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Eagles of Alexandria: A Ptolemaic-era Scion Quest

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Before I set a deadline for voting to close, I was wondering:

I've noticed that while recent readers and reacts are about normal, we've only got about half as many votes so far... Wondering if it's the plans? More points? Needed more info to work with in the first place? Lemme know! Criticism more than welcome.
 
Rolman said:
Before I set a deadline for voting to close, I was wondering:

I've noticed that while recent readers and reacts are about normal, we've only got about half as many votes so far... Wondering if it's the plans? More points? Needed more info to work with in the first place? Lemme know! Criticism more than welcome.
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In my personal experience, quest where a vote has the participants create a fairly open ended plan, there tends to be lower vote counts and participation in general.
 
Hoppylo said:
In my personal experience, quest where a vote has the participants create a fairly open ended plan, there tends to be lower vote counts and participation in general.
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How interesting! Makes sense I guess, takes more effort and all -- coming from GSRP, I thought you wily questers appreciated maximum choice! Maybe we'll get a bit more on-rails then.
 
I can't speak for everyone, but for myself, I feel a bit paralysed by indecision when its a write in option, especially when is a world I don't know a lot about.

For Eg, I've thought about suggesting a plan where we pretend to be working for some group or other the thieves might want to approach but I don't know enough about the society to think of what group might be plausible, or if its not really a realistic plan. So I didn't say anything, and hoped someone would come up with a plan I was enthused over.

Loving the quest so far though!
 
Pardon the lack of warning, but voting is now closed! It's near-unanimous frat boy-age so I feel comfortable calling it. See you soon, whatever that means, hopefully!
Scheduled vote count started by Rolman on Dec 3, 2021 at 1:24 AM, finished with 17 posts and 11 votes.
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Chapter V: Kairete, Brothers!
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    • Chapter V: Kairete, Brothers!​

    You and Sarapion slipped into your roles well, passing a heavy wineskin back and forth for the entire carriage ride to Sais, getting into character while Herakleides clumsily drove.

    The idea sprung into your head almost immediately, inspired by the layabout sons of the councilmen of Miletos, tales in Alexandria of the Royal court's excesses, and the relative youth of all four of you. Sarapion took no convincing – stating outright his excitement to drink on the job without repercussions – while Kollouthes rolled his eyes and finally conceded that it was a good enough cover. Using a stipend granted to you by the epistates to cover in-the-field costs, you and Sarapion would play the role of loud-mouthed, rich folk from the capital, with Kollouthes Sarapion's native manservant and Herakleides your, well, slave.

    "Hey, Gyptios," said a legitimately-tipsy Sarapion, flicking Kollouthes' ear and putting on a horrifyingly good (obnoxious) Makedonian accent, "jackal-worshipper, talking to you. Three obols if you climb that palm over there and get me some dates."

    "Tweak my ear again and I punch you," said the Aigyptios, looking straight ahead. "Besides, doesn't your father plough my father's fields?"

    You let out a wine-soaked howl, drumming on your thighs in excitement. You had observed the way the two engaged closely: close coworkers, to be certain, but there was a particular familiarity underlying the two's relationship, you felt. You had learned during your stint as a taxman that, while Aigyptioi will suffer slurs in an inferior position, they tend to speak up to disrespectful peers or lessers. So why did Kollouthes bear it? Well, of course, it was all so clear now: "By the Gods, you two are childhood friends?!"

    "Shocking, I know," said Kollouthes. "For as long as I can remember, though, my father has always had ole Kastor to –"

    "Aw, you dirty liar!" cried Sarapion, chopping at the air on "liar" for effect, before turning to you. "Don't fall for Aigyptian trickery here. My father is a landowner, too, not some bound serf, he has a dorea from his time on the battle-line. It's just that Kollion's pa happens to be the local jackal-priest, with lots of beehives and barley fields in need of working – why not make some extra bronze?"

    "You know," countered Kollouthes, "I'm not sure if your namesake would appreciate your slandering of Anoubis and His representatives as 'jackals' – every act in life tips the scales in death, you know. Not like you care."

    "It is a risk I'm willing to take, dear friend, and until you quit slandering my people I won't quit with slandering your death-god."

    "Haides and Anoubis may well be one and the same," you pondered to no one in particular, "Minos working the scales as magistrate." You had been picking up on some of the natives' religion, and seen the parallels: Zeus and Ammon are certainly one – Alexandros His son – why not the rest?

    "Again," chuckled Sarapion, "a risk I'm willing to take."

    Kollouthes turned to you; though smiling at his friend's blaspheming, you could feel the slightest tinge of genuine disgust. "Look at him. A complete lack of respect – or fear, for that matter. He doesn't even make his sacrifices."

