sunslammers posts
Posts: 171
Files: 2
1.82
The Son of RomeAfter three days and four nights spent wandering the boundless lands of Thrace, we found our first true city. More than just a collection of brutal nomads and whatever burdens they could carry - like a haggard Roman legion with no clear chain of command - or a system of mountain passes and caves overflowing with hulking redheads, this was a permanent settlement. One built to last.Unsurprisingly, it was a Macedonian addition.Even less surprising than that, it was a desecrated shell of what Alexander had first ordered built.Honest ...
1.81
The Young GriffonOn the third day, we sent the sea dog home.The lands of Thracia were an unmarked expanse of snow capped mountain ranges and lush river valleys, with civilized settlements slim to none. My own Scarlet City had nestled itself between two mountain ranges and straddled a river, but the monuments and workings of stone that a city state required had altered that landscape in a profound way. Made it difficult to truly compare the land of my birth to these northern wilds.Fertile land was a luxury in the greater western colonies that th...
1.80
The Son of RomeThe Thracian kingdom could hardly be called as such. In my time I had seen some truly dilapidated capitals, and borne witness to some heinously destitute kings, but they had always carried with them a sense of primitive weight. The Celtic kings were at least properly crowned, the hulking Gauls could at least build serviceable walls, and for all that the Egyptians disgusted me in a deep and personal way, I could not deny the magnitude and grandeur of their cultural works.For all my qualms with the kingdoms through which Gaius had ...
1.79
The Young GriffonFor the concept of a greater to exist, a lesser was also required to give it meaning. For a man to be notably tall, a distance notably far, a body of water notably deep, there had to be a corresponding norm that each of them surpassed. It followed, then, that for a greater mystery cult to exist, there would have to be a corresponding lesser. Something profound enough to inspire virtue, and opaque enough that no living Greek had ever unraveled its mystery - but less so than the institutions that the great city-states called thei...
1.78
The Son of Rome“The kyrios of the Raging Heaven was a Hero before he was the Tyrant riot,” Scythas spoke softly as we rode beneath the light of stars. “And before that, he was only a man. Dutiful, and later wise, but ultimately no greater or lesser than any other mortal soul.”A half moon rose steadily up above while we traversed the Thracian countryside. Griffon led the way with his virtue, rosy pankration hands hanging like lanterns around our heads and drifting with the current of his thoughts. The constructs of pneuma idly flexed the...
1.77
The Young GriffonOur objective in Thracia was clear. It was also nearly worthless.A golden cup filled with spirit wine. That was all the Gadfly had given us, along with a vague marker on an endless charter of land to find it in. The belligerence in my heart urged me to take him at his most literal word, dip my toe into the vast expanse of Thracia and fill the first golden cup I found with the cheapest spirit wine available. Accounting for the time wasted sailing here and back, we were out a week no matter what - and three months could pass in t...
1.76
The Son of RomeThracia, otherwise known as the nation with no definite boundaries, was a barbaric land in every sense of the word. Its cultures were unrefined, its peoples were savages, and its treatment even of allies was brutally cruel. My father as well as Aristotle had both told me stories of the Thracian tribes when I was a boy, and the Greek perspective had differed little from the Roman perspective.Northeast of Macedonia and separated from the Aegean Sea only by a thin line of coastal greek colonies, the greater territories of Thracia al...
1.75
The Young GriffonAs a boy first learning how to sail beneath my father’s watchful eye, the Eos had seemed to me a daunting vessel. She was large for what she was. Not a trireme, not even a true war galley, but larger than any trade ship. My father had designed her in the Phoenician style - rather than the four-to-one ratio of a merchant vessel, or the eight-to-one ratio of a war galley, she was six-length to one-width. Too small to be a fighter, yet too large for one boy alone to comfortably manage her. Though, of course, I had in the end.Whe...
1.74 [Athis]
AthisThe Caged DoveLife in the Rosy Dawn Cult was miserable.Athis knew it was an ungrateful sorrow. From the very beginning, her prospects had been hopelessly bleak as a slave. That she had survived a year and then half a year again without any scars to show for it was miraculous enough already. When an initiate of a greater mystery cult considered even the natural born citizens of their city to be a lesser existence, it went without saying that their slaves were worth about as much to them as a loyal dog. Sometimes less. The relative safety sh...
1.73
The Son of RomeWe moved with purpose through the dock city. It was a good day for sailing, as far as I could tell - though admittedly I was far from an expert. The abundance of blue-backed tuna, mackerel, and vibrant dorado on display spoke to good fishing if nothing else. I even spotted a few mongers a bit further down the beach hauling swordfish as large as their torsos. The sight alone was enough to provoke my hunger, evoking vivid memories of the roasted filets Griffon had served at the Kronia.I debated my next impulse within myself for a m...
