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Curse of Darkness - Olympic Games
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<blockquote data-quote="Greenfield" data-source="post: 5892298" data-attributes="member: 6669384"><p><span style="font-size: 10px">*** </span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">The celebrations went on throughout the afternoon, either interrupted or enhanced by the closing ceremonies, and the Parade of Champions.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">“Sylus!”, called General Markus, as they strode together towards the temple of Nike, goddess of Victory. “It does my heart good to see one of my countrymen do so well in the Games. Will you join me for dinner tonight?”</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">“I’ve been invited to the feast at the temple of Diana, and I’ve already accepted”, he lied. While he had received such an invitation, he hadn’t accepted just yet. The General’s invitation, however, decided that for him. Better a foreign god than a foreign dictator, for Markus was no countryman of his, neither by race nor nation, and the Ranger had absolutely no desire to spend any time with the man. </span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">“Well, come by later on.”, the General called. “I expect the celebration will run well into the night.”</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">*** </span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">“Prince Nedel”, the courier gasped, “I’m so glad I found you. I have a message for you.”</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">“Thank you, friend. May Hermes bless you.”, the Sorcerer replied, almost absently, as he scanned the parchment. A coin changed hands, and the lad was gone.</span> </p><p> <span style="font-size: 10px">Quote:</span></p><p> <span style="font-size: 10px"><em>My dear Prince, </em></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"><em> I have not forgotten the service you and your company did for me, nor the courage you displayed on my behalf. I would be pleased if you could gather that company and attend the evening meal at my camp.</em></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"><em> </em></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"><em> I hope to see you at sunset, and please, be prepared to celebrate.</em></span> </p><p> <span style="font-size: 10px">[FONT=&quot]The message bore the full formal seal of General Calvinus. What was most interesting, however, was what was missing: Any reference to him as Caesar. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">*** </span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">Seeburn spent his afternoon at the Archery range, where many were practicing, and a few private tournaments had been arranged. A few of the locals tried to entice him into a match, but he spotted them for the ringers that they were, and though they fired a few volleys together, he never let the wagers rise above a few coppers. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">Appelenea had to pay a few bribes, but she finally found an opening at the baths, and spent the latter part of the afternoon washing a way the dust of ten thousand travelers, or so it seemed to her. Two weeks in the teaming, sweating, jostling madness that had been Athens were more than enough, and the chance to relax this way was well worth the cost. Slaves helped clean her, prepared her hair, and anointed her with fragrant oils. The long robe of white and blue felt strange, after the rougher garb of her homelands, but then the southern city was much warmer than her birthplace in the north.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">Marcus took the opportunity to visit his father’s house, the temple of Zeus. His mother had always told him that Jupiter, as he was known in Rome, had come to her in the night, and that he was the product. Some laughed at the tale, but he believed with all his heart. So he spent his afternoon there, aiding the priests of the order, and attending to any number of bumps, scrapes, bruises and cuts. It seemed that the cost of drunken revelry was the same everywhere, paid in accidental injury, and some that weren’t so accidental. But as he worked, blending both skill and magic as needed, he talked a bit and listened a lot.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">“The Vandals were swearing their revenge when they left”, swore one man. “Mark my words, we haven’t heard the last of them!”</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">“I overheard the Senator swearing his revenge!”, swore another man with equal certainty, though Marcus took both tales with a grain of salt. After all, the Vandals wouldn’t have been swearing in either Greek or Latin, and the Senator wouldn’t have been wandering the greens by himself where he might be overheard. But gossip was a coin of sorts, for sometimes within the dross came the golden sparkle of truth.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">Prince Nedel spent the afternoon speaking with farmers from the market, and riding the nearby farms to assess this year’s crops. Though the produce gardens had been stripped clean to feed the multitudes of the Games, the grain fields, the orchards and the vines were what would feed the city this winter. What he found troubled him. The blossoms in the orchards were sparse, which meant a poor picking this autumn, and the vines were equally thin. The grain should have been as high as his shoulder by this time of year, and was barely to his ribs. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">The city wouldn’t starve, for they had grainaries to fill in for poor years, but if this was what the fields looked like in this warm and abundant land, there would be empty bellies this winter in any city that wasn’t as wealthy as Athens. </span></p><p> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p> <span style="font-size: 10px">[/FONT]</span></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Greenfield, post: 5892298, member: 6669384"] [SIZE=2]*** The celebrations went on throughout the afternoon, either interrupted or enhanced by the closing ceremonies, and the Parade of Champions. “Sylus!”, called General Markus, as they strode together towards the temple of Nike, goddess of Victory. “It does my heart good to see one of my countrymen do so well in the Games. Will you join me for dinner tonight?”[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] “I’ve been invited to the feast at the temple of Diana, and I’ve already accepted”, he lied. While he had received such an invitation, he hadn’t accepted just yet. The General’s invitation, however, decided that for him. Better a foreign god than a foreign dictator, for Markus was no countryman of his, neither by race nor nation, and the Ranger had absolutely no desire to spend any time with the man. [/SIZE] [SIZE=2] “Well, come by later on.”, the General called. “I expect the celebration will run well into the night.”[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] *** “Prince Nedel”, the courier gasped, “I’m so glad I found you. I have a message for you.” “Thank you, friend. May Hermes bless you.”, the Sorcerer replied, almost absently, as he scanned the parchment. A coin changed hands, and the lad was gone.[/SIZE] [SIZE=2]Quote:[/SIZE] [SIZE=2][I]My dear Prince, I have not forgotten the service you and your company did for me, nor the courage you displayed on my behalf. I would be pleased if you could gather that company and attend the evening meal at my camp. I hope to see you at sunset, and please, be prepared to celebrate.[/I][/SIZE] [SIZE=2][FONT="]The message bore the full formal seal of General Calvinus. What was most interesting, however, was what was missing: Any reference to him as Caesar. *** Seeburn spent his afternoon at the Archery range, where many were practicing, and a few private tournaments had been arranged. A few of the locals tried to entice him into a match, but he spotted them for the ringers that they were, and though they fired a few volleys together, he never let the wagers rise above a few coppers. Appelenea had to pay a few bribes, but she finally found an opening at the baths, and spent the latter part of the afternoon washing a way the dust of ten thousand travelers, or so it seemed to her. Two weeks in the teaming, sweating, jostling madness that had been Athens were more than enough, and the chance to relax this way was well worth the cost. Slaves helped clean her, prepared her hair, and anointed her with fragrant oils. The long robe of white and blue felt strange, after the rougher garb of her homelands, but then the southern city was much warmer than her birthplace in the north. Marcus took the opportunity to visit his father’s house, the temple of Zeus. His mother had always told him that Jupiter, as he was known in Rome, had come to her in the night, and that he was the product. Some laughed at the tale, but he believed with all his heart. So he spent his afternoon there, aiding the priests of the order, and attending to any number of bumps, scrapes, bruises and cuts. It seemed that the cost of drunken revelry was the same everywhere, paid in accidental injury, and some that weren’t so accidental. But as he worked, blending both skill and magic as needed, he talked a bit and listened a lot. “The Vandals were swearing their revenge when they left”, swore one man. “Mark my words, we haven’t heard the last of them!” “I overheard the Senator swearing his revenge!”, swore another man with equal certainty, though Marcus took both tales with a grain of salt. After all, the Vandals wouldn’t have been swearing in either Greek or Latin, and the Senator wouldn’t have been wandering the greens by himself where he might be overheard. But gossip was a coin of sorts, for sometimes within the dross came the golden sparkle of truth. Prince Nedel spent the afternoon speaking with farmers from the market, and riding the nearby farms to assess this year’s crops. Though the produce gardens had been stripped clean to feed the multitudes of the Games, the grain fields, the orchards and the vines were what would feed the city this winter. What he found troubled him. The blossoms in the orchards were sparse, which meant a poor picking this autumn, and the vines were equally thin. The grain should have been as high as his shoulder by this time of year, and was barely to his ribs. The city wouldn’t starve, for they had grainaries to fill in for poor years, but if this was what the fields looked like in this warm and abundant land, there would be empty bellies this winter in any city that wasn’t as wealthy as Athens. [/FONT][/SIZE] [/QUOTE]
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