    "Just as I wouldn't give gifts to a stranger! If they tell me they're suffering without my help, well, then certainly I'll pour some wine out for them," said Sarapion, before defiantly taking a swig from the wineskin. "But until they ask, I'm not sharing!"

    He might bring bad luck, you thought, but it's not like I can order him to revere the divines. Besides, those cauliflower ears tell me enough of his use. Certainly a wrestler in his youth, maybe never stopped…

    "Well, if an axle breaks or we get struck by lightning we'll know just who to blame," you quipped.

    "That's a pretty drastic escalation," replied Sarapion dryly.

    "And it may be more likely than you think," warned Kollouthes, knowing full well that it'd be in vain. He frowned at the wineskin in Sarapion's hand. "Damn you, give that here."

    "Why?"

    "You're making me want some!"

    Upon your arrival in Sais, you and the two phylakes decided to keep wearing your Royal Eagle brooches for the time being, with the exception of passing through the city's open gates as unmarked travellers. Your next order of business was to find the barge in question, impounded and moored somewhere along the Neilos, which ran through the large town. This revealed itself to be a difficult task, with both banks of the river jam-packed with barges and skiffs, laid end-to-end and bumping into each other as they bobbed atop the water. It took a good half-hour of pacing up and down the cobblestones before the four of you came upon something that looked promising: an empty barge with several dozen amphorae held upright in wooden racks upon its deck, a lone phylax standing before a makeshift gangplank.

    As you approached, Sarapion held up a hemidrachm and smiled. "Watch this."

    Taking the lead, the tough Hellene approached the guardsman and gave him a dexiosis, palming the coin into his hand. "Orders from the epistates to let us board," he said.

    The phylax's gaze darted up and down between the gift in his hand and your party. "Of course, sirs," he finally said, immediately turning and walking away from his post.

    Leading the way aboard, Sarapion looked back. "I didn't say which epistates, either, somewhat strange how he just took it. That was only an extra day's pay for him."

    "Yeah," agreed Kollouthes, "too easy."

    The three of you began to search the barge, Herakleides keeping watch. With none of the amphorae missing, it was apparent that the wine had been transferred to other containers, as the epistates had suggested. "Probably because of these," said Kollouthes, tapping on an etching of the Royal Eagle with the name of the vineyard of origin beneath it. "Looks like they knifed the seals off. Nice of them to put them back in their racks. Even re-tied the knots!"

    "Seems time-consuming," you said, "maybe it got reorganized after impoundment."

    "Certainly would make sense. They didn't really say either way," responded the Aigyptios. "A group did this, though, had to have been. Immediately or at some point downriver, after the ship was unmoored."

    Meanwhile, Sarapion had squatted down to get a closer look at something on the deck. He rolled what looked like a pebble between his fingers and grimaced. "Think this might be a little chip of tooth or skull. They really cracked the oikonomos hard. You two see any blood besides here? Think it was just one hit that dropped him. Laid in this little dried puddle here."

    "If only we could go and get a good look at that oikonomos," Kollouthes said, placing a hand to his chin as he walked over to observe the blood spatters. "Whether or not he got in the front or back of the head may have been a big clue. Front means he was turned to face them -- maybe talking to them. Back, on the other hand? Snuck up on, or forced to face away maybe. Just a thought."

    "But the important part seems to be that there's no sign of a meaningful struggle. And no sign of any additional casualties," you said.

    "Wouldn't be surprised if the other three phylakes turned on him or were paid off, who knows," Kollouthes added, before repeating himself: "whoever it was, it had to have been a group."

    "No doubt," agreed Sarapion.

    The barge was largely as hollow as its amphorae. Blood spatter and some little chips of clay and nothing more. But the scale left an impression on how the crime must've looked.

    "Alright," you said, taking stock of the altogether rather unhelpful scene. You tapped on your Royal Eagle brooch. "Time to take these off."

    Sarapion, ever the actor, sauntered up to the wine merchant first, dipping into the tent's alcove out of the busy flow of shoppers and peddlers making their way through the open-air emporion of Sais, perhaps the same one mentioned by Solon in your studies. Though you departed only a few years prior, Miletos already belonged to another lifetime, it felt. A sea away from home, from your parents' graves, from the friends and mentors of your childhood. You were never one for excessive religiosity – especially not the natives' – but in this moment, you felt that Mousai or perhaps the sands' Thoth penned your story for you. Breathing in and out air unfamiliar to you, the dust sticking to your clothes the earth of a foreign shore. To be just twenty and already engaged, however superficially, in this new world in its complexities, its coinpurses of bribes pulling you from handshake to handshake. At once exhilarating and terrifying, so early in your career, like Alexandros striking out into Mikra Asia. Perhaps he was only so self-assured from his position, a prince with armies and a treasury already to his name, an empire-in-the-making left by his father. And a sword to cut his Gordian Knot. You trudged through reeds still, you felt, ears ringing still with a warning of serpents and doors slammed shut.

