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<blockquote data-quote="Greenfield" data-source="post: 5892276" data-attributes="member: 6669384"><p>***</p><p>Marcus groaned silently in sympathy for the poor house slave, and the decision he had to make.</p><p></p><p>"These estates were reserved for the Imperial party!", argued the Centurion, the threat in his voice obvious.</p><p></p><p>"Which is why you should step aside and allow Emperor Calvinus to claim them", countered the herald of the second "Caesar".</p><p></p><p>"<em>General</em> Calvinus will be lucky to retain his head, much less his command, if this farce doesn't stop at once!", replied the Centurion.</p><p></p><p>The factor for the third Caesar held his tongue. Years in the field had taught him to allow the adversary to make all the mistakes he wanted to, and these two were making enough for an army. The home belonged to a prominent wine merchant who had trade through much of the Empire. He and his family had vacated the city for a time, and would return from their country estates after the Games had finished. He had been honored to have the Emperor himself staying there, but the Emperor who had made the arrangement was now dead.</p><p></p><p>A man stood to the side, his clothes marking him as a worker, or perhaps a slave, and the string of freshly killed rabbits on his back spoke of his trade more clearly than any set of clothes or guild marks might have. He was selling meat of the field to any who would buy. As the two verbal champions thundered at one another, he approached the conflagration.</p><p></p><p>"If I may", he began, timing his insertion for a moment when both had stopped to take a breath, "I know of a fine site for either party, with fresh water, and away from the flies of the city."</p><p></p><p>The Centurion turned his wrath on the man with silent menace. The very idea that the master of Rome would sleep in such a place was an insult, and to accept was to surrender the field to a pretender. The huntsman bowed and backed away without another word. He would have left, but Emperor Marcus gave a slight gesture, and a slave intercepted the man quietly. The western General knew to keep his options open.</p><p></p><p>Meanwhile the two belligerents were back at their shouting match, with the poor house slave, holder of the keys, slowly being crushed between them.</p><p></p><p>Then Denius solved the problem as only a Senator can. He spoke, and his voice hushed all others.</p><p></p><p>"I am Denius, Seneshal of the city of Rome itself, and commander of the Empire. These other two are from the outlands, and neither has so much as set foot in my city in two years. I am Emperor, and these quarters were reserved for me!" </p><p></p><p>His argument was punctuated by the Centurion who seized the house slave's hand, placed a purse of gold in it, and closed the man's fingers on it with crushing force. "You have accepted Caesar's gold. The matter is settled!"</p><p></p><p>The slave was more than happy to have a way to choose, and quickly directed the baggage carriers of Denius into the building.</p><p></p><p>General/Emperor Marcus had spent years in the field, and was no stranger to tent. He and his group followed the huntsman, leaving Calvinus fuming in impotent fury. He would have struck the slave dead, but for the presence of the city guards, who had formed escorts for all three "Imperial" parties. The peace of the city was to be enforced, even upon the Emperor himself if need be.</p><p></p><p>Finally, he turned to the Captain of his guard. "Clear out some appropriate quarters for us.", and the man left, his mission clear.</p><p></p><p>Across the road, at a small wine vendor with some benches outside, sat the travelers from the corners of the Empire. This was their arranged meeting place, and they waited there to see who and how many would show up. </p><p></p><p>Nedel was one of the first to arrive, for his father had arranged quarters for him in this better part of the city. Appelenea was next, for she had been in town for a few days so far. Seeburn would have arrived earlier, but he had never been in so large a town, and the maze of streets had confused him. Cassius and Sylus arrived together, for they had met at the port and ended up camping fairly near each other in the fields. The Cleric, Markus, was the last, even though his quarters were right across the street, for it took time to separate himself from his traveling party.</p><p></p><p>"I tell you, it's sheer robbery.", Sylus complained. "7 Gold Dinar for a piece of rocky ground scarcely larger than a grave, and then 2 silver pennies a day on top of that. I think they placed me in a footpath."</p><p></p><p>"Be happy you got that. There isn't a blade of grass left in that field. I'm actually sleeping in a tree", Casius replied. "And I had to pay 3 Dinar for that."</p><p></p><p>"At least you're not near the south end.", commented Seeburn. "It's become the common sewer for the whole field, and the games don't even start until tomorrow. Think of the stench after two weeks of this."</p><p></p><p>When Markus joined them and showed them his clay seal, though, they began to talk in earnest. "So, why are we here again?"