Forums » Fantasy Roleplay » Once upon a time in Greece... [closed]

The Peloponnesian war was finally over. As if a defeat was not humilating enough, a proxy-government and a plague had followed within the same year. The dictatorship had been blessedly overthrown in a matter of weeks and no attempt to re-establish another had come yet, but the dominating presence of the Spartan soldiers was still visible in the comings and goings of their soldiers and political figures. The plague however, had not been so lax. A third of the city had been decimated, and only hurridly bartering for some talismans off the nearby Roman empire looming to the sidelines had saved even a fraction of the lives that would have been lost.

Inside one house on the edge of the city, life for now continued on as normal. A few more books, two new horses. The floor was polished, revealing the fresco of a charioteer, and a fishtank held a few small exotic specimens that swam lazily too and fro within the clear water. The two-story house was dusted and clean.

Noon was warm, and muggy. The air thick with a heat and humidity that would receed come the afternoon, but stiffled for now like a blanket. The place was quiet, save for the whirring of cicadas, the quiet chatter of the few household slaves... then there was a shuddering crash, and a doberman-sized chimera bounded down the hall with Laer's sandal torn up in its mouth, after having just knocked down a vase, followed by Mnason hurridly chasing after him and dodging the fragments of the rather expensive bust of Poseidon that had been broken.

Laer, fast asleep on the couch for a moment, did not even seem to open his eyes and simply 'facepalmed' before a drawn-out groan followed. A letter was held in his other hand, half-open. A letter from home, that he was going to discuss with Mordreth once the other was up. Not like sleeping through the crashing and bangings of a mini-monster at play was all that possible.

Mordreth was in fact, very much awake and had been for close to an hour. He had risen, bathed and now stood in the center of one of the rooms, staring pensively into the burning hearth fire. He'd been like this often, quiet and brooding. Even by Mordreth standards the recently made citizen-solider from a world beyond this one had been rather gloomy. He'd only bothered to get dressed as far as a pair of pants, before he'd been caught up in his own thoughts. How many of the enemy had he slaughtered single-handedly? How many of the Spartans had fallen to the blood drenched earth by his blade? The had called him a demon, or the 'red-devil' Word had spread, and the sight of him had filled brave men with dread.

But it had not been enough.. He had only been one man.. still, he couldn't help but feel he could have done more. Mordreth had not ever been subjected to being on the loosing side. His own people, had never lost a battle, not for over four hundred years, when they made the mistake of invading the Aephliem. And there was something else as well. Dozens.. a hundred or more of those men he had killed, he had seen the face of his father as he struck the killing blow. The geas was still alive inside of him, but more subtle. The pull was not nearly so strong, for it had no direction to pull him to.

Instead of a drive to pursue his father even into the ninth level of hell if need be. It was like having a horrible itch just out of reach.. or a thirst that could not be quenched no matter how much he drank. He could ignore it for a while.. distract himself with other things, but it was always there. He snapped out of his semi trance at the sound of the crash, and then scowled. The door swung open, and he strode down the hall.

"So help me that thing is going to be a head mounted on the wall if it keeps that up." He growled under his breath, entering the room where Laer lounged. Hair still damp from bathing, skin that glistened from the bathwater, would soon mingle with sweat if he did not find some break from the damnable heat that he still could never quite get used to. In his homeland, there would be three foot of snow on the ground by now. His gaze fell on Laer, and then the letter in his hand, and an eyebrow arched. What now?

Laermeluion, over the weeks since the city-state's loss, had been equally broody at times. After the last battle with most of the men directly under his command decimated by the enemy at sea and with those not killed taken prisoner, a long series of negotiations had followed. A mess of paperwork, but at least it was something that had finally gotten him and Phineas not trying to chew each other to shreds - the grudge between the two men had finally simmered, save for the occasional drunken quarrel now and again.

He had been aware of Mordreth's own withdrawn nature as well, but had given the other what space he needed to think when neccesary. Unaware, for now, of the geas's continued presence. No doubt that somebody would not be a happy mage if he was aware that the niggling itch was still there. How many more worlds could be put between them before it lessened?

