I'm going to provide a content warning here for extensive themes and discussion of sexual...
The Olympiomachy: the War Against the Greek Gods
- Thread starter ScottishMongol
- Start date
- Original Fantasy
- Created
- Status
- Dropped
- Watchers
- 49
- Recent readers
- 0
- Threadmarks
- 6
-
Statistics (6 threadmarks, 5.2k words)
User Total ScottishMongol 6 Threadmarks Reader mode
- Location
- Great Khanate of Scotland
- Pronouns
- She/Her
I.
In the years after Troy was burned, after the sons of Aeneas founded a village on seven hills, and after the isle of Atlantis sank into the sea, there lived in the land of the Amazons a woman named Hypatia. Hypatia was not an Amazon - her father was a priest of Zeus and lived in Dodona of the Oak Trees. It was his sacred grove, where his oracles would lie in the shade and hear the will of the gods in the wind through the branches and the cooing of doves.
Perhaps this is why the Olympiomachy was set in motion. When Zeus saw the lovely maiden daughter of one of his priests, of course he came down and had her, in the shade of his sacred grove. Her screams were louder than the soft wind in the branches, and startled the doves to flight. And when, hurting, she went to her father, he had told her that she should be flattered, as she was loved by the King of the Gods.
"I didn't ask for his 'love'," she had shrieked, still nursing the shame and hurt in the pit of her stomach.
"You should be honored," he had said, "For your child could be a great hero one day. They will tell stories about him."
"Doesn't it matter what happens to me? Will they tell my story?"
"You should take things into perspective. This is the way of the world. Hundreds of girls have been loved by the gods, and hundreds more will as well."
"It shouldn't have to be this way," she had spat, and then she ran. As her belly grew with child, she traveled from Dodona, across the Hellespont, and through Anatolia, to the land of the Amazons on the shores of the Black Sea. They had welcomed her, not out of pity but because they sensed an inner strength - and besides, she had right the build for a warrior.
No sooner did the baby arrive (a daughter, it happened) then she began to train. The weight she had gained during her pregnancy was shed, and replaced with muscle. She already had broad shoulders and long legs, and strong hands that learned to hurl a spear or draw a bow. Her hair, already showing strands of grey about the temples, was bound up in a braid, after the fashion among the Amazons. Her age also began to show around her eyes.
And so by the time her child was weaned, Hypatia was as good a fighter as any Amazon, if not quite better than most. However, she had not joined the Amazons for nothing, for her father's final argument still followed her, and as she looked down at her daughter and named her Latoreia, she felt a stab of fear. The girl was growing up in a world of violent and hungry gods, and though Hypatia resented that day beneath the oak trees of Dodona, she could not bear the thought of the tiny girl not being safe.
"I need to leave," she said to her friend, Iphito, who helped her care for the child.
"So soon?" Iphito asked.
"My daughter isn't safe, not while there are gods in this world."
The Amazon shrugged.
"None of us are safe. The world is full of dangers."
"And we are supposed to live like that? No. There needs to be a change."
"You would have to change the ways of the gods," Iphito said as Hypatia handed her the child. She brushed its hair, so like her mother's.
Hypatia, truly, did not know what to do. But she had a certain faith in journeys - put on foot in front of the other, take the challenges as they arrive, and eventually you will come across something. That was how she had made her way to the land of the Amazons in the first place.
She told Iphito to care for the child, then gathered up her armor, her spear, her shield, her sword, and her bow and quiver. The night before she was to leave, a storm came off the Black Sea, and with every roll of thunder Hypatia's chest tightened. She had come to the land of Amazons completely unbothered, perhaps because Zeus, whatever else he was, protected his unborn children. But now, Hypatia was going to leave the child behind, and she would have no such protections. Indeed, the hatred she nursed in her breast for the King of Olympus may have doomed her all on its own, had the Fates woven her thread in a different manner.
To many, a storm on the eve of such a journey would be seen as an ill omen, but for Hypatia each peal of thunder was a challenge.
