This was inspired by both @Cetashwayo 's excellent thread "Magna Grecia" and a recent binge of...
The Giant of Achaea (Historical SI: With a Bonus)
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Chapter One
This was inspired by both @Cetashwayo 's excellent thread "Magna Grecia" and a recent binge of the Historical podcast series called "The History of the Greeks" an excellent listen if you have the time and free on Itunes.
My thanks to @Cetashwayo for his information about Greek society and social structures. I hope this will be up to snuff.
Periander was a farmer, as was his father, and his father before him, and if the gods were merciful, his son and grandson would the same land after him.
While he and the family slaves were hoeing a vegetable patch, he glanced up to check on his son Lysander. The youth was working with the oxen team to plow the nearby field for the winter wheat. He was about to remind the youth to watch for that boulder in the corner of their plot, something his father had said to him more times than he could count when he heard the sound of hoofbeats behind him.
Turning around, he spotted a lone rider making his way up to their farm. A cloak hid his features though even at this distance he could tell that the clothing was of exceptional make.
Periander's eyes narrowed in confusion at the sight of the strange rider. Few people came from the Polis, the direction he had come from, to his small farm in the hills far from the coast. There were no trade routes that came this way. The small track that ran along his farm only led further into the hills before petering off somewhere a few stadia further in. No temple or shrine to the gods was up there, nor a mine that contained the wealth of Hades. The only thing of value this far away from Olenus was his farm, and it was barely enough to provide the surplus for his family to serve as hoplites in the muster.
Even that was in question if this year's harvest went poorly and they could get the shield fixed with the proceeds from the wheat harvest. If it was bad enough he might be forced to fight with the psilloi like he had in his youth. While he was more than able to do so again if he had to, his arms were still strong and his aim flawless, he'd much rather avoid that sort of embarrassment at his age if he could thank-you very much.
Thoughts of arms reminded him of the awful drubbing Olenus took this past summer with those bastards from Dyme across the river. The land around the mouth of the river and for a distance up either side was good farmland and the fishing was also a valuable commodity. This fertility meant that the land around the river-mouth had changed hands between the two cities constantly. For the past two decades, Dyme had held the river-mouth and controlled the fishing in the area while Olenus had been forced to purchase Posiden's bounty from the arrogant bastards at raised prices.
He was shaken from his wool-gathering when he noticed the rider was wheeling back around riding back to his farm with an almost desperate haste.
Periander didn't think the man meant violence, but he tightened the grip on the handle of his hoe all the same. Lacking his war or not, Periander son of Palmenes would give as good as he got.
He was surprised when the rider went past him and came to a stop along the track near where his son had brought the oxen to a halt. The man's cloak was starting to come loose and he could see locks of gray and black hair escaping the confines of the cloak and whisp in the light breeze that blew in from the sea.
It took the farmer a moment to realize that the stranger was looking for something in particular and following his apparent gaze he realized the rider was studying the large stone, close to the track, that he had warned his son to avoid with the plow and the oxen.
Before he could speak the stranger gestured to the stone with a snap of his arm, "Good man, that stone, the one that looks like a bullock, how long has it been there?", the excitement in his voice obvious.
Confused at the question, Periander glanced back at the stone in question. Three feet high and about twice as big around, it did kind of look like a cow, if you squinted and tilted your head. He turned back to the rider and answered, "For as long as I can remember sir."
He addressed the stranger as he would an aristocrat, the horse a good sign of his high-born origin. Despite several of the old families losing a large chunk of their wealth and power in the wake of the recent shake up in the city, with a few even being driven out of the city, they were still more powerful than a lone farmer just barely able to arm himself as a hoplite could hope to challenge. Besides manners cost nothing and helped make everything more agreeable.
The stranger nodded then said, "I need you to pull it out as quickly as you can." He said it so matter-of-factly that Periander almost didn't realize what was being asked of him.
"Sir? That'd take all day, and my family needs to get the plowing done as soon as we can." Trying to balance his need to get his work done without upsetting the obvious aristocrat while at the same not sounding like he was begging his better like a slave would. He worked for himself thank-you very much!
The stranger nodded, accepting Periander's words, he reached into his cloak and tossed the farmer a small satchel. "This should cover your efforts, I need that stone moved, today."
Periander raised an eyebrow and reached down to pick up the purse, opening the draw-string he looked inside and his eyes bugged at the number of large silver coins in it. There had to be at least fifty drachmae in there, more than enough to pay for anything his family could possibly need, let alone a new hoplon.
Picking the sack up and tying it to his waist, he nodded to the man. "As you wish sir." He replied, putting much more respect into his voice than before. Turning to his son he shouted, "Boy! Leave off the plowing, you, get some rope and tie the oxen to that stone, the honorable gentleman desires it moved." He then quickly spoke to one of his slaves.
The boy, who had already stopped in his work to hear what the stranger was asking about, (he'd have to twist his ear on that one later, if he felt like it, right now he was in too good a mood to care really), quickly unhitched the oxen from their plow and lead them over to the stone, while the slave quickly dashed to the farmhouse to find some rope.
Seeing his will being done, Periander turned to the wealthy stranger and said, "Are you thirsty, sir? Might I offer some of my wine, it's not the best but it'll quench one's thirst."
The stranger shook his head, "Thank-you but no, just some water, I haven't the time to enjoy anything stronger."
Periander shrugged his shoulders and made his way over to the stone, personally, he'd have taken a cup of wine at any opportunity, especially free. But then again he couldn't throw around fifty drachmae at will.