But his attention was easily snagged by Mordreth entering the room. Almost without thinking, one of his hands raised and as he drew on the aether, thin fine tendrils of white soon paired with blue that then rose up to the ceiling, spreading out over the expanse of the room before he then lowered his hand as though pushing something down. The temperature of the room would, in response to the magic, slowly cool to a temperature more tolerable for the Noble. He caught the gesture to the letter, and a faint smile appeared. "Nothing serious." Or to translate that, nothing that demanded they don armour and get ready to 'kick ass'. "A letter from..." He seemed to pause almost awkwardly for a moment. "...family. I was not aware I had any relatives." Well, not entirely. He had met his mother once several decades ago, and that had not gone well at all in the slightest; his sense of abandonment, anger and disgust at the faint instinct to lure and kill woven into him as firmly as Mord's geas had welled up, and only Hesperus' intervention had prevented an all-out fight.

He sat down again after pouring out two goblets of wine, extending one towards Mordreth before lowering himself back onto the low couch. "I was thinking we - you, me and Hesperus, Mnason too if he wishes - could do with a break." Time away from the war-torn country could do them all some good. "A holiday, so to speak. With my family, in Britannia. It is an island quite far from here, but the journey will only take a few weeks if we get a waygate to Rome, then from Rome to the shores of Germania. A boat ride from there to the coast." Rome, for now, was thankfully a fairly peaceful ally too distracted with their own problems. "You would find the climate more to your liking, I think," he mused. "It is further to the North, there should be snowfalls soon." Laer, of course, had never actually been anywhere quite that cold.

Mordreth was expecting something dire and serious indeed, after all the last half a dozen letters or so had been bad news.. Greece was going to war.. they'd just lost more ships.. and so on. Although Mord did not have the personal connection to Greece and consider it his home.. He'd brooded over the loss, and felt Laer's pain over it. Despite his withdrawn quiet brooding, he'd stayed nearby.. A hand resting on his arm when he seemed particularly pensive.. an arm slipped around him when they slept in the same bed. As a man who struggled with showing any sort of affection physical or otherwise, he'd come a long way. The break in the heat was all too welcome, the room cooled enough where he felt he did not feel so stifled. Eyebrows rose.. Family elsewhere? He accepted the glass of wine. Yes, he knew getting away for a while, would probably be for the best. He studied Laer's face, for some clue as to what he actually felt on the matter... and then nodded. "Yes... I think we should go."

Laermeluion didn't know how he felt. His mother's side of the family, being a bunch of cold-hearted sea predators, were obviously out of the question for holiday vists and birthday presents. His fathers however, after being raised in his early years by only his mother, was unheard of until recently. The elf had died, killed by the treacherous creature that had seduced him, but evidently, somehow, those elsewhere had managed to track him down. Then again, silver hair was not alarmingly common even among the elvish species, so tracking down individuals with it was likely far easier than with a more mundane colour.

He seemed almost awkward over the matter. Hesperus's family had more or less adopted him since his teenage years when he had ran to them after a particularly bad incident with Bion, but he had no actual blood ties that he knew of until recently. "A ship from the coast to Britain would be..." He looked at the letter again, then used a simple cantrip to tug a map free from the bookcase across the room and brought it over. Opening it, he looked between it and the letter a few times, trying to track down the place name. "...about six days ride as the crow flies." He nodded then, once he got a positive response, then a smile appeared.

"I believe you will find their culture more akin to your own in a few ways." It didn't take travelling there to hear of their strong warrior culture, of the snow and cooler months, of the banter and contests. And the mead. "I have heard no news of fighting there at least, not South of the wall anyway. A man of Rome built one nearly from coast to coast, near Pictland, to keep the wildest of the tribes at bay while they control the rest." An invaded country. God forbid if the Spartans got the same idea and tried building a wall anywhere. "I have no pressing engagements, so if we leisurely pack today, we could set off tomorrow." He had retired, temporarily, from the council as well - a break was not a break unless he removed the stress of politics off his shoulders as well.

"Enough for a week, say. Take weapons, of course. I can buy food along the way." Given how any currency Mord had with him when he had first come through the waygate had likely be in his own money, Laer was more than comfortable being the main 'breadwinner', as it were.