</p><p></p><p>"My master spoke of the unnatural darkness, and called it a curse. It seems to cover the whole world.", Markus began. 'I fear that the gods are at war with their ancient enemies, the Titans."</p><p></p><p>"Nay", inserted the slender blond lady, "'tis the Fimbulwinter, the beginning of Ragnarok."</p><p></p><p>"No matter what we call it, what do they expect us to do about it?", questioned Nedel. He had dropped the claim of "prince", now that he didn't need to impress anyone.</p><p></p><p>"I guess we look for clues as to the source. We have travelers from throughout the known world here. If there is the shadow of a rumor of a hint of the truth, someone will have brought it with them."</p><p></p><p>"That's fine for you lot", Cassius said bitterly. "You want to save the world, which for you means saving Rome. I say, let the empire's corpse rot in peace. It's done more harm than good."</p><p></p><p>"I have no love for the Imperial Governor, nor his two-legged hounds", said Sylus to his friend, "but Rome was order. What comes now is anarchy, Chaos, and the madness that turns brother against brother. I doubt that the six of us can change the course of that madness, but we owe it to our parents, our masters and our mentors to try."</p><p></p><p>"My Father spoke of a great conspiracy, of agents of Chaos seeking to split the Empire.", Seeburn said. "To me, that sounds like that great Orc we saw. We should keep an eye on him, and make sure he fails."</p><p></p><p>"I'm not sure.", Markus countered. "He's big and noisy and obvious. But if the three Caesars continue as they are, there will be a civil war, and all hope of salvaging the Empire will be gone. There, I think, is the real danger."</p><p></p><p>The talk continued through the strange twilight and into the starless night. Some things were settled, but many were not.</p><p>***</p><p>"Blessings of Baccus, friend, only 2 Dinar", came the cheerful voice, all too early the next morning. Sylus clutched his throbbing head, asking himself why it is that all adventures seem to begin with a night of drinking. He rolled out from beneath the flap of canvas that passed for a tent, ready to kill the annoying vendor, if the ground would just stop moving.</p><p></p><p>"Blessing of Baccus, friend?", asked the odd goat-like lad that had yesterday been seen dancing to the Orc's amusement. "Quiets the mind, settles the stomach and eases the curse of the vine."</p><p></p><p>The Half-Elf clutched the offered goblet and drained it with a single gulp. The juice within foamed as it met the paste that coated his tongue, and washed down his throat, taking his headache with it. In moments he felt a wonderful nothing in his belly, and the urge to purge vanished.</p><p></p><p>To his amazement, he found himself handing the fellow two Dinar. "That was wonderful.", he declared. "Say, didn't I see you being dragged about by that Kergen fellow, yesterday?"</p><p></p><p>"Oh yes, but the city laws allow slaves to move more freely. Kergen is out afield for today's race, and most of the Vandals have gone to cheer him on. I'm free to ply my trade. Would you like some protection from the flies? I have that as well." Seeing the man shake his head, the goat-man smiled and began to hawk his wares again. "Blessings of Baccus to cool the fevered brow!"</p><p></p><p>Sylus found himself walking along as the boy passed out his cooling remedy. "How did you come to be with the Vandals?", he asked.</p><p></p><p>"Some from my village were on their way to the Games when we were caught. That's how Kergen got his Olympic Seal, to allow him to enter the games. Some of my friends fled and escaped, some fought and died. Alas, I managed to do neither. He kept me alive out of curiosity, I think. He'd never seen a Half Satyr before, and thought I might be some sort of Devil. He didn't even recognize my powders and potions as valuable, so I was able to salvage them from our camp. He did claim my late master's Alchemy gear, but he allows me to use it, since he discovered that my sleep wine can help him rest."</p><p></p><p>"He has trouble sleeping?"</p><p></p><p>"Only at night. His people normally sleep during the day, but the darkness has upset his sense of time, and besides, when he's in the human city he needs to be awake when the humans are." </p><p></p><p>"Wait. He took you on your way here?", the Half-Elf asked. "That's not legal. The peace of the Olympics!"</p><p></p><p>"I said the same thing.", confided the Bard. He turned and raised his left arm to reveal a long purple bruise. "This was his reply. I didn't argue any more."</p><p></p><p>"What's your name, friend. I can't go around calling you 'Goat boy'."</p><p></p><p>"Pendaclese", the Fey replied, looking slightly embarrassed.</p><p></p><p>"You mean like...?", the Ranger asked in shock, making a gesture with a dangling finger.</p><p></p><p>"Yeah.", the Half-Satyr agreed, still looking uncomfortable. "My father's idea. I think he wanted me to continue a family tradition."</p><p></p><p>"And I thought I had the 'woe of two worlds' growing up.", gasped Sylus, trying not to laugh. "You must have had it bad."