Shortly the slave returned with the rope and the three of them quickly tied the oxen to the stone. At the same time, they attacked the edges of the stone with hoes and mattocks, shoving the earth away as quickly as they could.
After several minutes of digging Periander called off the others, they'd dug enough, now it was up to the oxen to pull the stone.
Periander got behind the stone and placing his hands on the stone called out to his son, "Alright boy, on the count of three. One, two, THREE!"
Lysander shouted for the oxen to move and swatted their flanks to help motivate them. A moment later the two bullocks grunted and threw their weight into their harnesses and pulled for all they were worth. Meanwhile, Periander and his slaves helped push from behind.
At first nothing seemed to happen, but eventually, the stone began to inch ever so slightly forward. Seeing this minuscule but noticeable progress, the entire party redoubled their efforts. In short spurts that became longer and quicker as they continued to push and pull, the stone moved from its place in the corner of the wheat field and was dragged ever so slowly towards the road.
Sweat poured from Periander's brow and his muscles were aching like never before except on the battlefield. He wasn't sure how much longer he could keep pushing this damn thing and every time he looked up to see their progress, the road never seemed to get any closer.
Just when it felt like his legs were about to give out he felt the ground lurch as the stone was pushed onto the sunken path of the track. Their task done, Periander and his slaves collapsed alongside the stone all three gasping as they tried to get enough air into their lungs.
Glancing over his shoulder, Periander saw the rider get off his horse and make his way to the stone. Now close enough to get a good look at his features, the man seemed oddly familiar to him, though he couldn't quite put his finger on just where he'd seen him before.
Walking a circuit around the stone the man turned to Periander and smiled, "My thanks, my good man. You've done me a good service, now I must ask that you back away from the stone. There's something that I must do myself and I would rather others not be too close."
Periander had no trouble with that and in a few moments, he and the others were a good twenty paces away from the man and his stone.
The man then turned to the stone and then threw back the hood of his cloak. Periander, for the first time, saw who his visitor was and his mouth went dry.
Several years ago one of the aristocratic families of Olenus, the Leonidioi, had, after gaining the support of the common men of the city, broken the oligarchy that had been ruling the city since the days of the last king generations ago. One family had fled to Dyme while the other had submitted to the Leonidioi Patriarch and had given up large tracts of their land to be distributed to the common men of the city in order to keep their lives.
The Patriarch of the Leonidioi was Pankratios, son of Pantares, had set himself up as Tyrant of Olenus and for several years ruled well and had given many men a chance work their own land using the holdings taken from the other families of the city.
Periander wasn't a benefactor himself, but several of his in-laws had received land in the wake of Pankratios' redistribution of land and so had little complaints about the change in leadership in the city. But the early promise of Pankratios' rule had begun to sour when the Oikos had begun to suffer a constant barrage of tragedies. The family that had fled to Dyme had managed to earn favor with those bastards and had gotten them to help them restore them to Olenus through force.
What followed was years of conflict between Olenus and Dyme, while the fights usually ended in a draw, Pankratios and his family suffered horribly. In the course of three years, Pankratios lost three sons, two brothers and five nephews, mostly through war but also from disease and one nephew who was riding through the hills and have a boulder land on top of him, crushing both him and his horse flatter than a coin.
Whispers then began to percolate through the city that Pankratios was cursed by the gods for his forceful usurpation of power and that they were punishing him for his ambitions by taking away his kinsmen.
Periander had only heard these events from the few times he'd gone to the city market. He had made a point to keep out of politics as much as he could. But if the Tyrant of Olenus was here then it was extremely likely that politics were going to come crashing down on his head very soon. He clutched the sack of money almost as a good luck charm despite it being a damning sign of his involvement with the ever growing more unpopular Tyrant.
He made a sign to ward off evil as he watched the older man raise his hands and face up to the sky as he cried, "Oh Great Zeus, King of the Gods and Lord of Thunder. I have done as the Oracle commanded. I have found the stone I was beckoned to find. Now I offer it what was demanded, my own life's blood."
To the farmer's surprise, Pankratios sliced his palm deeply, and making a fist, allowed his blood to sprinkle the stone. As he still bled Pankratios continued his prayer to the King of the gods, "As I offer my blood, I beseech thee, O King of Olympus give your favor to my city and my family. I Pankratios, son of Pantares of the Leonidioi Oikos, beseech thee, Lord of the Skies and Thunder, grant me a sign!"
For a long moment, nothing seemed to happen and it seemed that either Zeus was withholding his favor or the Oracle the Tyrant had gone to had been wrong in her advice. But then the clear skies turned dark and the wind began to pick up with frightening suddenness.
Periander and his people began to back further away from the stone, none of them wanted to be in the range of the Lord of Lightening's fury. Pankratios seemed to not notice the growing tempest, he stood resolutely by the stone. His clothing whipped in the air from the force of the wind.
At the very edge of Periander's hearing he swore heard an impossibly massive voice say, "Eh...okay."
Then the world exploded in a flash of light and noise. A bolt of lightning had struck the stone with earth shaking force. Periander lay sprawled out on the ground and completely insensate for an unknown stretch of time. Eventually, he managed to pull himself back to his feet, looking around he saw that his son and the slaves were also still whole and were pulling themselves back together.
Then he remembered Pankriatos, fear lurched into his throat and he spun his head back to where the Tyrant had been standing. His eyes widened in amazement when he saw that the Tyrant was unharmed and had not budged from his position. Pankriatos, it seemed, was not even phased by the bolt. Instead, he was closely studying the stone, or rather where the stone had been. Curled up in a fetal position where the stone had been, and surrounded by the shattered remnants of the stone was a man, a BIG man, even curled up as he was, Periander could tell that the man had to be over six feet in height. His hair was a shocking blond and his skin pale, like a Thracian.