Was stuck going wherever Laer went, and honestly he did not mind that. He listened to the description of the place. Really, colder weather? He had not seen snow in so long... Strange that someone could miss things like biting cold, and frozen ground, but he did. He missed the crunch of snow under his feet, the crisp scent of the ice and snow, and how the wind stung bare skin. His people were designed to thrive in the cold. Here, he could barely tolerate being outside. Summer had been a nightmare. He'd damn near felt ill anytime the air wasn't being cooled for him via a cantrip. He nodded after a thoughtful pause. He could certainly be packed in that frame of time. "I think you will quite enjoy the snow." He said, sounding quite serious. Of course, what little small scraps of a sense of humor that Mord possessed were dry and sarcastic. He had to admit he found the mental image of Laer in the snow rather amusing. He took a drink of his wine, and then set the glass on the table. He had been restless... They both had. This trip, baring some sort of disaster, would be good for them.

time skip to the next day, everyone HATES packing (let alone rping it, rofl)

Laermeluion sat on the back of his new warhorse; a feathery-footed black beast of mixed elvish lineage yet again, for his white one had died in the last battle against the Spartans some time ago. He had also bought Mordreth one - a deep brown, black-maned warhorse, both of them hardier and more intelligent than their mundane counterparts. Hesperus had sent note that he was waiting in the main street, ready for them to take the waygate to Rome. A mule for each of them, laden with clothes and then supplies to last about a quarter of the way into the journey and for emergencies, were loaded up. There was no need for guards; two mages and a 'red devil' were unlikely to be hassled on the road.

Laer looked briefly back at the house from his place in the saddle, before he looked back to Mnason who was leaning against the doorway... trying to suppress quite the mischevious smirk. Laer raised a hand and gave one index finger a warning wag. "If I find so much as one loose woman's underwear or article of clothing in any room in my house.." Mnason grinned broadly. "Then I will never see the light of day and my manly anatomy will shrivel up and drop off, I love you too Dad." Then his face became momentarily more serious, as he looked between the elf and Mordreth once he had gotten out of the house and seated too. "You will be careful, won't you? Both of you?" Laer managed a faint smile. "You know us. Safe as houses." Yeah, safe as they could be when, in one instance, they had charged into battle with the two of them (abet Laer shifted) against a ship full of Spartans on their own.

With a sigh and shake of his head, he kicked his heels in gently and urged the horse into a trot forwards. The mule, also of a stock bred to be hardier and with greater endurance than most, kept up the pace with it's luggage well-secured. The main road, fairly busy with people going to and fro about their own business, cleared as they made their way towards the throughfare. Hesperus was there, sat on a horse that almost comically dwarfed theirs. Well, given how the mage was all of seven foot tall, such was neccesary. "All set?" He looked between the pair then to Mord'. "Ever travelled by waygate before?" He was, surprisingly, unaware of just how the other had gotten to their world. Laer had simply taken him under his wing (and other places), and not revealed much of his origins.

The gate itself, visible from their place on the road, was set to one side between two of the temples and guarded by two figures in scale maille and full armour despite the heat of the late afternoon. The thrum of it was senseable, even if the ornate doorway that actually marked what they would pass through looked rather mundane for the time being.

Mord did not have all that much to pack really. He'd left most of his possessions behind after all. Half his clothing was now Greek, although there were quite a few things he simply refused to wear. He insisted on boots, rather than sandals, and refused to don a toga. He had also not been too keen on Greek armor. The horse was deemed suitable, a fine animal, as fine as any of his people's warhorses, with the added benefit of being longer lived and more intelligent.

"I will keep him out of trouble." Mordreth said, 'assuring' Laer's son. Yes, the hot headed battle loving 'devil' who stuck out like a sore thumb in this world, was still somewhat unfamiliar with the customs, and who thought the best way to deal with mouthy Greek nobility and officials was a punch to the face or a drawn weapon... would be the one to keep them 'out of trouble.' He wheeled his horse around and followed after Laer, a light bump of his heels urging the animal to a trot so that he could bring it up along side Laer's horse. A nod was given to Hesperus. Mordreth got along with few people other than Laer. Oddly enough one of the few exceptions was the massive dark skinned man.

Mordreth nodded. "I have, on more than one occasion." He'd used one twice before he'd taken the one to flee his own world... And it had been running, that had been the hardest part to get used to. He'd fled his world because if he had stayed he would have been dead, and likely gone mad before that point.