The next morning, as the trees dripped rainwater and the remnants of the stormclouds scattered in the wind, Hypatia armed herself, kissed Latoreia goodbye, and set off on her journey, west towards the land where the mountain home of the gods lay: Greece.
In the years after Troy was burned, after the sons of Aeneas founded a village on seven hills, and after the isle of Atlantis sank into the sea, there lived in the land of the Amazons a woman named Hypatia. Hypatia was not an Amazon - her father was a priest of Zeus and lived in Dodona of the Oak Trees. It was his sacred grove, where his oracles would lie in the shade and hear the will of the gods in the wind through the branches and the cooing of doves.
Perhaps this is why the Olympiomachy was set in motion. When Zeus saw the lovely maiden daughter of one of his priests, of course he came down and had her, in the shade of his sacred grove. Her screams were louder than the soft wind in the branches, and startled the doves to flight. And when, hurting, she went to her father, he had told her that she should be flattered, as she was loved by the King of the Gods.
"I didn't ask for his 'love'," she had shrieked, still nursing the shame and hurt in the pit of her stomach.
"You should be honored," he had said, "For your child could be a great hero one day. They will tell stories about him."
"Doesn't it matter what happens to me? Will they tell my story?"
"You should take things into perspective. This is the way of the world. Hundreds of girls have been loved by the gods, and hundreds more will as well."
"It shouldn't have to be this way," she had spat, and then she ran. As her belly grew with child, she traveled from Dodona, across the Hellespont, and through Anatolia, to the land of the Amazons on the shores of the Black Sea. They had welcomed her, not out of pity but because they sensed an inner strength - and besides, she had right the build for a warrior.
No sooner did the baby arrive (a daughter, it happened) then she began to train. The weight she had gained during her pregnancy was shed, and replaced with muscle. She already had broad shoulders and long legs, and strong hands that learned to hurl a spear or draw a bow. Her hair, already showing strands of grey about the temples, was bound up in a braid, after the fashion among the Amazons. Her age also began to show around her eyes.
And so by the time her child was weaned, Hypatia was as good a fighter as any Amazon, if not quite better than most. However, she had not joined the Amazons for nothing, for her father's final argument still followed her, and as she looked down at her daughter and named her Latoreia, she felt a stab of fear. The girl was growing up in a world of violent and hungry gods, and though Hypatia resented that day beneath the oak trees of Dodona, she could not bear the thought of the tiny girl not being safe.
"I need to leave," she said to her friend, Iphito, who helped her care for the child.
"So soon?" Iphito asked.
"My daughter isn't safe, not while there are gods in this world."
The Amazon shrugged.
"None of us are safe. The world is full of dangers."
"And we are supposed to live like that? No. There needs to be a change."
"You would have to change the ways of the gods," Iphito said as Hypatia handed her the child. She brushed its hair, so like her mother's.
Hypatia, truly, did not know what to do. But she had a certain faith in journeys - put on foot in front of the other, take the challenges as they arrive, and eventually you will come across something. That was how she had made her way to the land of the Amazons in the first place.
She told Iphito to care for the child, then gathered up her armor, her spear, her shield, her sword, and her bow and quiver. The night before she was to leave, a storm came off the Black Sea, and with every roll of thunder Hypatia's chest tightened. She had come to the land of Amazons completely unbothered, perhaps because Zeus, whatever else he was, protected his unborn children. But now, Hypatia was going to leave the child behind, and she would have no such protections. Indeed, the hatred she nursed in her breast for the King of Olympus may have doomed her all on its own, had the Fates woven her thread in a different manner.
To many, a storm on the eve of such a journey would be seen as an ill omen, but for Hypatia each peal of thunder was a challenge.
The next morning, as the trees dripped rainwater and the remnants of the stormclouds scattered in the wind, Hypatia armed herself, kissed Latoreia goodbye, and set off on her journey, west towards the land where the mountain home of the gods lay: Greece.
II.
- Location
- Great Khanate of Scotland
- Pronouns
- She/Her
II.