The shocked Greeks stared at the strange man sleeping in the crater where the man continued to sleep, his breathing even and slow as one deep in sleep. None dared to move, unsure of what would happen next.
Periander then noticed that the sun was beginning to appear from behind the rapidly disappearing clouds. One beam of light struck the face of the giant and his breathing changed tempo and he began to twitch like a man beginning to wake.
Pankriatos finally took a few steps back as the man continued to bring himself from his slumber. Eyes fluttered open to reveal sky blue eyes that seemed to not notice what they took in, the dregs of sleep fogging the stone-born man's mind. He stretched his long well-muscled limbs and then stood up to his full height, towering over all others present.
Periander quickly looked over the man, he was built like a statue that had come to life. Then his eyes focused in on something odd about one feature, wait a moment, where was his-
His line of thought was interrupted when the giant spoke, looking up he saw that the giant was staring in sleep-addled confusion at his own body. The giant was still staring at himself when he spoke again, a guttural language he didn't understand at all.
"Since when did I have a ripping six-pack?"
My thanks to @Cetashwayo for his information about Greek society and social structures. I hope this will be up to snuff.
Periander was a farmer, as was his father, and his father before him, and if the gods were merciful, his son and grandson would the same land after him.
While he and the family slaves were hoeing a vegetable patch, he glanced up to check on his son Lysander. The youth was working with the oxen team to plow the nearby field for the winter wheat. He was about to remind the youth to watch for that boulder in the corner of their plot, something his father had said to him more times than he could count when he heard the sound of hoofbeats behind him.
Turning around, he spotted a lone rider making his way up to their farm. A cloak hid his features though even at this distance he could tell that the clothing was of exceptional make.
Periander's eyes narrowed in confusion at the sight of the strange rider. Few people came from the Polis, the direction he had come from, to his small farm in the hills far from the coast. There were no trade routes that came this way. The small track that ran along his farm only led further into the hills before petering off somewhere a few stadia further in. No temple or shrine to the gods was up there, nor a mine that contained the wealth of Hades. The only thing of value this far away from Olenus was his farm, and it was barely enough to provide the surplus for his family to serve as hoplites in the muster.
Even that was in question if this year's harvest went poorly and they could get the shield fixed with the proceeds from the wheat harvest. If it was bad enough he might be forced to fight with the psilloi like he had in his youth. While he was more than able to do so again if he had to, his arms were still strong and his aim flawless, he'd much rather avoid that sort of embarrassment at his age if he could thank-you very much.
Thoughts of arms reminded him of the awful drubbing Olenus took this past summer with those bastards from Dyme across the river. The land around the mouth of the river and for a distance up either side was good farmland and the fishing was also a valuable commodity. This fertility meant that the land around the river-mouth had changed hands between the two cities constantly. For the past two decades, Dyme had held the river-mouth and controlled the fishing in the area while Olenus had been forced to purchase Posiden's bounty from the arrogant bastards at raised prices.
He was shaken from his wool-gathering when he noticed the rider was wheeling back around riding back to his farm with an almost desperate haste.
Periander didn't think the man meant violence, but he tightened the grip on the handle of his hoe all the same. Lacking his war or not, Periander son of Palmenes would give as good as he got.
He was surprised when the rider went past him and came to a stop along the track near where his son had brought the oxen to a halt. The man's cloak was starting to come loose and he could see locks of gray and black hair escaping the confines of the cloak and whisp in the light breeze that blew in from the sea.
It took the farmer a moment to realize that the stranger was looking for something in particular and following his apparent gaze he realized the rider was studying the large stone, close to the track, that he had warned his son to avoid with the plow and the oxen.
Before he could speak the stranger gestured to the stone with a snap of his arm, "Good man, that stone, the one that looks like a bullock, how long has it been there?", the excitement in his voice obvious.
Confused at the question, Periander glanced back at the stone in question. Three feet high and about twice as big around, it did kind of look like a cow, if you squinted and tilted your head. He turned back to the rider and answered, "For as long as I can remember sir."
He addressed the stranger as he would an aristocrat, the horse a good sign of his high-born origin. Despite several of the old families losing a large chunk of their wealth and power in the wake of the recent shake up in the city, with a few even being driven out of the city, they were still more powerful than a lone farmer just barely able to arm himself as a hoplite could hope to challenge. Besides manners cost nothing and helped make everything more agreeable.
The stranger nodded then said, "I need you to pull it out as quickly as you can." He said it so matter-of-factly that Periander almost didn't realize what was being asked of him.
"Sir? That'd take all day, and my family needs to get the plowing done as soon as we can." Trying to balance his need to get his work done without upsetting the obvious aristocrat while at the same not sounding like he was begging his better like a slave would. He worked for himself thank-you very much!
The stranger nodded, accepting Periander's words, he reached into his cloak and tossed the farmer a small satchel. "This should cover your efforts, I need that stone moved, today."
Periander raised an eyebrow and reached down to pick up the purse, opening the draw-string he looked inside and his eyes bugged at the number of large silver coins in it. There had to be at least fifty drachmae in there, more than enough to pay for anything his family could possibly need, let alone a new hoplon.
Picking the sack up and tying it to his waist, he nodded to the man. "As you wish sir." He replied, putting much more respect into his voice than before. Turning to his son he shouted, "Boy! Leave off the plowing, you, get some rope and tie the oxen to that stone, the honorable gentleman desires it moved." He then quickly spoke to one of his slaves.