1.72
The Young GriffonI collapsed onto my back in the sand, breathing heavily. My body ached fiercely, satisfying as it throbbed. I ran my tongue over my bottom lip and prodded the split flesh. Sol had given it to me good with the first punch, I’d allow him that much. Of course, I’d given him twice as much in return.I swallowed down blood and saliva, stretched my arms over my head and sighing as tension unwound from my body along with my soul.“I think I needed that,” I said to the cloudless sky above. “Thank you.”“My pleasure.” Sitti...
1.71
The Son of RomeHaving aired his frustration, Griffon seemed to shake the worst of his foul mood. Whether it was relief after admitting it, or irritation with himself for letting it show so clearly, he throttled his violent intent and restrained himself to his usual provocations. We both took a dip in the Ionian, and then while we waited for Scythas to secure us a ship we spread the map out on the sand and discussed the task ahead.“Bakkhos lived a full life, if nothing else at all,” I marveled, tracing connecting lines through the drops of l...
1.70
The Young GriffonOlympia‘s western dock town was as I remembered it, though it felt downright decrepit after weeks spent in the grandest city in the free Mediterranean. Stout wooden constructions were the standard out here, no amethyst-veined marble or towering bronze doors. It was refreshing, in a way. The beaches were teaming with fishmongers and their patrons, a cool breeze of waning winter offset by the cheerful warmth of unclouded sun.The port’s rubble mound breakwater could be seen from a respectable distance, jutting up from the Ioni...
1.69
The Son of RomeAnastasia‘s shadow pulled away deliberately from mine beneath the wood-carved table, an active separation that was impossible to see and nearly impossible to feel. I nearly hadn’t noticed it at all, the sensation for some reason so much deeper now than the last time I remembered feeling it that I’d almost mistaken it for something else entirely. If Anastasia’s eyes hadn’t given her away, smoldering flames flickering in response to Griffon‘s silent message, I might have dismissed it as a remnant from the story.Griffon ...
1.68
The Young GriffonI leaned back.Six Heroic cultivators crowded around the table alongside Sol and I. They had been at the furthest edges of the room when the story began, but now each of them leaned forward on elbows and crossed arms to get as close to the fading papyrus as they could.In the dull silence that followed the story Chilon had gifted me, the world seemed to lose a certain quality that I hadn’t known it possessed before. Without the warmth of heroic glory suffusing the air, each breath felt colder in my lungs than it truly was. With...
1.67 [Aetos - END]
Youngest of the ConvocationTribulation lightning.There were as many explanations for it as there were thinking cultures on the earth. From the truly ancient civilizations of Mesopotamia and golden Egypt, to the lowest barbarian hovels in the east and west, every cultivator knew a singular truth. Regardless of what we cultivated, how we cultivated, where we did it or why. One thing remained the same.We were all reaching madly up to heaven. No matter what that meant to a man, the result was what mattered. Reach high enough, and Heaven will take n...
1.66 [Aetos]
Youngest of the Convocation“Move, boy,” Aristotle said, grabbing a fist full of my hair and dragging me bodily across the beach. “You’re no use gawking.”“Old bastard, you’re no use at all!” I slapped his hand away and staggered to my feet.“Old bastard am I? What happened to honored elder?”“What happened to you?” I snapped. “Where did you go while we could have used you?”“Somewhere I was needed more,” he said, and had the audacity to sound exasperated. “Selfish child, you’re not even my student. Be thankful I...
1.65 [Aetos]
Youngest of the ConvocationI danced through lashing coils of flesh and lowered my shoulder into the back of Gyro’s man. The lowly Civic cultivator’s head snapped back, but he held stubbornly onto his blade while I hefted him up like a sack of grain without breaking stride. For all the good it did him. What remains of his borrowed blade could hardly be called a dagger - now it was little more than a hilt and a jagged shard of iron the length of my middle finger.“Lord Aetos!” he gasped, staring upside down at the pained drakaina while I r...
1.64 [Aetos]
Youngest of the ConvocationThe Raging Heaven had called for aid in Olympia’s name, demanding a resource that only institutions of greater mystery could hope to provide. I had wondered, when pirates were the greatest threat in my consideration, what cargo was worth the Riotous Tyrant's attention. Then, when a woman’s cries and a monster's flesh had erupted from the whirlpool currents, I had wondered what cargo could possibly be worth the risk.The woman charging on my brother's heels reared back and let fly her javelin, a Philosop...
1.63 [Aetos]
Youngest of the ConvocationBursting from the sea and wailing in a woman’s voice, a monster took the stage. We watched without comprehension as it exploded upward and cast its shadow over the Eos.Silver scales and coiling flesh that undulated and flexed like nothing I had ever seen in my life. The monster continued to rise, pulling more and more of itself from the comforting veil of opaque waves, and in the light of stars above I saw the scars left by those who came before. Pockmarks and craters in the creature's hide, each a blow that had...