    At last turning your focus to Sarapion's act, isolating his conversation from the din of the marketplace, you found him in the middle of introductions. He tossed a luxurious, state-funded chlamys about his shoulder, flashing its rich dyes and silver-threaded embroidery of geometric patterns and lines. "My manservant Senephonychos, and, ah! My brotherrrrrrrrrrrrrr!" Stepping over to you and giving you a few good pats on the shoulder, he ushered you up to the balding, leathery-skinned wine merchant. "This is my good brother Philippos! A brother from another nest, roosters sprung from different cocks!"

    "Greetings-greetings-greetings, my good man!" you sputtered out, suddenly integrated into the act. "Antipatros" – hopefully that was indeed what he had settled on – "We're looking for some good wine, no?"

    "Indeed, indeed, some real, real stuff," said Sarapion, turning to the wine dealer. "We're having ourselves a huge symposion, we need wine that'll last, you see? Something strong."

    "Damn what those salt-puckered old assholes of men say," you agreed, settling into your role and blaspheming the great philosophers, "we need heat! Strong, hardy wine. 'To excess' is to exceed, the lowest water cuts you've got!"

    "Low water? Pure wine? Have a look at this, then, gentlemen," replied the wine seller, taking an iron prybar to a squat amphora's wood-and-clay seal. "Have a sample of this. Cups over on my accounting table."

    You went and retrieved a little clay mug, and found it being ladeled full of blood-red wine, Sarapion receiving his own cup not long after. "Not heated or spiced, I'm afraid," said the wine merchant, "but give it a taste."

    Sarapion swirled it in his cup. "Where from?"

    "Naxos, sir, birthplace of Dionysos himself!" The merchant seemed to be an Aigyptios, but he clearly had familiarized himself with the Hellenes and their world. A good businessman. "Had I known of your want for unmixed wines, sirs, I'd have brought with me some Arkadian from the site of the Akratophorian cult – the Dionysos of the unadulterated!"

    "Very good, very good," said Sarapion. "Such an undecorated amphora, though…"

    "Indeed," said the merchant. "Brigands on the waterways these days. Rich artwork would attract attention." He gestured about his stall – indeed, nearly all the containers were plain terracotta. "All local from a potter in Kanopis. Nice and cheap this way anyway, why put down a whole silver on the container it comes in?"

    "You said something about robberies, imakhu?" asked Kollouthes, rapping a finger on a wine jar.

    "Oh yes, I dare say these new officials are no good. Holy Pharoah may be under some bad influences, I've heard. Seems they let everything slip these days," replied the merchant, nodding solemnly.

    You slipped a glance to Sarapion as Kollouthes continued his approach. "Don't we know, sir, don't we know. Anything particularly bad around here?"

    "Well, nothing too bad if the right ones get their due, you know?" chuckled the merchant. "There's some captains out in the country that may well run their own toll lanes."

    Sarapion butted in. "Ah, some little kings! They ever sell themselves?"

    "I wouldn't know, but other people certainly would," said the merchant, seemingly taking some care, "many would. Just not this one."

    "Clean as a whistle!" you joked with a chuckle. But at least he had given some workable information. You and Sarapion threw down some coins for wineskin refills, and the party withdrew back into the street with a little more insight.

    "Really?" hissed Kollouthes, "Senephonychos?" Sarapion rumbled back some barb, but all four of you, even Herakleides, seemed to be detained mentally; the four of you spent more time ruminating to yourselves than bantering back and forth, eyes trained on the wares lining Sais' markets. No Royal emblems on any of the merchandise – not like any right-minded thief would take such a terrible misstep, but it became rather clear that most wine-selling was undertaken by semi-itinerant dealers that bought wholesale. Would a reseller perhaps be making his way toward the coast..?

    Kollouthes had fixated upon the wine seller's insinuation about corrupt archiphylakes in the country outside of Sais. The notion of illegal toll booths. Thankfully, the plans you had made back in Naukratis already called for an excursion into the countryside.

    It took a day or two to make it upriver to the hamlets recorded as the site of the assault and theft. The scene itself – or however close you managed to triangulate the stretch of river, no matter – seemed unremarkable. A stretch of Neilos like the rest, with farmers' fields and dirt tracks hugging the river's banks. The air was ever-so-slightly drier and hotter out here than compared to the coastal areas or Alexandria. Heat distorted the midday air, above the stalks of growing grain.