In the very west of the world, the waves of Oceanus, the world-encircling river, beat ceaselessly against the shores of Africa. Here, long ago, the three Gorgons dwelt, until Perseus came and slew Medusa, the oldest. The Gorgons were not gone though, for her sisters survived.
In time there were a few hundred, eking out a living among the badlands. Who can say where Stheno and Euryale found their mates? Perhaps they came from the tribes of Africa, or Helios' sacred land of Erytheia to the north, or perhaps some wandering heroes seeking to replicate Perseus' great feat instead fathered the second generation of Gorgons. It is likely they came blindfolded, to protect themselves from the petrifying gaze of their would-be partners. Perhaps some arrangement was made with a neighboring tribe, like that between the Amazons and their all-male neighbors, the Gargareans - an infrequent meeting by night, and a return to avoidance during the day.
Either way, the Gorgons increased in number over the generations, creating a society of sorts that lived by hunting and fishing, gathering salt and trading only when cloaked and veiled to mask their true appearance.
Among this tribe, once upon a time, the young girl named Auriga was considered the most promising archer of her generation, and so they put her eyes out.
She remembered the day. She had been playing with her friends, taking bets to shoot small targets and other such things, when the priestesses came to her. They took her to the temple where Medusa's tomb lay, surrounded by a garden of statues. They explained that the stars were right that the time was coming close for a Gorgon to walk among men and do great things. The omens had been read and Auriga had been chosen. She was worried - she had often turned hares and other small wildlife to stone when they chanced to lock eyes with her, and it had been upsetting for a small girl to snuff out a life so accidentally.
The immortal elders, Stheno and Euryale, said they had a solution. Auriga was terrified, until they explained that it would avenge Great Medusa. In that case, Auriga thought, let it be done.
For you see, the Gorgons sustained themselves not by faith, but through hatred. In their wretched, self-pitying rituals they blasphemed the gods, especially Athena. They would never forget the day Medusa, a priestess of Athena, was raped by Poseidon in the goddess' own temple, and Athena in her misaimed fury had struck Medusa with her hideous power.
Auriga had been laid on the altar by Stheno and held down while Euryale, her grandmother, sharpened the knife.
"Sister Medusa, who art in Hades, look upon your blood, Auriga! Look, Athena! We put out her eyes, those weapons of death that you gave us!"
"These are the weapons you gave us!" came the response of this fell ritual. Auriga felt doubt, tears springing up in her eyes. But then she remembered the death, unasked for, visited upon the beasts of the wild.
"We send her in the name of vengeance among your worshipers, for you are the gods who forsake us!"
Snakes raised their heads and added their hissing, keening whine to the chorus. Auriga's own snakes writhed tightly against her scalp, betraying her fear.
"You are the gods who forsake us!"
"We shed her blood upon this altar, as we have shed the blood of men, for we are the monsters you made us!"
"We are the monsters you made us!"
Auriga saw the knife.
And then, hot pain that flashed before her, and that was the last thing she ever saw, and the sight that would fill her vision ever after.
As she rolled upon the floor, clutching bleeding sockets, they had tossed her bow before her, and she heard it clatter upon the floor.
***
Auriga did not suffer so greatly as a human would have. The multitude of snakes upon her head meant that she was not quite robbed of her senses - though their sight was dimmer than a human's, they could sense heat. The awareness of her snakes was heightened with the loss of her eyes. Auriga, in some ways, found herself with better senses than before - her snakes could see all around her, and with heat she could detect animals by their body heat even when they were hidden beneath sand or in thick bushes. And of course, she never petrified another animal again.
She still had her friends, though they now treated her with awe as one hand-picked by the immortal grandmothers of their people.
Little by little, Auriga trained with the bow, and grew into a young woman, until she surpassed her skill from before she had been before her blinding. As a tracker she was better than any human, and as an archer she was as good as any in her tribe. It was not by her skill with the bow, however, that she was destined to bring about the Gorgon's vengeance. Only she could walk among men, completely safe, for she would never, even by chance, kill another human.