The boy, who had already stopped in his work to hear what the stranger was asking about, (he'd have to twist his ear on that one later, if he felt like it, right now he was in too good a mood to care really), quickly unhitched the oxen from their plow and lead them over to the stone, while the slave quickly dashed to the farmhouse to find some rope.
Seeing his will being done, Periander turned to the wealthy stranger and said, "Are you thirsty, sir? Might I offer some of my wine, it's not the best but it'll quench one's thirst."
The stranger shook his head, "Thank-you but no, just some water, I haven't the time to enjoy anything stronger."
Periander shrugged his shoulders and made his way over to the stone, personally, he'd have taken a cup of wine at any opportunity, especially free. But then again he couldn't throw around fifty drachmae at will.
Shortly the slave returned with the rope and the three of them quickly tied the oxen to the stone. At the same time, they attacked the edges of the stone with hoes and mattocks, shoving the earth away as quickly as they could.
After several minutes of digging Periander called off the others, they'd dug enough, now it was up to the oxen to pull the stone.
Periander got behind the stone and placing his hands on the stone called out to his son, "Alright boy, on the count of three. One, two, THREE!"
Lysander shouted for the oxen to move and swatted their flanks to help motivate them. A moment later the two bullocks grunted and threw their weight into their harnesses and pulled for all they were worth. Meanwhile, Periander and his slaves helped push from behind.
At first nothing seemed to happen, but eventually, the stone began to inch ever so slightly forward. Seeing this minuscule but noticeable progress, the entire party redoubled their efforts. In short spurts that became longer and quicker as they continued to push and pull, the stone moved from its place in the corner of the wheat field and was dragged ever so slowly towards the road.
Sweat poured from Periander's brow and his muscles were aching like never before except on the battlefield. He wasn't sure how much longer he could keep pushing this damn thing and every time he looked up to see their progress, the road never seemed to get any closer.
Just when it felt like his legs were about to give out he felt the ground lurch as the stone was pushed onto the sunken path of the track. Their task done, Periander and his slaves collapsed alongside the stone all three gasping as they tried to get enough air into their lungs.
Glancing over his shoulder, Periander saw the rider get off his horse and make his way to the stone. Now close enough to get a good look at his features, the man seemed oddly familiar to him, though he couldn't quite put his finger on just where he'd seen him before.
Walking a circuit around the stone the man turned to Periander and smiled, "My thanks, my good man. You've done me a good service, now I must ask that you back away from the stone. There's something that I must do myself and I would rather others not be too close."
Periander had no trouble with that and in a few moments, he and the others were a good twenty paces away from the man and his stone.
The man then turned to the stone and then threw back the hood of his cloak. Periander, for the first time, saw who his visitor was and his mouth went dry.
Several years ago one of the aristocratic families of Olenus, the Leonidioi, had, after gaining the support of the common men of the city, broken the oligarchy that had been ruling the city since the days of the last king generations ago. One family had fled to Dyme while the other had submitted to the Leonidioi Patriarch and had given up large tracts of their land to be distributed to the common men of the city in order to keep their lives.
The Patriarch of the Leonidioi was Pankratios, son of Pantares, had set himself up as Tyrant of Olenus and for several years ruled well and had given many men a chance work their own land using the holdings taken from the other families of the city.
Periander wasn't a benefactor himself, but several of his in-laws had received land in the wake of Pankratios' redistribution of land and so had little complaints about the change in leadership in the city. But the early promise of Pankratios' rule had begun to sour when the Oikos had begun to suffer a constant barrage of tragedies. The family that had fled to Dyme had managed to earn favor with those bastards and had gotten them to help them restore them to Olenus through force.
What followed was years of conflict between Olenus and Dyme, while the fights usually ended in a draw, Pankratios and his family suffered horribly. In the course of three years, Pankratios lost three sons, two brothers and five nephews, mostly through war but also from disease and one nephew who was riding through the hills and have a boulder land on top of him, crushing both him and his horse flatter than a coin.
Whispers then began to percolate through the city that Pankratios was cursed by the gods for his forceful usurpation of power and that they were punishing him for his ambitions by taking away his kinsmen.
Periander had only heard these events from the few times he'd gone to the city market. He had made a point to keep out of politics as much as he could. But if the Tyrant of Olenus was here then it was extremely likely that politics were going to come crashing down on his head very soon. He clutched the sack of money almost as a good luck charm despite it being a damning sign of his involvement with the ever growing more unpopular Tyrant.
He made a sign to ward off evil as he watched the older man raise his hands and face up to the sky as he cried, "Oh Great Zeus, King of the Gods and Lord of Thunder. I have done as the Oracle commanded. I have found the stone I was beckoned to find. Now I offer it what was demanded, my own life's blood."
To the farmer's surprise, Pankratios sliced his palm deeply, and making a fist, allowed his blood to sprinkle the stone. As he still bled Pankratios continued his prayer to the King of the gods, "As I offer my blood, I beseech thee, O King of Olympus give your favor to my city and my family. I Pankratios, son of Pantares of the Leonidioi Oikos, beseech thee, Lord of the Skies and Thunder, grant me a sign!"
For a long moment, nothing seemed to happen and it seemed that either Zeus was withholding his favor or the Oracle the Tyrant had gone to had been wrong in her advice. But then the clear skies turned dark and the wind began to pick up with frightening suddenness.
Periander and his people began to back further away from the stone, none of them wanted to be in the range of the Lord of Lightening's fury. Pankratios seemed to not notice the growing tempest, he stood resolutely by the stone. His clothing whipped in the air from the force of the wind.