    Villagers stood in their doorways to see the well-dressed strangers who had sauntered into town. The story had now shifted from seeking wine to seeking the more-stigmatized mekon milk, used widely as medicine, poison, and drunk by the most hedonistic of revellers. Peasants were tight-lipped about wine sales and tighter still about the poppies. Nearly an entire day was wasted in guarded conversation with nervous-looking elders and village scribes.

    A breakthrough at last came with the appearance of a dishevelled-looking pair of phylakes on a dusty trail outside one village. Kollouthes narrowed his eyes as they approached. "No clubs on their waists, but daggers…"

    "Not normal," said Sarapion, before raising his voice and waving towards the men. "Kairete, brothers!"

    "Greetings. Are you the gang of youths scuttling around out here," replied one phylax, taking the lead ahead of his partner.

    "That we are, that we are. Wanted to see if the rustic folk have their hands on any good vintages or poppy pastes out here," said Sarapion, remaining layabout-chipper. You could see that he had tensed some, though.

    "Well, with all due respect, sirs, the people don't like being bothered out here," said the lead, "we don't know who you are, where you came from, what your business ought to be out here."

    "That's right," said his partner, "can't be too careful these days, never know who may be here to rustle cattle or raid a granary." The two phylakes were stubbled Aigyptioi wearing Royal Eagles over sweat-stained tunics, running their hands through greasy scalps. Only xiphoi at their waists, as Kollouthes rightly noted.

    "Whatever you heard about that big theft down by the river," said the lead, "not a damned thing out here. River bandits move quick, nothing left over, nothing to water your snouts with, alright?" His gaze flickered to the satchels and bags you all carried, your own blades tucked into sashes or leather belts. "What's in those bags? I can read Hellenike, any identifying information?"

    "Just our provisions and a few missives," you said – not a lie, but the shorthand and roughly-sketched maps of your "letters," though not an outright betrayal, would likely raise some eyebrows.

    "Let us see, then. Surely you've got nothing to hide in there, right, gentlemen? If you are here for what you say."

    Are these really phylakes? Kollouthes didn't have time to elaborate, but those cudgels seemed consequential to him. Those brooches looked no more real than your own, on the other hand. The lead walked up and snatched a leather bag from Herakleides, as the four of you tried to speak with only quick glances of eye contact.

    Rifling through hig bag, a smile appeared on the phylax's face as he produced one of several coinpurses in the party's possessions, jingling it in his hand. "Awful lot of money. You really did come out here to buy a feast's worth, eh?"

    He pointed to your bag with his free hand, not returning the coinpurse into Herakleides'. You're not under arrest, you were sure of that much. So what gives?

    "Let me have a look in there…"

    [] Now!

    Springing on the men may be risky; even if they're not real phylakes, they remain two armed men. Against your four, yes, and with the element of surprise, but there could be a serious struggle. If one were to get away, your profile would increase substantially – and what to do with them once you have them? An interrogation would be rewarding, but you'd have to do something about the two captives. Anonymity will likely help in this respect, in any case. There's always the concern that they really *are* phylakes, too.

    [] "No need," you say, producing the coin purse and tossing it to him.

    A toll for bandits or a bribe for real phylakes. If they are real officers, though, that may tip something off to them, that you're a bit too eager to please. Not to mention, this doesn't guarantee a stop to the searching. But a kindness-killing could be just as useful as a physical overpowering.

    [] "Certainly. Shall we see your commandant, too?"

    Let them search, let them take, even. Any sensitive information they may glean will travel no faster than their two feet, and there's no point in disturbing the current process – whatever it is – with crimes of assault or bribery. It will be interesting to see their reaction to "commandant," more interesting still if they actually deliver you up to someone.

    [] "Not until I see your commander."

    Bandits and phylakes alike don't like having their authority tested, but raising a stink of some kind could give some serious clues as to just who these two men may be. At worst, protesting would only prolong the outbreak of an inevitable confrontation, but they could just move to detain or "detain" you four in any case.
     
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    • Hmm very interesting. Seems there's a criminal gang about. I say we try and go a little deeper. Maybe the cough something up by mistake or admit they have no superior. Or give clear evidence they aren't real phylakes.

    [X] "Certainly. Shall we see your commandant, too?"
     
    [X] "No need," you say, producing the coin purse and tossing it to him.

    We're playing a rich socialite. There's no better way to signal that we're not above some dirty dealing and have dubious stuff to do. Should give us a better in to the local underworld (not the one ruled by Anubis or Hades :D)
     
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