And so when the stars were right again, the elders of the tribe told Auriga that she must go. The way would be difficult, but Auriga would find help, this they promised. When she found them, she would know her task. Auriga gathered up a heavy cloak and blindfold, a walking stick, her trusty bow and many arrows, and set off along strange and distant roads. She was alone, but she felt safe. She went north and east, towards the lands where men dwelt.
In the very west of the world, the waves of Oceanus, the world-encircling river, beat ceaselessly against the shores of Africa. Here, long ago, the three Gorgons dwelt, until Perseus came and slew Medusa, the oldest. The Gorgons were not gone though, for her sisters survived.
In time there were a few hundred, eking out a living among the badlands. Who can say where Stheno and Euryale found their mates? Perhaps they came from the tribes of Africa, or Helios' sacred land of Erytheia to the north, or perhaps some wandering heroes seeking to replicate Perseus' great feat instead fathered the second generation of Gorgons. It is likely they came blindfolded, to protect themselves from the petrifying gaze of their would-be partners. Perhaps some arrangement was made with a neighboring tribe, like that between the Amazons and their all-male neighbors, the Gargareans - an infrequent meeting by night, and a return to avoidance during the day.
Either way, the Gorgons increased in number over the generations, creating a society of sorts that lived by hunting and fishing, gathering salt and trading only when cloaked and veiled to mask their true appearance.
Among this tribe, once upon a time, the young girl named Auriga was considered the most promising archer of her generation, and so they put her eyes out.
She remembered the day. She had been playing with her friends, taking bets to shoot small targets and other such things, when the priestesses came to her. They took her to the temple where Medusa's tomb lay, surrounded by a garden of statues. They explained that the stars were right that the time was coming close for a Gorgon to walk among men and do great things. The omens had been read and Auriga had been chosen. She was worried - she had often turned hares and other small wildlife to stone when they chanced to lock eyes with her, and it had been upsetting for a small girl to snuff out a life so accidentally.
The immortal elders, Stheno and Euryale, said they had a solution. Auriga was terrified, until they explained that it would avenge Great Medusa. In that case, Auriga thought, let it be done.
For you see, the Gorgons sustained themselves not by faith, but through hatred. In their wretched, self-pitying rituals they blasphemed the gods, especially Athena. They would never forget the day Medusa, a priestess of Athena, was raped by Poseidon in the goddess' own temple, and Athena in her misaimed fury had struck Medusa with her hideous power.
Auriga had been laid on the altar by Stheno and held down while Euryale, her grandmother, sharpened the knife.
"Sister Medusa, who art in Hades, look upon your blood, Auriga! Look, Athena! We put out her eyes, those weapons of death that you gave us!"
"These are the weapons you gave us!" came the response of this fell ritual. Auriga felt doubt, tears springing up in her eyes. But then she remembered the death, unasked for, visited upon the beasts of the wild.
"We send her in the name of vengeance among your worshipers, for you are the gods who forsake us!"
Snakes raised their heads and added their hissing, keening whine to the chorus. Auriga's own snakes writhed tightly against her scalp, betraying her fear.
"You are the gods who forsake us!"
"We shed her blood upon this altar, as we have shed the blood of men, for we are the monsters you made us!"
"We are the monsters you made us!"
Auriga saw the knife.
And then, hot pain that flashed before her, and that was the last thing she ever saw, and the sight that would fill her vision ever after.
As she rolled upon the floor, clutching bleeding sockets, they had tossed her bow before her, and she heard it clatter upon the floor.
***
Auriga did not suffer so greatly as a human would have. The multitude of snakes upon her head meant that she was not quite robbed of her senses - though their sight was dimmer than a human's, they could sense heat. The awareness of her snakes was heightened with the loss of her eyes. Auriga, in some ways, found herself with better senses than before - her snakes could see all around her, and with heat she could detect animals by their body heat even when they were hidden beneath sand or in thick bushes. And of course, she never petrified another animal again.