At the very edge of Periander's hearing he swore heard an impossibly massive voice say, "Eh...okay."
Then the world exploded in a flash of light and noise. A bolt of lightning had struck the stone with earth shaking force. Periander lay sprawled out on the ground and completely insensate for an unknown stretch of time. Eventually, he managed to pull himself back to his feet, looking around he saw that his son and the slaves were also still whole and were pulling themselves back together.
Then he remembered Pankriatos, fear lurched into his throat and he spun his head back to where the Tyrant had been standing. His eyes widened in amazement when he saw that the Tyrant was unharmed and had not budged from his position. Pankriatos, it seemed, was not even phased by the bolt. Instead, he was closely studying the stone, or rather where the stone had been. Curled up in a fetal position where the stone had been, and surrounded by the shattered remnants of the stone was a man, a BIG man, even curled up as he was, Periander could tell that the man had to be over six feet in height. His hair was a shocking blond and his skin pale, like a Thracian.
The shocked Greeks stared at the strange man sleeping in the crater where the man continued to sleep, his breathing even and slow as one deep in sleep. None dared to move, unsure of what would happen next.
Periander then noticed that the sun was beginning to appear from behind the rapidly disappearing clouds. One beam of light struck the face of the giant and his breathing changed tempo and he began to twitch like a man beginning to wake.
Pankriatos finally took a few steps back as the man continued to bring himself from his slumber. Eyes fluttered open to reveal sky blue eyes that seemed to not notice what they took in, the dregs of sleep fogging the stone-born man's mind. He stretched his long well-muscled limbs and then stood up to his full height, towering over all others present.
Periander quickly looked over the man, he was built like a statue that had come to life. Then his eyes focused in on something odd about one feature, wait a moment, where was his-
His line of thought was interrupted when the giant spoke, looking up he saw that the giant was staring in sleep-addled confusion at his own body. The giant was still staring at himself when he spoke again, a guttural language he didn't understand at all.
"Since when did I have a ripping six-pack?"
Chapter Two
So I lied, Have the next chapter early.
Like and Replies are my life source which my muse relies on.
Periander blinked at the incomprehensible gibberish that had come out the big man's mouth. After Zeus's dramatic intervention to Pankratios's desperate plea, Periander would have thought that the gods would have at least made sure their man could speak proper Dorian or at least one of the other Hellene dialects.
Pankratios it seemed, was also less than impressed with the mute that was his supposed salvation for his city and himself if the dour look on his face was any sign. Not that Periander could blame him. Sure the man was big and impressive looking, but if he couldn't speak Greek than he was less than worthless in the long run save for being a slave.
********
Pankriatos would have started weeping if he'd been alone. He'd given a massive gift to the Oracle of Delphi for her advice and at the time he'd been given what seemed utter gibberish for an answer. But he'd done as the Oracle had commanded and what did he get? This overgrown savage that couldn't even speak Greek. The gods were obviously getting one last laugh in at his expense before his final ruin.
He'd been told to find a rock that looked like a cow and offer his blood to it while begging Zeus for a means to save his city, his life, and that of his remaining kin. He quickly fought down the image of all three of his sons' broken corpses in the wake of the last fight with Dyme. Telamon, his eldest, the golden boy and the pride of his father, strong in body and keen of mind. Ever ready to prove his valor for his city and his father. The twins Heraclide and Telemachus, the former with a voice that could rival Apollo's and Telemachus already showing potential for becoming an auger at such a young age. He'd been talking with the head priest for Olenus's temple to Poseidon to take his youngest boy on as a successor. But now that day would never come and his heart still ached at the memories that refused to go away.
After that catastrophe, both personal for himself and for the city, things had become worse. His brothers, who had helped support his take over of the city from those idiots from the Pericildae clan had died not long after one from illness, the other had gotten overly drunk and had tripped and broken his neck.
Then his nephews had followed, while none of them had quite the spark, at least in his opinion, as his own boys. They had been solid and loyal and could have been relied on to help him rule Olenus. Then they had been snatched away one after the other. The final straw being Xenophon's death when a boulder and rolled from seemingly nowhere and had crushed him. He'd been the first one there after he had been found and the sight of the last of his male kin's death had broken something in the normally stoic man.
He'd grapsed his nephew's hand, the one part of the youth that hadn't been crushed under the boulder and had wept like a child.
The next day he had sent a message to the Oracle of Delphi as what to do. Now that his male kin, save for a few distant cousins in Argos, were all dead many in the city saw him as cursed by the gods and murmurs began floating that maybe the exile of the Periclidae had been the cause of it.
If people were willing to contemplate inviting those bastards back to Dyme after what their leader's son Theophilus, had done, then things were truly becoming dire.
He cared little for his own life, after the death of his sons, brothers, and nephews, much of the fire had gone out of him. But his city was still under threat by Dyme's constant pressure and the looming doom of the return of the Periclidae forced him to continue. There were also his wife and daughters to look out for. His wife, Chara, her name a cruel jest if there ever was one, after her son's death the joyful woman he had married all those years ago was gone, in her place was a weeping wreck, a feminine weakness that he never condemned.
The only thing she still seemed to live for was their remaining daughters, Aglaia, the youngest, a little ray of sunshine, Thaleia, the graceful beauty, and his final heartache, Euphrosyne, her name another cruel jape. She'd been happily married less than a year ago with a child expected. Unfortunately, her husband had been lost at sea on a trading mission, the news had so shocked her that she had lost the child soon after.
Crushed she had been forced leave the home she had just started with her husband and had returned back to her father, to sit in the misery that permeated the house in the wake of the death of her brothers.