</p><p></p><p>"Not that bad, really. I'm Fey on both sides, which helped. The boys used to tease me about it, until I got my growth."</p><p></p><p>The silence that followed was painful, and nothing more was said on the subject.</p><p>***</p><p>At noon the trumpets blared, and the festivities officially began. The city and the fields around them seethed with revelers, the buzz of their voices almost drowning out the drone of the flies.</p><p></p><p>And in the field at far Marathon, 26 miles away, a crowd of runners stood waiting. The judges peered upwards, trying to locate the sun, to see if it had reached its zenith. Then, with a shout, the runners were off.</p><p></p><p>The towering Orc thundered to an early lead, laughing as he left the puny pink-skins in his dust. But once he had run for a few minutes, he had to slow, and the more steady paced humans began to close the gap. The veterans chanted as they ran, jogging for a 100 count, then walking the same, in the style of the Roman Legions. It worked well. By the end of the first hour, the smaller humanoids had closed the gap. Kergen began to feel the strain, and would burst into short sprints to regain the lead, only to lose it again as the more experienced men worked their way past.</p><p></p><p>Several of the men apparently had friends waiting along the route with water or wine, which seemed to refresh them. </p><p></p><p>Some runners chose to follow the road, while others set out overland. Kergen followed them over hills and into briar and brush. The Great Orc smashed and crashed his way through impeding undergrowth, while some of the slighter men seemed to simply slip through unimpeded. </p><p>***</p><p>It was well into the third hour when the lead runners came into sight of the city, the lead position being held by Caligulus, champion of Emperor Marcus. He had been a soldier, and a messenger in the field, and knew how to run the distance. The bit of alchemy in his 'water' hadn't hurt either. Of course, he wasn't the only one who used such tricks. It was still a race.</p><p></p><p>The cheering crowd thundered their approval as the men passed through the city gates, their naked bodies shining with sweat, their feet pounding the stones like the beat of a drum.</p><p></p><p>"Go Master Go!", cried an unexpected voice. Pendaclese and the Orc contingent were there screaming their lungs out for their champion. The Bard's enthusiasm almost got some of the crowd to join in.</p><p></p><p>His spirit fired by loyalty of his men, he drew on his final reserves, the rage that lived in every Barbarian's heart, and he began to sprint. He closed with his opponents, his blood pounding in his ears as his feet pounded the cobblestone streets. </p><p></p><p>As he passed each pinkie, his heart swelled with pride. Some runners began to sprint as well, while others simply looked on as he passed, having no strength left to sprint with. He was closing on the leader, and could see the finish line ahead. In his mind, he could hear the horns shouting his triumph.</p><p></p><p>Then, his vision began to dim and his pace faltered as his rage ran out. He staggered, trying to push on, and fell. The humans stampeded past him, and the trumpets flared once more, for someone else.</p><p></p><p>He was going to kill someone, he swore. As soon as he could stand up.</p><p> [FONT=&quot]***</p><p>"Welcome to the Light, Prince Nedel", intoned the priest, bowing in welcome. "What do you seek?"</p><p></p><p>Nedel knew that the "prince" title wasn't really his, but Caesar had accepted the overstatement, and nobody here knew any better. And it did seem to open doors for him.</p><p></p><p>In this case it had been the doors to the Temple of Apollo, or at least it had let him bypass the line of petitioners, which was a good thing. The people were seeking hope, a commodity in very short supply.</p><p></p><p>"I seek enlightenment, brother.", Nedel answered, as tradition demanded. "I see dark days for the Empire, and for the world. Please tell me that the Oracles of the Sun see more?"</p><p></p><p>"I fear I cannot.", the priest replied in a rare admission. The common folk might be satisfied with bland generalities and platitudes, but even in the land of Democracy, rank had its privileges. One of them was the truth.</p><p></p><p>"The oracles of Apollo see the world as clearly as the sun god himself", the priest continued, "but the shadow on our world obscures his visions of us as surely as it obstructs our vision of him. "</p><p></p><p>"Well, what I seek isn't the wisdom of the whole world, just the happenings in this city.", the young noble said in a reassuring tone. "Since the sun god is busy, perhaps the wisdom of the priesthood will suffice. Who in the city profits from the darkness? Who might desire an eternal night?"</p><p></p><p>"The priests of Nix, whose cloak is the night itself, are as mystified as we are. I've asked.", the priest answered frankly. Then he dropped all semblance of ritual or formality. "The barbarian tribes have always hated the sunlight, so this works to their advantage, but I don't see how they could have arranged it. And Nix might be Apollo's rival, but they aren't enemies. As for what's happening in the city? You might ask at Nix' temple, but for the real stuff go to Aphrodite's Temple. You'd be amazed what men will talk about while, um, worshiping there. Or so I've heard it said."