She still had her friends, though they now treated her with awe as one hand-picked by the immortal grandmothers of their people.
Little by little, Auriga trained with the bow, and grew into a young woman, until she surpassed her skill from before she had been before her blinding. As a tracker she was better than any human, and as an archer she was as good as any in her tribe. It was not by her skill with the bow, however, that she was destined to bring about the Gorgon's vengeance. Only she could walk among men, completely safe, for she would never, even by chance, kill another human.
And so when the stars were right again, the elders of the tribe told Auriga that she must go. The way would be difficult, but Auriga would find help, this they promised. When she found them, she would know her task. Auriga gathered up a heavy cloak and blindfold, a walking stick, her trusty bow and many arrows, and set off along strange and distant roads. She was alone, but she felt safe. She went north and east, towards the lands where men dwelt.
III
- Location
- Great Khanate of Scotland
- Pronouns
- She/Her
III.
In the hills of Thessaly there was a small shack where a witch lived. She was known by the people in the countryside thereabouts as someone who could brew potions and, on occasion, call down curses. For the most part it was young women who came to her, hoping for a potion to make them beautiful, or to make some handsome village lad fall in love with her, or to stave off pregnancy. The witch brewed them all after taking her payment, usually in grain and meat, for she lived mainly by what she could gather from the wilds.
On one night, though, a girl came looking for a curse. This particular young wife came creeping up the hill around sunset, up to the door of the shack. She came at sunset, for it was said in Thessaly that the best time to meet with a witch was at night. It was sturdy, with moss and dried mud stuffed into every crack and crevice so that not a ray of sunlight could enter. There were no windows, and there was even a heavy rug hung across the doorway. When the girl knocked, the rug was drawn back and an eye appeared in a knothole.
"I want someone cursed," the young woman said, thinking it was best to be up front with these things. She lifted her basket, full of bread and mutton. The witch, without saying a word, drew back the door and ushered the woman inside.
Then the shepherd's wife saw Zosime, the Witch of Thessaly. She was tall, with a confident and noble air. As she drew the rug back across the doorway, the brief glow of red sunlight was gone, and the wife realized that the shack was lit only by a small hearth and some candles. Zosime herself wore a heavy black cloak that covered her from her head to her feet - even her face was concealed, save for a small slit for her eyes - very dark, sunken into her face and with bruises ringed around them.
"What can I do for you, child?" came Zosime's voice, clearer than the girl expected. She got the impression that the witch was not that much older than herself. As she spoke, Zosime extended a hand from her robes. It was the palest white, as if carved from ivory, and was laced with blue veins.
The girl took the proffered hand and allowed herself to be led to the low table nearby.
"I think my husband is having an affair. I want you to - to make him impotent," she said quietly, her eyes moving around the room. She saw herbs, and clay pots with the names of their contents inked on them, and a stack of very thin lead tablets with a chisel. Zosime reached for the tablets and picked one up, setting it on the table as she took the chisel in her hand.
"A simple task," Zosime said. The girl set the basket of food on the table and watched as Zosime went to work.
This is how curses were done in those days: onto a lead tablet was engraved the name of the target (offered by the wife, in this case), the name of a spirit (this one Zosime recalled from memory), and the desired effect. Curses were leveled against rivals in sports and politics, against thieves, and of course against unfaithful lovers. The spirit, disturbed from its rest, would fly to the victim and plague them silently and invisibly.
Zosime conducted the ritual, a simple chant calling on Persephone, for cthonic deities were often invoked in these rituals, and Persephone, it was hoped, would look kindly upon a fellow married woman.
The girl lingered as Zosime pulled down her hood, revealing a face as pale as a ghost's, though not unfair. She reached for the bread and began to eat.
"You may leave," she said through a mouthful. The wife did not know what to expect - there had been no flashes of light, no ominous rumblings, but then the witch was the expert and not she. So, she stood up, mumbled some words of thanks, and left. When she drew back the rug and opened the door Zosime flinched, but by now the sun had gone below the horizon and there was only early evening gloom beyond the doorway.
