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Please do not post if you are not King of Winter. |
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Righto! How shall we begin? |
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The real question is, do they already know of their quest? Or how will they find out? |
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Oof. Lol. There is a question we should have addressed. xD ~ Well, which one would be more interesting to write about? |
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Hmm, if they discover their quest, I feel like that will set us up better in the long run. However, we will also have to come up with the fake problem earlier as well. |
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Mhm. That solves it then. Would you like to do the honors and post first? |
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The wheat bent in the wind, creating a living ocean. Thelma watched the waves, standing still and straight as a rock. The wheat swirled around her like water breaking on the beach, whipping her chiton. When the wind paused, and Thelma went through her motions. Holding a long, straight stick, she danced through the wheat, her stick batting the stalks aside. The stick was supposed to represent a dory, a short spear popular in the Spartan army. Thelma's father had been exceptional at the dory, and had taught Thelma everything. Thelma preferred her sword, a spartan xiphos, but her father insisted she be well rounded. So today she practiced with her stick. Thelma's father still had his dory, but Thelma was not allowed to use it. "Thelma!" Her father shouted from the house, and motioned for Thelma to come with one hand, and balanced himself with his cane in the other. Thelma jogged over, tucking her stick in her armpit, so it would not stab her if she tripped. "Yes father?" Thelma's chiton was stained with dirt, making the bottom brown instead of white, but Thelma's father didn't seem to care. He smiled warmly at his second born child, light entering his dark eyes.
"How is your practice? I hope you didn't kill all of my crop." Thelma looked behind her, and found that she had matted down a small patch of wheat. Thelma blushed guiltily, but her father never broke his smile. "It is alright, my dear. Now, I am going to market, you stay safe here." Thelma's father was always worried about Thelma's safety, even more so than Lyra's safety. She had a husband to protect her, and Thelma had only her father.
"Please, will you take me with you? I could help you carry things." It wasn't that the farm was boring, but the market was full of people, and soldiers. Thelma loved to watch the soldiers train and patrol the streets, their red cloaks trailing behind them, hiding any blood they might ever spill on a battlefield.
"Not today, my daughter." That was it, there was no arguing with Thelma's father. Thelma's father left soon after, leaving Thelma all alone. Her mother had died a few years ago, stolen by disease.
Thelma took good care of the farm, feeding the animals and making sure all were accounted for.
Though all the animals were in their pens, Thelma spotted a goat on the edge of the woods bordering the farm. It wore a wreath around its neck, and seemed to watch Thelma as she approached. The goat had a small brand on its hind quarter, so small most would miss it. Delicate wings formed the brand, the symbol of Nike.
The goat took off into the woods, and intrigued, Thelma followed. Thelma had to run to keep up with the goat, but she used her stick to bat away the brush, allowing her to keep the goat in sight. Suddenly, the goat made a quick turn, and Thelma lost track of it. She took the corner, but stopped dead in her tracks. Someone was up ahead. Thelma took a moment to steel herself, and, stick firmly in hand, she approached. "Who are you?" (You can either jump in here, or this is going to some lesser deity sent in Nike's place) |
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'Day 50, The same dream again. The fires raining from the skies. The blood drenching the streets. The cries of dying men and women. The disembodied voices, their horrific joyful chanting... And that damned eye, peering down from the Heavens, jeering at me in my helplessness as I remain motionless. A shadow amongst the chaos. Athens turned to ashes. A warning, that's what it was. Each time I seek answers it seems to be the only thing that remains true. No matter how many offerings I gift, oracles I visit, or Elders I seeked out for guidance all I received was the same answers and more questions. The Gods were silent. Maybe the incident in Megara was a blessing in disguise? Then again, washing up in Spartan Lands was never a blessing...' He shut his worn out journal with a resolute snap of the leather bound pages. He closed his eyes with a sigh, taking in the early morning air of the foothills of Arcadia. 'Spartans. Those self proclaimed Children of Ares...