True they were mere girls, but dammit all they were his girls and after the loss of his sons, he'd give his life to keep them safe.
If this venture had failed he had made plans to flee the city with all of the remnants of his kin. His cousins in Argos were willing to vouch for him to the rest of the city, for a marriage with one of their young men.
He was hesitant to marry off Euphrosyne again so soon but passing her over to Thaleia would make it seem that she was cursed or damaged goods and he had no desire to do such to his girl, not so soon after what she had gone through.
But looking at this confused bruin, built like a bull and covered in enough body-hair to look like some sort of partially shaved blond bear. Speaking gibberish that could make a Macedonian sound erudite.
The last twist of the knife came when the big man finally realized that he wasn't alone. He'd taken one look at the group staring at him and he'd squeaked like a girl getting spied on bathing and had clamped both of his hands over his groin and scampered behind another stone that had been sitting across the road in a sort of crab-like shuffle to prevent his backside from being exposed to the others. So on top of being an unintelligible barbarian, the stone-born man was also as self-concious as a young girl and felt compelled to hide himself like one.
Sighing Pankratios glanced up to the sky and muttered, "Anything else?" He knew he was being disrespectful, and after such a blatant sign of the gods was likely to see him punished, but at this point what else could they do they hadn't already done.
"Well, seems like that shepherd's words were true. Well met Pankratios, Tyrant of Olenus." A chill went up his spine as he heard an all too familiar voice.
Turning towards the voice, his brows furrowed when he spotted an all too familiar face. "Perseus, a pleasure to see you again." His voice was perfectly even as if he weren't seeing the heir of the Periclidae family. The young man who'd triggered the events that had resulted in his family's expulsion and the rise of Pankratios to becoming Tyrant of the city.
"Polite as ever Pankratios." The young man, armed in full war gear and mounted with several armed hoplites standing alongside him.
The young man pulled out his sword and aimed it under Pankratios's chin, pressing just hard enough to cause a slight trickle of blood to flow down his throat. "You have no idea how long I've dreamed of doing this; ever since you drove our family from our home."
Pankratios, unable to help himself, replied, "Well few men would take kindly to a man raping the daughter of a priest of Poseidon in his own temple, regardless of his noble heritage."
That barb seemed to get under the young man's skin for his face flushed with emotion and he bore his teeth as he snarled, "And I've told you she enticed me. I had no more control over myself than Heracles did under Hera's madness."
"So the gods forced you to rape the virtuous daughter of an upstanding, pious and dedicated priest. Truly it must have been a monstrous crime Hilarion committed to infuriate the gods like that." Pankratios retorted in such a dry tone it could have dried up the Aegean.
"SHUT UP!" Perseus snarled, he pushed his sword harder, forcing Pankratios to back away from the blade. He'd touched a nerve there. Well, Perseus was never known for his calm temper, even if it's a cheap joy, at this point he'd take anything he could get.
"When you stand along the river Styx waiting for Charon, tell the other shades as you wait that it was Perseus who sent you there." The boy said as he drew back his sword.
"They'll wonder when he left the Elysian Fields."
"AAARGH! DIE YOU BASTARD!"
Pankratios closed his eyes, waiting for the death stroke when he heard a clanging sound, followed by the thud of a body hitting the ground after falling from a height.
He cracked one eye open and saw that Perseus was on the ground, insensate with a large dent in the back of his helmet. Looking further away he saw that the giant had thrown the stone as he was in the middle of hurling another at Perseus's companions. Faster than the eye could follow the stone flew from the giant's hands and crashed into the face of one of the hoplites. The force of the impact actually bending the faceguard of the Corinthian style helm into the man's face. He went down without a sound, likely dead before he hit the ground.
The other two men, not lacking for courage, charged the big man in the hope of cutting him down before he could grab another stone.
One of the hoplites reached first and raised his arm for the strike. Faster than a striking snake the stone-born grabbed his attacker's arm and with a slight twist dislocated his arm, sending him to the ground howling in pain.
The other man made to stab with his sword only for the big man to grab his companion's shield by the rim and using it like a bludgeon smashed the final adversary only and over again like a carpenter pounding a protruding peg into its proper hole. Watching the demolition of the hoplites, Pankratios hadn't noticed Perseus was still alive and had vaulted onto his horse to flee his attackers.
"HEY GET BACK HERE YOU BASTARD!" The giant bellowed in his strange tongue and dashed after the galloping horse. To his amazement, the big man not only kept pace with the galloping horse but was gaining on it despite Perseus's more and more frantic urgings.
Right before he was about to pluck the man off his horse, the giant must have stepped on something sharp because he bellowed in pain as he misstepped and was sent tumbling to the ground in pain.
A few moments later Perseus disappeared over the horizon, likely scared out of a year of growth by his encounter with the big man who was currently picking himself up and dusting himself off. He looked at his surroundings one last time before reluctantly trudging back to the farm. His hands covering his groin again as he did so.
Pankratios nodded to himself and reaching into his horse's satchel, he called out the farmer who had been staring utterly stunned at what had transpired. "My apologies for the mess but I have one last task for you if you would be so kind."
Pulling out a bag of 20 drachmas' worth he tossed it to the farmer before mounting up. "See our new friend is dressed and clothed, and start teaching him Greek and proper behavior. I'll be bringing a scribe to polish what you'll give him and teach him his letters later on. Oh and could you deal with the bodies here, you can do with their arms and armor as you like."
The farmer glanced at the either dead or insensate men laying on the ground as well as their arms and armor, then to the second bag of silver. He licked his lips once then quickly grabbed the bag and after nodding he shouted orders to his son and slaves to deal with this mess.