So the witch relaxed, and ate, and sat in the dark with her thoughts. She would hide the tablet, and when eventually the husband began to suspect something, she would drive a nail through it to end the curse, and so any attempts at detection would come up empty, and there would be no suspicion. In the meantime, the wife may return, asking for something else once her suspicions were confirmed. Zosime had dealt with jealous wives before, and it always pleased her to help them curse unfaithful husbands.
The rug fluttered in a light breeze.
"That idiot girl left the door opened," she hissed, and half-rose to fix it, when a man's voice came through the cloth.
"Are you not open for services, then?" he asked, somewhat amused. Zosime narrowed her eyes and sat down.
"Enter."
The man who entered was tall and stately. He had the air of a nobleman, even a king, but his clothes were plain, those of a traveler, though little worn by the road. He almost had to stoop to enter through the doorway, and as he sat down he winced and pressed a hand to his side. He wore only a single piece of ornamentation, and that was a simple iron ring with a piece of flint set in it.
"A bad stomach?" she asked. The man shook his head. His hair hung down to his shoulder in black ringlets that had partly gone to grey, and his eyes - Zosime put down her meal as she saw that they were gold, and almost shone with fire.
"No, it's an old injury," he said, smiling to himself bitterly.
"I see. Then what is it you need?"
"Tell me Zosime, why do you hide from the sun?"
"It is...my own curse to bear."
"A curse, but not one cast by human will."
"He...he came by night, you see. The god Zeus. So Hera said that I was to always slink about by night. She made the light of Helios burn my skin."
Zosime gathered her robes about her and shivered.
"What happened to the child?"
"I lost it. Also Hera's doing."
"I see. I'm sorry. Do you know who I am?"
"You're not mortal, to be sure. And by that ring...when Heracles released you from that mountain, Zeus made you take a piece of it with you, and a piece of your chains as well. That's what they say about you in the stories...Prometheus."
The stately man leaned forward, considering his ring.
"Zeus told me that no one, not even a Titan, can escape justice completely. I have...taken his words to heart. Yes, I am the Titan of Forethought. And I would like to help you."
In the hills of Thessaly there was a small shack where a witch lived. She was known by the people in the countryside thereabouts as someone who could brew potions and, on occasion, call down curses. For the most part it was young women who came to her, hoping for a potion to make them beautiful, or to make some handsome village lad fall in love with her, or to stave off pregnancy. The witch brewed them all after taking her payment, usually in grain and meat, for she lived mainly by what she could gather from the wilds.
On one night, though, a girl came looking for a curse. This particular young wife came creeping up the hill around sunset, up to the door of the shack. She came at sunset, for it was said in Thessaly that the best time to meet with a witch was at night. It was sturdy, with moss and dried mud stuffed into every crack and crevice so that not a ray of sunlight could enter. There were no windows, and there was even a heavy rug hung across the doorway. When the girl knocked, the rug was drawn back and an eye appeared in a knothole.
"I want someone cursed," the young woman said, thinking it was best to be up front with these things. She lifted her basket, full of bread and mutton. The witch, without saying a word, drew back the door and ushered the woman inside.
Then the shepherd's wife saw Zosime, the Witch of Thessaly. She was tall, with a confident and noble air. As she drew the rug back across the doorway, the brief glow of red sunlight was gone, and the wife realized that the shack was lit only by a small hearth and some candles. Zosime herself wore a heavy black cloak that covered her from her head to her feet - even her face was concealed, save for a small slit for her eyes - very dark, sunken into her face and with bruises ringed around them.
"What can I do for you, child?" came Zosime's voice, clearer than the girl expected. She got the impression that the witch was not that much older than herself. As she spoke, Zosime extended a hand from her robes. It was the palest white, as if carved from ivory, and was laced with blue veins.
The girl took the proffered hand and allowed herself to be led to the low table nearby.