-', his thoughts cut off as a smirk arose on his face as if remembering something rather amusing, '-... Monsters under children's beds'. It irked him fiercely, being stranded alone in these lands, wandering them for... A month? He left Athens about a month and a half ago, trudging over hills, woodlands, coastlines, various manner of creature, and a rather uncouth encounter with several pirates... This journey wasn't going as he anticipated. Clothes were worn. Knife bloodied and dull. Bow missing many an arrow. Money lost to the sea. Lost without a clue as to what he was looking for... Atticus wasn't one for roughing it but to save his home, his Athens, he would do it. Just like his father. He couldn't lose faith, not after he'd done so much. Atticus opened his eyes, settling his thoughts. He rose from his seated position, and once more began his journey through the lands of Sparta. The hours passed on, his feet sore and yet he kept up a solid pace as he went North. The hills and rocky outcrops changed to forests, green and lively. Atticus stopped before a pomegranate tree, ripe fruits hanging placidly upon the branches. Deciding to rest, he set himself underneath the tree, took a single fruit from a low hanging branch and ate it, cutting open the outer skin to properly eat the inner flesh. It was peaceful under the tree. The fruits and flowers breaking the green forests dominance in a beautiful display, a hidden paradise shielded from the world. It reminded him of the orchards he used to play in as a child with that sickeningly sweet aroma. It almost lulled him into a sense of peace for the first time in his journey... Almost. A goat trotted mindlessly into his bit of paradise, and he stiffened in surprise. Goats always made him feel uncomfortable, their strange eyes... They locked eyes for a brief second, before he noticed a strange symbol upon the goats flanks... The Sigil of Nike. Time seemed to have paused as he processed this realization... Mere moments later a second entity crashed through the forest. A girl. A Sign from the Gods. '...A Spartan', he thought tersely, his previous thoughts immediately leaving, the very idea of being in the presence of a Spartan taking the forefront. "Who are you?", she asked him. He didn't immediately respond, his voice dry from a lack of speaking. He had been roaming these lands alone for quite some time with no intention of speaking with the locals, yet here the Gods were forcing his hand. He simply stared at her for a moment, emotions dancing in his eyes from hatred, a strange bit of amusement, and oddly enough understanding. He took a short breath before standing up, raising his hands in surrender whilst also creating a bit of distance between the both of them. "... Just a traveler, what is it to you?", he replied, his voice while slightly hoarse bore a methodical tone. His eyes left the Spartan for a moment, searching for the Divine Goat once more. It was trotting towards the the tree to gain access to its fruits, the symbol of Nike still on full display. He eyed the Spartan once more, before he huffed in exasperation. The Gods finally answered his prayers, yet now he was beginning to regret it. [Sorry it took so long. I was suffering a bit of writers block and life kinda stepped on my heels. Sorry of its super long, I just wasn't sure how to begin, so this whole thing is just Atticus' inner thoughts and feelings for the most part. Writing a decent beginning is almost always the hardest thing for me.] |
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Thelma wished she had a xiphos, but she did not, and there was no use grabbing for the knife in her boot. So, her stick her only weapon, Thelma approached the boy. Thelma instantly knew the boy was not Spartan. He held himself wrong, and his knife was in disrepair. No Spartan would let their weapon fall into such a sorry state. Thelma noticed that the traveler, as he called himself, had neglected to state his name. "This is my land, and your goat bears the symbol of my god, which makes it important to me. Now I ask again," Thelma lifted her stick, holding it with perfect form. "Who are you?" Perhaps the stick was by the most threatening, but Thelma knew how to make it hurt. To emphasize this, Thelma swung, the stick arching over her head before making contact with the pomegranate tree. The impact caused the tree to shake, and a singe pomegranate fell, which Thelma caught without looking up. It must have looked impressive. Thelma tossed the pomegranate to the goat, and pointed her stick at the traveler again, practically begging him not to respond.
(XD I had no idea what to do, so Thelma's showing off a bit) |
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He let out a snort. 'Impressive.... Yet like all Spartan's she leads with threats...', because that was all that display with the tree could possibly be. Atticus narrowed his coppery eyes peering into the girl's green orbs. This girl, this Spartan... She was a threat. He was more than certain she'd best him if he attacked. With a thrice damned stick of all things. Oh how he wished the infernal river Phlegethon would rise up and burn it to ash... "This is my land, and your goat bears the symbol of my God, which makes it important to me. Now I ask again, who are you?", the Spartan said to him. The Girl rose her "mighty weapon", taking aim at him with an all to sadistic look in her eye. All he could do was deadpan, staring at the stick before him. "...Not keen on hospitality it seems, it's rude to ask names without offering yours first", he said tersely. Raising his hands, once more, it wasn't very clear if he was reaching for the weapon or surrendering but there was a contemplating look on his face. 'The Spartan said, Your Goat, as in mine... The fool thinks I lead her out here, what kind of game is she playing? I had nothing to do with the cross-eyed beast', but that wasn't what truly caught his attention. The true matter at hand was... "... So you noticed the symbol too?", he spoke sharply with an edge of caution as if unsure how to dance around the subject matter. One doesn't simply speak of the Gods in passing, the Spartan's affiliations are now known. Not one for subtly is she? Atticus chose the long game however, testing the waters, he continued. "As a traveler, I have seen many symbols and yet nothing such as that. Tell me, do you brand your goats with such a symbol? You do claim the sigil as your Gods, a sacrifice perhaps?", he asked. |
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Fall 
Day 
Fog