</p><p></p><p>Nedel nodded, then finished the ritual of enlightnment, leaving a circle of gold on the pedestal as he made his way out. The gods really were silent these days, which was bad news indeed.</p><p> </p><p> [/FONT]</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Greenfield, post: 5892276, member: 6669384"] *** Marcus groaned silently in sympathy for the poor house slave, and the decision he had to make. "These estates were reserved for the Imperial party!", argued the Centurion, the threat in his voice obvious. "Which is why you should step aside and allow Emperor Calvinus to claim them", countered the herald of the second "Caesar". "[I]General[/I] Calvinus will be lucky to retain his head, much less his command, if this farce doesn't stop at once!", replied the Centurion. The factor for the third Caesar held his tongue. Years in the field had taught him to allow the adversary to make all the mistakes he wanted to, and these two were making enough for an army. The home belonged to a prominent wine merchant who had trade through much of the Empire. He and his family had vacated the city for a time, and would return from their country estates after the Games had finished. He had been honored to have the Emperor himself staying there, but the Emperor who had made the arrangement was now dead. A man stood to the side, his clothes marking him as a worker, or perhaps a slave, and the string of freshly killed rabbits on his back spoke of his trade more clearly than any set of clothes or guild marks might have. He was selling meat of the field to any who would buy. As the two verbal champions thundered at one another, he approached the conflagration. "If I may", he began, timing his insertion for a moment when both had stopped to take a breath, "I know of a fine site for either party, with fresh water, and away from the flies of the city." The Centurion turned his wrath on the man with silent menace. The very idea that the master of Rome would sleep in such a place was an insult, and to accept was to surrender the field to a pretender. The huntsman bowed and backed away without another word. He would have left, but Emperor Marcus gave a slight gesture, and a slave intercepted the man quietly. The western General knew to keep his options open. Meanwhile the two belligerents were back at their shouting match, with the poor house slave, holder of the keys, slowly being crushed between them. Then Denius solved the problem as only a Senator can. He spoke, and his voice hushed all others. "I am Denius, Seneshal of the city of Rome itself, and commander of the Empire. These other two are from the outlands, and neither has so much as set foot in my city in two years. I am Emperor, and these quarters were reserved for me!" His argument was punctuated by the Centurion who seized the house slave's hand, placed a purse of gold in it, and closed the man's fingers on it with crushing force. "You have accepted Caesar's gold. The matter is settled!" The slave was more than happy to have a way to choose, and quickly directed the baggage carriers of Denius into the building. General/Emperor Marcus had spent years in the field, and was no stranger to tent. He and his group followed the huntsman, leaving Calvinus fuming in impotent fury. He would have struck the slave dead, but for the presence of the city guards, who had formed escorts for all three "Imperial" parties. The peace of the city was to be enforced, even upon the Emperor himself if need be. Finally, he turned to the Captain of his guard. "Clear out some appropriate quarters for us.", and the man left, his mission clear. Across the road, at a small wine vendor with some benches outside, sat the travelers from the corners of the Empire. This was their arranged meeting place, and they waited there to see who and how many would show up. Nedel was one of the first to arrive, for his father had arranged quarters for him in this better part of the city. Appelenea was next, for she had been in town for a few days so far. Seeburn would have arrived earlier, but he had never been in so large a town, and the maze of streets had confused him. Cassius and Sylus arrived together, for they had met at the port and ended up camping fairly near each other in the fields. The Cleric, Markus, was the last, even though his quarters were right across the street, for it took time to separate himself from his traveling party. "I tell you, it's sheer robbery.", Sylus complained. "7 Gold Dinar for a piece of rocky ground scarcely larger than a grave, and then 2 silver pennies a day on top of that. I think they placed me in a footpath." "Be happy you got that. There isn't a blade of grass left in that field. I'm actually sleeping in a tree", Casius replied. "And I had to pay 3 Dinar for that." "At least you're not near the south end.", commented Seeburn. "It's become the common sewer for the whole field, and the games don't even start until tomorrow. Think of the stench after two weeks of this." When Markus joined them and showed them his clay seal, though, they began to talk in earnest. "So, why are we here again?" "My master spoke of the unnatural darkness, and called it a curse. It seems to cover the whole world.", Markus began. 