1.62 [Aetos]
Youngest of the Convocation“Found you,” Damon declared with bone deep satisfaction, and my heart started hammering.“Freedmen! Maintain the pace!” Gyro stood abruptly up from his bench, snuffing out the unburning flames of virtue that had been coating his oar. Damon was already at the tip of the Eos, one arm draped over the figurehead’s shoulders and the other braced against the rail, both man and wood-carved woman staring out into the abyss.I threw down my oar and reached into my cult attire - The next statement is true. The previous ...
1.61 [Aetos]
Youngest of the Convocation“Lord Aetos-”“Call me Anarygyros! Or Gyro if there isn’t time,” Gyro said, cutting off the slave he had brought along and freed.“Lord Anargyros,” the freedman amended, to our brother’s exasperation. “I don’t think this is wise.” The man was doing his best to maintain the pace, though he was struggling nearly as much as Thon in his chains.Through good fortune or shrewd attention, Damon and Fotios had both taken on slaves with prior experience in cultivation. Damon’s slave, now freedman, leverage...
1.60 [Aetos]
Youngest of the Convocation“Pull!”“The oars in-to your guts un-til the tides are gray,” Gyro sang, volume and spirit filling the gaps a poor singing voice left.“Pull!” we bellowed, bracing our feet on the benches in front of us and heaving on our oars with all our might.“The stars, down from the sky, until the night is day!”“Pull!” The Eos sailed across the waves as fast as an eagle flew. The product of four brothers’ labor joined conviction seemed to nearly outpace the breeze, though the winds never fell out of her sails....
1.59 [Aetos]
Youngest of the Convocation“What does this have to do with sailing?” Gyro asked curiously, having arrived late to the entire tangent.Sitting as they were, side by side and cheek to cheek, even a close acquaintance could have mistaken them for twins like Fotios and me. Clear blue eyes swept over Damon’s designs, deep brown curls that he always wore longer than the elders preferred spilling past his shoulders. They had the same nose, the same strong jaw and the same ears that sloped up into a slight point.“We’re decorating the ship,” ...
1.58 [Aetos]
Youngest of the Convocation“You did well, both of you.” Gyro paced a winding line through the sand, rhythmically easing his blade out of its sheath a sliver before dropping it back into place. “I couldn’t have found better materials if I tried.”“Joy,” Fotios muttered beside me, holding scarlet cloth in front of him like a shield. “Joy and rapture.” His eyes were clenched shut in expectation of pain.Not that I was very much different. I ducked my head and hunched my shoulders, hiding behind the ash tree as much as I was holding...
1.57 [Aetos]
Youngest of the ConvocationDawn break my oath and cast me down, say all who walk in chains;If turning wheels are what’s to come, I’d rather die in vain!Lord take this son into your hand, I’ll stare until I’m blind;Who needs their eyes to guide them home - on freedom’s wings we’ll fly.I hummed an easy tune as I went about my work, the rosy light of a new day touching upon the furthest reaches of Alikos and her valence territories. The weather was pleasant - this early in the day, it was still cool enough to wear cult attire without c...
1.56
The Son of RomeGriffon’s trio of Heroic cultivators stared at me without comprehension. The boys on either side of Lefteris leaned around their guardian to whisper to one another, confused. Anastasia, for her part, hummed and nodded once, as if I’d just confirmed a long held suspicion.“Old ‘Zalus has been keeping quite a secret.”“Fuck,” Elissa whispered.“… fuck,” Kyno agreed.“Fuck!” Lefteris slammed his hands to the table with force enough to crack it and make his boys flinch. Elissa smacked his shoulder so hard it nearl...
1.55
The Son of RomeWe gathered in the home of the Sword Song, the first Heroine to respond to my unintended call on the night of the kyrios’ funeral.She stood while the rest of us sat around a low table of carved mahogany. There were dining couches as well, enough scattered throughout the house for us all to sit if a few of us shared, but I hadn’t bothered dragging one over. The rest had followed my example and sat on the bare floor with varying degrees of propriety.Elissa alone stood - silently glowering at the far wall. The first thing I’d ...
1.54
The Young GriffonEmerging from the heart of the mountain was a slightly less pleasant experience than going in. My late uncle’s sword made for a poor walking stick, and using pankration hands to steady my body was a drain just severe enough to be noticeable. The Reign-Holder’s starlight marrow was doing its best, but Socrates had put some proper force behind his throw. For now I could only endure and do what I could with the knowledge Anastasia had given me, guiding my pneuma to the parts of my body where it was most needed - which, contrar...
1.53
Hero of the Alabaster DepthsWhen Jason was six years old, his father sat him on his shoulders while they sailed into a cyclone and told him it was time he learned about standing.Standing, or reputation as the mortals called it, was something any man could understand whether he was a cultivator or not. But, as with most things, its significance increased along with pneuma. Standing was what contrasted a man from his peers. In a financial sense, standing was the difference between the man that cleaned stables for a living, and the man that owned ...
