and sighed in bliss.

The actual room was not that large, a rectangle twenty feet long by eight feet wide by twelve feet high, yet the glorious and lovely thing about this place? The illusion did not fall when I entered and there were two entire walls filled with scrolls, many of them even faintly registering as magical to my senses. This was, to put it bluntly, the most awesome part of the city so far.

Sure, sure, when puberty hit I would claim Ishtar, but while I still had a clear head and my lower one did not dominate, I would have to claim it was this room. Now, I am not ashamed to admit that I quickly looked through all the scrolls, and found something very interesting, and something that made me drool as I calculated copy times… as well as considered the fact that this room could start as the basis of a wizard academy.

The reason? There were, in scroll form, all the cantrips, orisons and first circle spells from the Cleric and Wizard spell list in scroll form here. Yet, it was in the ranks of the handful of second level spells that I saw the spells that made me blink and curse. Mana Burn, Lesser Trueshot Aura, Frost Armor, all taken from the Warcraft RPG. Which could mean any number of highly unpleasant things. Granted, it was a sword and sorcery setting that was built using D&D 3.5, so that his GM was taking parts of it?

Frankly, as I got down and started to copy spells into my book, I was just going to start with the orisons and cantrips, more advanced spells when I was not as busy….

Now the good news is that I managed to snap out of my frenzy to copy things over in just a few short hours, adding a good deal of lore to my book… and actually finding a new mythos added to the Magos list that dealt with truenaming. Which, despite the fact that most considered it trash tier? Yeah, I might have pulled some nasty tricks with it in the games I ran, even with those homebrew tweaks. As it is though? Truenaming was weaker at the lower levels, true. But it was a power that scaled off your knowledge and ability to actually master the words that allowed for some insane effects.

Hells bells, even if you just used scraps of it, via specific feats, you could have insane impacts on regular spellcasting and ritual effects. Add in personal true names and you could do very easily what would take a number of high level spells to accomplish, as you have the metaphysical code of someone in your hands. Not just Outsiders, but any creature. It took some extremely complicated tricks to bypass those weaknesses, and the side effects of most of them left you with an Unnatural Aura at the very least.

But the library had no truenames, or anything other than the suggestion that the names of some things were better left unspoken. Which, given the potential abuses, particularly in demonology, that true names can provide… yeah, that made a lot of sense on several levels.

Still, shaking my head, I nodded. There was work to be doing for Hades shrine was well… and I would actually have to pick and choose what spells I could devote time to in the coming days. I sighed, patting the book shelf. "I'll be back soon." My voice was mournful, as I breathed in the scent of old parchment and ink, in the smell of wisdom and learning. I would return

Now, the next two days were fairly simple, as I worked and copied spells over from various sources. As it was though, when I was not doing that or finishing the repairs, I was training. Training with what you might ask? Why, the sword, bow and spear. Now, you might be puzzled as to just WHY a mage would practice all of that when thats the warriors job. You see, that is good old modern thinking, as back in the day we had what are called gender roles and as a male, particularly one belonging to a noble class, I needed to actually train and be able to use weapons if I wanted to be seen as respectable.

Sure, I could become a priest. But then I would have to deal with a number of taboos, restrictions and the fact that us Greeks didn't really have full time priests as each persons relationship with the gods was personal. Even if not quite as personal as Ishtars new zest for life, merriment and the fact that there was a surge to her shrine as she recruited back all the girls that left (and apparently used her stomach as an ale cup at a few points), though I was doing my best not to be dragged into that madhouse.

Positive side; Morale is high due to the fact that a goddess has a visible presence in the city. Artaphernes the younger, while drunk mind you, clasped me on the shoulder and proclaimed me 'like a younger brother'.

Negative side; She is celebrating the end of a dry spell with a non-stop orgy. Artaphernes the elder has told me, flatly, that firstly, his son was drunk at the time and my father would not approve the adoption regardless, but I also needed to cure his headache. I barely managed to keep my wand.

Now, I have traded away some of my potions (and brewed a few more), for a little private ceremony. Granted, I had freely admitted that I was going to be doing something with the corpses afterwards, though there would be enough for the customary cooking and eating of the sacrificed bulls. As a side note, Ishtar sent one of her girls to pat me on the head for sending her eight sets of bull balls coated in honey, and that she accepts my tribute.

Entirely honest? That was more to prevent her from going 'why did you make sacrifices to others but not me!' enraged and postal and trying to sic something on me. Did that sound like I expected her to be petty? I expected her to be a goddess, so a bit worse really.

Now, as I slaughtered the cattle, all the while making marks on their hides in what I remembered of the Futhark and chanting deeply and pretentiously in English, the important thing was that I was seen as being pious despite my gifts and powers, that I was not acting arrogantly… and that because I was clearly so blessed that as I performed this sacrifice that the gods would have a better chance of listening.

Still, eight bulls, and then, I began to harvest them. As it was, it took hours of work, and yet soon enough I had my haul of graft points. My glorious haul of a hundred and fifty graft points. I manfully resisted the urge to cackle like a madman, as those could be run through fast, and I was not just looking for personal augmentation at the moment, but rather to share the blessing such as it was. And truth be told, looking over the basic idea… well, I would need some permission before operating on others.

Artaphernes the elder stared at me for a few minutes, and then nodded, rubbing his head and informing me that among those chosen for the honor, his son would have to be included. Which honestly was fine with me, so I agreed to that.

Not three hours later, I was performing the surgery on the ten passed out men, opening up their chests and ribcages as I worked, gently lowering in an organ that glowed with its own light, soft and almost gentle as new connections were made to the lungs and esophagus… and a spiritual one to their heart. As it was, this organ was not particularly advanced, though some of the side effects would likely make Ishtar… yeah.

As their flesh was put back together, traces of gold could be seen in their skins, or rather, their body oils, and there was the suggestion of light in their mouths. All in all, for the cost of Positive Energy Resistance 5 (and absorbing fifty points of positive energy would feed them for the day), they got a +1 bonus to Escape Artist checks and a positive energy energy breath weapon based on their own strength (and since they were level two, it would be a thirty foot line of 2d6 positive energy) once every thirty seconds. And it cost me time and ten graft points per person, not too bad.

Which of course, my lips moving into a grin, meant that they would be healers and warriors against the undead… or those that were damaged by positive energy… such as Tomb Spiders. Between the healing and the fact that there were ten of them… that would be a considerable force multiplier for a battle ahead.

Heh. Fleshwarping was awesome when you had minions to leverage it with.

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