The Geas has been placed on him as an infant, when he was mere hours old. His mother, finally falling into her rage and despair over being unable to escape his tyrant of a father in the end, had placed it upon him. He would grow up to hate his father, and would be driven to slay him at whatever cost. She had done so out of a desperate need for vengeance.. and no sooner had the curse been placed, did she realize what she had done to her own child. But by then, it had been too late. The labor, and the force at which she had hurled forth the geas, has been too much for her body and she had slipped away, living just long enough to name him. The name had been important. Despite the oppression of women in his homeland, the laws dictating they could not own property such as land, a home, slaves a business, or livestock, could not wear their hair short, could only be married through parental or guardian consent. and were typically married off for the parents own gain... There were a few powers that women held by tradition. A mother had to be the one to name a child, and it had to be a name of the mother's choosing. To deny or prevent this, was said to curse the child's life. Mordreth, had just enough humor in him to appreciate the irony, that she had still insisted on naming him.

He had only learned of the geas perhaps four months before he had fled through the waygate with Laer. A seer had reveled it to him, opened up that part of his mind after he became plagued by visions of his own death in various forms.. which had begun after meeting Morrighan's servant, a Cleric by the name of Drest.

He looked at the Waygate up ahead.. Strange that something that seemed so mundane, so simple at a glance was the key to such a feat. It took however, a competent mage to use a Waygate.. and it took great skill and knowledge to master it enough to bring others along. Mordreth, did not have the strength of magic to do so.

Unbeknowest to both of them, the same Cleric was still alive and at large on the island they were going to, doing the bidding of the Goddess and generally causing trouble in the process. His death would not yet come to pass for another three or so centuries.

Laer nodded, and Hesperus returned the nod of greeting before speaking up. "Then there is no need for us to go through the usual palaver. If you were a waygate virgin, they would set us aside for an hour or so while explaining how it works, and what to expect." Both Hesperus and Laer had used them to mass-relocate troops.

They finally drew up to the gate, and the spears were brought into a cross pattern before them from the two soldiers to either side. A third figure, a mage clad in a combination of robes and Athenian armour, looked at the trio before back to Laer. "I see you survived the battles." Laer's lips twitched slightly. "You know me Myron." The other man, perhaps somewhere in his sixth century judging by how much older he looked than the other two present, paused for a moment before a short bark of laughter followed. "You were hell in my classes." An old teacher then. Then Myron looked to Mordreth. While his appearance and bearing was of the high class, he seemed to have none of the arrogance and ego of his peers when he inclined his head to the honorary citizen. "I have heard much of you. It is a pity that you have not been thanked properly, for the help you gave us." While they had lost, Mord's new style had revolutionised training in some parts - allowing their style to vary, and taking the Spartans by surprise on more than one occasion by the radically different battlefield strategy.

Then Myron's attention turned to the soldiers, and he made a gesture. The spears were raised to offer them passage. Drawing in on the aether, twisting tendrils of deep brown and rustic terracotta red appeared about his fingers... and a seam seemed to part in the air, as the magic slowly opened up the magical doorway. It spread, further and further, until it was large enough to have been able to offer an elephant fairly easy passage. "Safe journey." Laer nodded, looked at Mord and Hesperus, then goaded the horse through.

When they passed through, the courtyard just off the Forum of Rome came into view. From where they were, the low muffled roar of a crowd came from the amphithreatre visible as a great, tiered structure reaching towards the heavens not too far away. Temples seemed plenty here, three on a nearby hill, and the scent of insence seemed to permeate through the air even here along with the scent of hot food, horse shit and other trader's things. The armour on the men here was distinctly different; segmented plates of metal over a red tunic, with a helmet that covered their cheeks with metal plates. One had a horizontal crest of white feathers and scale-like maille on, and it was he who moved over to stand near once the three had passed through and gate closed. "What is your business in Rome?"

Laer answered, but it was just as he was finishing off a sentence that a shrill whistle came from nearby. "Mordreth, is that you?!" Clad in the same armour as the rest of the men but with a vertical crest of black horsehair on his helmet, did none other than Phineas move over to stand nearby. The Centurion shot him a glare for a moment, but seemed too busy checking the scroll Laer had passed to him to bother reprimanding his optio right now. Phineas grinned broadly. Laer looked between them quizically. "You two know each other?" Not suspicious at all, but after all, Laer had been under the impression that Mord had never been to this world before!