"I think my husband is having an affair. I want you to - to make him impotent," she said quietly, her eyes moving around the room. She saw herbs, and clay pots with the names of their contents inked on them, and a stack of very thin lead tablets with a chisel. Zosime reached for the tablets and picked one up, setting it on the table as she took the chisel in her hand.
"A simple task," Zosime said. The girl set the basket of food on the table and watched as Zosime went to work.
This is how curses were done in those days: onto a lead tablet was engraved the name of the target (offered by the wife, in this case), the name of a spirit (this one Zosime recalled from memory), and the desired effect. Curses were leveled against rivals in sports and politics, against thieves, and of course against unfaithful lovers. The spirit, disturbed from its rest, would fly to the victim and plague them silently and invisibly.
Zosime conducted the ritual, a simple chant calling on Persephone, for cthonic deities were often invoked in these rituals, and Persephone, it was hoped, would look kindly upon a fellow married woman.
The girl lingered as Zosime pulled down her hood, revealing a face as pale as a ghost's, though not unfair. She reached for the bread and began to eat.
"You may leave," she said through a mouthful. The wife did not know what to expect - there had been no flashes of light, no ominous rumblings, but then the witch was the expert and not she. So, she stood up, mumbled some words of thanks, and left. When she drew back the rug and opened the door Zosime flinched, but by now the sun had gone below the horizon and there was only early evening gloom beyond the doorway.
So the witch relaxed, and ate, and sat in the dark with her thoughts. She would hide the tablet, and when eventually the husband began to suspect something, she would drive a nail through it to end the curse, and so any attempts at detection would come up empty, and there would be no suspicion. In the meantime, the wife may return, asking for something else once her suspicions were confirmed. Zosime had dealt with jealous wives before, and it always pleased her to help them curse unfaithful husbands.
The rug fluttered in a light breeze.
"That idiot girl left the door opened," she hissed, and half-rose to fix it, when a man's voice came through the cloth.
"Are you not open for services, then?" he asked, somewhat amused. Zosime narrowed her eyes and sat down.
"Enter."
The man who entered was tall and stately. He had the air of a nobleman, even a king, but his clothes were plain, those of a traveler, though little worn by the road. He almost had to stoop to enter through the doorway, and as he sat down he winced and pressed a hand to his side. He wore only a single piece of ornamentation, and that was a simple iron ring with a piece of flint set in it.
"A bad stomach?" she asked. The man shook his head. His hair hung down to his shoulder in black ringlets that had partly gone to grey, and his eyes - Zosime put down her meal as she saw that they were gold, and almost shone with fire.
"No, it's an old injury," he said, smiling to himself bitterly.
"I see. Then what is it you need?"
"Tell me Zosime, why do you hide from the sun?"
"It is...my own curse to bear."
"A curse, but not one cast by human will."
"He...he came by night, you see. The god Zeus. So Hera said that I was to always slink about by night. She made the light of Helios burn my skin."
Zosime gathered her robes about her and shivered.
"What happened to the child?"
"I lost it. Also Hera's doing."
"I see. I'm sorry. Do you know who I am?"
"You're not mortal, to be sure. And by that ring...when Heracles released you from that mountain, Zeus made you take a piece of it with you, and a piece of your chains as well. That's what they say about you in the stories...Prometheus."
The stately man leaned forward, considering his ring.
"Zeus told me that no one, not even a Titan, can escape justice completely. I have...taken his words to heart. Yes, I am the Titan of Forethought. And I would like to help you."
IV
- Location
- Great Khanate of Scotland
- Pronouns
- She/Her
IV.
Oceanus, Titan of the World-Encircling River, had three thousand daughters - the Oceanids. Of these, one was Leucosia, who with a dozen of her sisters once served as Persephone's handmaidens.
As an immortal, Leucosia was burdened with memories. Most of these were of the goddess she served. Leucosia remembered the sunlight in Persephone's hair, her gown sewn with flowers, her dainty feet on the spring grass.
Of course, it had just been grass then. That was before there was anything other than spring.