'I fear that the gods are at war with their ancient enemies, the Titans." "Nay", inserted the slender blond lady, "'tis the Fimbulwinter, the beginning of Ragnarok." "No matter what we call it, what do they expect us to do about it?", questioned Nedel. He had dropped the claim of "prince", now that he didn't need to impress anyone. "I guess we look for clues as to the source. We have travelers from throughout the known world here. If there is the shadow of a rumor of a hint of the truth, someone will have brought it with them." "That's fine for you lot", Cassius said bitterly. "You want to save the world, which for you means saving Rome. I say, let the empire's corpse rot in peace. It's done more harm than good." "I have no love for the Imperial Governor, nor his two-legged hounds", said Sylus to his friend, "but Rome was order. What comes now is anarchy, Chaos, and the madness that turns brother against brother. I doubt that the six of us can change the course of that madness, but we owe it to our parents, our masters and our mentors to try." "My Father spoke of a great conspiracy, of agents of Chaos seeking to split the Empire.", Seeburn said. "To me, that sounds like that great Orc we saw. We should keep an eye on him, and make sure he fails." "I'm not sure.", Markus countered. "He's big and noisy and obvious. But if the three Caesars continue as they are, there will be a civil war, and all hope of salvaging the Empire will be gone. There, I think, is the real danger." The talk continued through the strange twilight and into the starless night. Some things were settled, but many were not. *** "Blessings of Baccus, friend, only 2 Dinar", came the cheerful voice, all too early the next morning. Sylus clutched his throbbing head, asking himself why it is that all adventures seem to begin with a night of drinking. He rolled out from beneath the flap of canvas that passed for a tent, ready to kill the annoying vendor, if the ground would just stop moving. "Blessing of Baccus, friend?", asked the odd goat-like lad that had yesterday been seen dancing to the Orc's amusement. "Quiets the mind, settles the stomach and eases the curse of the vine." The Half-Elf clutched the offered goblet and drained it with a single gulp. The juice within foamed as it met the paste that coated his tongue, and washed down his throat, taking his headache with it. In moments he felt a wonderful nothing in his belly, and the urge to purge vanished. To his amazement, he found himself handing the fellow two Dinar. "That was wonderful.", he declared. "Say, didn't I see you being dragged about by that Kergen fellow, yesterday?" "Oh yes, but the city laws allow slaves to move more freely. Kergen is out afield for today's race, and most of the Vandals have gone to cheer him on. I'm free to ply my trade. Would you like some protection from the flies? I have that as well." Seeing the man shake his head, the goat-man smiled and began to hawk his wares again. "Blessings of Baccus to cool the fevered brow!" Sylus found himself walking along as the boy passed out his cooling remedy. "How did you come to be with the Vandals?", he asked. "Some from my village were on their way to the Games when we were caught. That's how Kergen got his Olympic Seal, to allow him to enter the games. Some of my friends fled and escaped, some fought and died. Alas, I managed to do neither. He kept me alive out of curiosity, I think. He'd never seen a Half Satyr before, and thought I might be some sort of Devil. He didn't even recognize my powders and potions as valuable, so I was able to salvage them from our camp. He did claim my late master's Alchemy gear, but he allows me to use it, since he discovered that my sleep wine can help him rest." "He has trouble sleeping?" "Only at night. His people normally sleep during the day, but the darkness has upset his sense of time, and besides, when he's in the human city he needs to be awake when the humans are." "Wait. He took you on your way here?", the Half-Elf asked. "That's not legal. The peace of the Olympics!" "I said the same thing.", confided the Bard. He turned and raised his left arm to reveal a long purple bruise. "This was his reply. I didn't argue any more." "What's your name, friend. I can't go around calling you 'Goat boy'." "Pendaclese", the Fey replied, looking slightly embarrassed. "You mean like...?", the Ranger asked in shock, making a gesture with a dangling finger. "Yeah.", the Half-Satyr agreed, still looking uncomfortable. "My father's idea. I think he wanted me to continue a family tradition." "And I thought I had the 'woe of two worlds' growing up.", gasped Sylus, trying not to laugh. "You must have had it bad." "Not that bad, really. I'm Fey on both sides, which helped. The boys used to tease me about it, until I got my growth." The silence that followed was painful, and nothing more was said on