Pankratios nodded once then began walking over to the big man and see if he could relay the new accommodations, food, clothing and shelter he'd procured for him. As he walked he thought out-loud, "...maybe Petros...."
Like and Replies are my life source which my muse relies on.
Periander blinked at the incomprehensible gibberish that had come out the big man's mouth. After Zeus's dramatic intervention to Pankratios's desperate plea, Periander would have thought that the gods would have at least made sure their man could speak proper Dorian or at least one of the other Hellene dialects.
Pankratios it seemed, was also less than impressed with the mute that was his supposed salvation for his city and himself if the dour look on his face was any sign. Not that Periander could blame him. Sure the man was big and impressive looking, but if he couldn't speak Greek than he was less than worthless in the long run save for being a slave.
********
Pankriatos would have started weeping if he'd been alone. He'd given a massive gift to the Oracle of Delphi for her advice and at the time he'd been given what seemed utter gibberish for an answer. But he'd done as the Oracle had commanded and what did he get? This overgrown savage that couldn't even speak Greek. The gods were obviously getting one last laugh in at his expense before his final ruin.
He'd been told to find a rock that looked like a cow and offer his blood to it while begging Zeus for a means to save his city, his life, and that of his remaining kin. He quickly fought down the image of all three of his sons' broken corpses in the wake of the last fight with Dyme. Telamon, his eldest, the golden boy and the pride of his father, strong in body and keen of mind. Ever ready to prove his valor for his city and his father. The twins Heraclide and Telemachus, the former with a voice that could rival Apollo's and Telemachus already showing potential for becoming an auger at such a young age. He'd been talking with the head priest for Olenus's temple to Poseidon to take his youngest boy on as a successor. But now that day would never come and his heart still ached at the memories that refused to go away.
After that catastrophe, both personal for himself and for the city, things had become worse. His brothers, who had helped support his take over of the city from those idiots from the Pericildae clan had died not long after one from illness, the other had gotten overly drunk and had tripped and broken his neck.
Then his nephews had followed, while none of them had quite the spark, at least in his opinion, as his own boys. They had been solid and loyal and could have been relied on to help him rule Olenus. Then they had been snatched away one after the other. The final straw being Xenophon's death when a boulder and rolled from seemingly nowhere and had crushed him. He'd been the first one there after he had been found and the sight of the last of his male kin's death had broken something in the normally stoic man.
He'd grapsed his nephew's hand, the one part of the youth that hadn't been crushed under the boulder and had wept like a child.
The next day he had sent a message to the Oracle of Delphi as what to do. Now that his male kin, save for a few distant cousins in Argos, were all dead many in the city saw him as cursed by the gods and murmurs began floating that maybe the exile of the Periclidae had been the cause of it.
If people were willing to contemplate inviting those bastards back to Dyme after what their leader's son Theophilus, had done, then things were truly becoming dire.
He cared little for his own life, after the death of his sons, brothers, and nephews, much of the fire had gone out of him. But his city was still under threat by Dyme's constant pressure and the looming doom of the return of the Periclidae forced him to continue. There were also his wife and daughters to look out for. His wife, Chara, her name a cruel jest if there ever was one, after her son's death the joyful woman he had married all those years ago was gone, in her place was a weeping wreck, a feminine weakness that he never condemned.
The only thing she still seemed to live for was their remaining daughters, Aglaia, the youngest, a little ray of sunshine, Thaleia, the graceful beauty, and his final heartache, Euphrosyne, her name another cruel jape. She'd been happily married less than a year ago with a child expected. Unfortunately, her husband had been lost at sea on a trading mission, the news had so shocked her that she had lost the child soon after.
Crushed she had been forced leave the home she had just started with her husband and had returned back to her father, to sit in the misery that permeated the house in the wake of the death of her brothers.
True they were mere girls, but dammit all they were his girls and after the loss of his sons, he'd give his life to keep them safe.
If this venture had failed he had made plans to flee the city with all of the remnants of his kin. His cousins in Argos were willing to vouch for him to the rest of the city, for a marriage with one of their young men.
He was hesitant to marry off Euphrosyne again so soon but passing her over to Thaleia would make it seem that she was cursed or damaged goods and he had no desire to do such to his girl, not so soon after what she had gone through.
But looking at this confused bruin, built like a bull and covered in enough body-hair to look like some sort of partially shaved blond bear. Speaking gibberish that could make a Macedonian sound erudite.
The last twist of the knife came when the big man finally realized that he wasn't alone. He'd taken one look at the group staring at him and he'd squeaked like a girl getting spied on bathing and had clamped both of his hands over his groin and scampered behind another stone that had been sitting across the road in a sort of crab-like shuffle to prevent his backside from being exposed to the others. So on top of being an unintelligible barbarian, the stone-born man was also as self-concious as a young girl and felt compelled to hide himself like one.
Sighing Pankratios glanced up to the sky and muttered, "Anything else?" He knew he was being disrespectful, and after such a blatant sign of the gods was likely to see him punished, but at this point what else could they do they hadn't already done.
"Well, seems like that shepherd's words were true. Well met Pankratios, Tyrant of Olenus." A chill went up his spine as he heard an all too familiar voice.
Turning towards the voice, his brows furrowed when he spotted an all too familiar face. "Perseus, a pleasure to see you again." His voice was perfectly even as if he weren't seeing the heir of the Periclidae family. The young man who'd triggered the events that had resulted in his family's expulsion and the rise of Pankratios to becoming Tyrant of the city.
"Polite as ever Pankratios." The young man, armed in full war gear and mounted with several armed hoplites standing alongside him.