the subject. *** At noon the trumpets blared, and the festivities officially began. The city and the fields around them seethed with revelers, the buzz of their voices almost drowning out the drone of the flies. And in the field at far Marathon, 26 miles away, a crowd of runners stood waiting. The judges peered upwards, trying to locate the sun, to see if it had reached its zenith. Then, with a shout, the runners were off. The towering Orc thundered to an early lead, laughing as he left the puny pink-skins in his dust. But once he had run for a few minutes, he had to slow, and the more steady paced humans began to close the gap. The veterans chanted as they ran, jogging for a 100 count, then walking the same, in the style of the Roman Legions. It worked well. By the end of the first hour, the smaller humanoids had closed the gap. Kergen began to feel the strain, and would burst into short sprints to regain the lead, only to lose it again as the more experienced men worked their way past. Several of the men apparently had friends waiting along the route with water or wine, which seemed to refresh them. Some runners chose to follow the road, while others set out overland. Kergen followed them over hills and into briar and brush. The Great Orc smashed and crashed his way through impeding undergrowth, while some of the slighter men seemed to simply slip through unimpeded. *** It was well into the third hour when the lead runners came into sight of the city, the lead position being held by Caligulus, champion of Emperor Marcus. He had been a soldier, and a messenger in the field, and knew how to run the distance. The bit of alchemy in his 'water' hadn't hurt either. Of course, he wasn't the only one who used such tricks. It was still a race. The cheering crowd thundered their approval as the men passed through the city gates, their naked bodies shining with sweat, their feet pounding the stones like the beat of a drum. "Go Master Go!", cried an unexpected voice. Pendaclese and the Orc contingent were there screaming their lungs out for their champion. The Bard's enthusiasm almost got some of the crowd to join in. His spirit fired by loyalty of his men, he drew on his final reserves, the rage that lived in every Barbarian's heart, and he began to sprint. He closed with his opponents, his blood pounding in his ears as his feet pounded the cobblestone streets. As he passed each pinkie, his heart swelled with pride. Some runners began to sprint as well, while others simply looked on as he passed, having no strength left to sprint with. He was closing on the leader, and could see the finish line ahead. In his mind, he could hear the horns shouting his triumph. Then, his vision began to dim and his pace faltered as his rage ran out. He staggered, trying to push on, and fell. The humans stampeded past him, and the trumpets flared once more, for someone else. He was going to kill someone, he swore. As soon as he could stand up. [FONT="]*** "Welcome to the Light, Prince Nedel", intoned the priest, bowing in welcome. "What do you seek?" Nedel knew that the "prince" title wasn't really his, but Caesar had accepted the overstatement, and nobody here knew any better. And it did seem to open doors for him. In this case it had been the doors to the Temple of Apollo, or at least it had let him bypass the line of petitioners, which was a good thing. The people were seeking hope, a commodity in very short supply. "I seek enlightenment, brother.", Nedel answered, as tradition demanded. "I see dark days for the Empire, and for the world. Please tell me that the Oracles of the Sun see more?" "I fear I cannot.", the priest replied in a rare admission. The common folk might be satisfied with bland generalities and platitudes, but even in the land of Democracy, rank had its privileges. One of them was the truth. "The oracles of Apollo see the world as clearly as the sun god himself", the priest continued, "but the shadow on our world obscures his visions of us as surely as it obstructs our vision of him. " "Well, what I seek isn't the wisdom of the whole world, just the happenings in this city.", the young noble said in a reassuring tone. "Since the sun god is busy, perhaps the wisdom of the priesthood will suffice. Who in the city profits from the darkness? Who might desire an eternal night?" "The priests of Nix, whose cloak is the night itself, are as mystified as we are. I've asked.", the priest answered frankly. Then he dropped all semblance of ritual or formality. "The barbarian tribes have always hated the sunlight, so this works to their advantage, but I don't see how they could have arranged it. And Nix might be Apollo's rival, but they aren't enemies. As for what's happening in the city? You might ask at Nix' temple, but for the real stuff go to Aphrodite's Temple. You'd be amazed what men will talk about while, um, worshiping there. Or so I've heard it said." Nedel nodded, then finished the ritual of enlightnment, leaving a circle of gold on the pedestal as he made his way out. The gods really were silent these days, which was bad news indeed. [/FONT] [/QUOTE]
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