The young man pulled out his sword and aimed it under Pankratios's chin, pressing just hard enough to cause a slight trickle of blood to flow down his throat. "You have no idea how long I've dreamed of doing this; ever since you drove our family from our home."
Pankratios, unable to help himself, replied, "Well few men would take kindly to a man raping the daughter of a priest of Poseidon in his own temple, regardless of his noble heritage."
That barb seemed to get under the young man's skin for his face flushed with emotion and he bore his teeth as he snarled, "And I've told you she enticed me. I had no more control over myself than Heracles did under Hera's madness."
"So the gods forced you to rape the virtuous daughter of an upstanding, pious and dedicated priest. Truly it must have been a monstrous crime Hilarion committed to infuriate the gods like that." Pankratios retorted in such a dry tone it could have dried up the Aegean.
"SHUT UP!" Perseus snarled, he pushed his sword harder, forcing Pankratios to back away from the blade. He'd touched a nerve there. Well, Perseus was never known for his calm temper, even if it's a cheap joy, at this point he'd take anything he could get.
"When you stand along the river Styx waiting for Charon, tell the other shades as you wait that it was Perseus who sent you there." The boy said as he drew back his sword.
"They'll wonder when he left the Elysian Fields."
"AAARGH! DIE YOU BASTARD!"
Pankratios closed his eyes, waiting for the death stroke when he heard a clanging sound, followed by the thud of a body hitting the ground after falling from a height.
He cracked one eye open and saw that Perseus was on the ground, insensate with a large dent in the back of his helmet. Looking further away he saw that the giant had thrown the stone as he was in the middle of hurling another at Perseus's companions. Faster than the eye could follow the stone flew from the giant's hands and crashed into the face of one of the hoplites. The force of the impact actually bending the faceguard of the Corinthian style helm into the man's face. He went down without a sound, likely dead before he hit the ground.
The other two men, not lacking for courage, charged the big man in the hope of cutting him down before he could grab another stone.
One of the hoplites reached first and raised his arm for the strike. Faster than a striking snake the stone-born grabbed his attacker's arm and with a slight twist dislocated his arm, sending him to the ground howling in pain.
The other man made to stab with his sword only for the big man to grab his companion's shield by the rim and using it like a bludgeon smashed the final adversary only and over again like a carpenter pounding a protruding peg into its proper hole. Watching the demolition of the hoplites, Pankratios hadn't noticed Perseus was still alive and had vaulted onto his horse to flee his attackers.
"HEY GET BACK HERE YOU BASTARD!" The giant bellowed in his strange tongue and dashed after the galloping horse. To his amazement, the big man not only kept pace with the galloping horse but was gaining on it despite Perseus's more and more frantic urgings.
Right before he was about to pluck the man off his horse, the giant must have stepped on something sharp because he bellowed in pain as he misstepped and was sent tumbling to the ground in pain.
A few moments later Perseus disappeared over the horizon, likely scared out of a year of growth by his encounter with the big man who was currently picking himself up and dusting himself off. He looked at his surroundings one last time before reluctantly trudging back to the farm. His hands covering his groin again as he did so.
Pankratios nodded to himself and reaching into his horse's satchel, he called out the farmer who had been staring utterly stunned at what had transpired. "My apologies for the mess but I have one last task for you if you would be so kind."
Pulling out a bag of 20 drachmas' worth he tossed it to the farmer before mounting up. "See our new friend is dressed and clothed, and start teaching him Greek and proper behavior. I'll be bringing a scribe to polish what you'll give him and teach him his letters later on. Oh and could you deal with the bodies here, you can do with their arms and armor as you like."
The farmer glanced at the either dead or insensate men laying on the ground as well as their arms and armor, then to the second bag of silver. He licked his lips once then quickly grabbed the bag and after nodding he shouted orders to his son and slaves to deal with this mess.
Pankratios nodded once then began walking over to the big man and see if he could relay the new accommodations, food, clothing and shelter he'd procured for him. As he walked he thought out-loud, "...maybe Petros...."
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Rebooting the Greek SI Concept.
I realize that I really shouldn't update this but I didn't want to make a thread until I had a chapter ready and I wanted to get people's thoughts.
If anyone remembers this story I am planning to reboot it in a few days after I do a little more research.
This time I am planning on changing both the time and the location as well as changing what the SI looks like.
This Time He appears in the Phocis region of Greece in the winter of 353 B.C., during the middle of the Third Sacred War and not long after the Battle of Crocus Field.
As for what he looks like, well
None of the Gear or years of experience but Heaven to Mergatroid is he strong.
AND he's wearing pants.
Another thing to note is that I'm planning on him being physically 20 at the start, meaning he's in his thirties during Alexander's Conquests and 50 when the little conqueror croaks. That might be fun.
Any idea what the Greeks and Macedonians of the time would make of a 7'6.5" (230 cm) behemoth like Throkell?
If anyone remembers this story I am planning to reboot it in a few days after I do a little more research.
This time I am planning on changing both the time and the location as well as changing what the SI looks like.
This Time He appears in the Phocis region of Greece in the winter of 353 B.C., during the middle of the Third Sacred War and not long after the Battle of Crocus Field.
As for what he looks like, well
None of the Gear or years of experience but Heaven to Mergatroid is he strong.
AND he's wearing pants.
Another thing to note is that I'm planning on him being physically 20 at the start, meaning he's in his thirties during Alexander's Conquests and 50 when the little conqueror croaks. That might be fun.
Any idea what the Greeks and Macedonians of the time would make of a 7'6.5" (230 cm) behemoth like Throkell?