Leucosia and her goddess had wandered the earth as if in a dream, bringing light and life. There had been other handmaidens, but despite being Leucosia's sisters she remembered so few of them from that time. They had drifted apart, some to marry kings and heroes, others to their halls under the sea.
And, to her increasing dismay, Leucosia was forgetting more and more of her time with Persephone. Had it been Attica or Eleusis where she had braided clover into the goddess' hair? Had they gone to Sicily or Boetia afterwards, to make the chrysanthemum bloom?
She couldn't remember the moment it had all ended, because she hadn't witnessed it. They were picking narcissus, and Leucosia had thought nothing of briefly losing sight of her goddess at the time, and then came the terrible earthquake, the scream, and the thunder of a chariot. Leucosia had run into the spot and found an empty meadow.
Leucosia had fewer memories of the time after that, but then she had not been truly aware of her surroundings at the time. The grief of Demeter, the first winter, all passed in a grey haze. Had she truly been there, or had they only been told to her at the time? Her sisters had drifted apart then, and Leucosia did not try and find them.
Then, the brief return of Persephone. Leucosia had heard that the goddess had been returned, and that had filled her with joy like nothing had before. To lose something and have it returned was a unique experience for the immortal nymph. She rushed to Olympus, but before she could even reach her goddess more news came, about the pomegranate, the marriage, and the King of the Underworld. Mortals called it the Rape of Persephone.
And Leucosia knew that she had failed. She could never look her goddess in the eye again, after having let Hades take her. Though Persephone was allowed to return to the surface for part of the year, still Leucosia never wanted to find her. The thought frightened her at first, because she thought her goddess would be angry, or hurt, and so she had stayed away to protect herself from that. As the years passed, one winter after another, each bringing fresh recollections of that time, Leucosia had simply stayed away out of shame. If there was a time to return to Persephone, it was long past. Besides, the goddess would just be taken from her again, by Hades.
Leucosia wandered the coasts, where the green earth met the sea. She avoided the places where men dwelt, for fishermen often tried to give her offerings, which she felt unworthy of. Instead she stood up to her knees in the water, watching the trees and grass on land, and letting the waves beat at her thighs.
It was like this that the Titan Prometheus found her one day. She didn't quite recognize him at first, as she had been very young the last time the Titans walked the earth freely. Besides, he was dressed in simple traveling clothes.
"I'm not an ocean goddess," she said bitterly as he walked down to the beach. He was blocking her view of the trees on this stretch of African coast, home to the brightest flowers Persephone had made.
"I know," he replied, "You're a Daughter of Ocean."
She looked hurt.
"Leucosia," she confirmed.
"Prometheus," was his reply.
She blinked at that.
"It has been a while, cousin. I don't even remember you."
"Nor I you. Oceanus had so many daughters, I could never keep track of you all."
Leucosia could have almost smiled at that.
"So, what brings you to my wretched coast?" she asked. Prometheus gave her a smile of courtesy, though the jest was aimed at herself.
"I thought you might like to help me. You see, I know you were a handmaiden of Persephone-"
It is well known that the Ocean is ever-changing. It is because of this that the Daughters of Ocean are also well known to be shapeshifters. This is why Prometheus quickly found himself facing an angry lioness, charging out of the surf.
He held up his hands, but the lioness pulled up short.
"Easy, cousin! I have not come to mock you!"
"Why else would you say her name? I don't desire your pity, if that's what you've come for. I have drowned in pity."
Prometheus smoothed his robes. It was a bit odd, to hear a maiden's voice in the mouth of a lioness, but such things are not so strange to the gods as they are to us. He held up his hand.
"Please, simply hear me out. I am no more fond of Hades than you are. He stood aside with the other gods while I...well. Suffice it to say, we both have our accounts to settle."
"Hades is the King of the Underworld," Leucosia said, turning back into a maiden, "He is untouchable."
Prometheus smiled.
"You have thought about it, though."
Leucosia looked away. His smile seemed to mock her.
"I have. I thought, for a time, of entering the Underworld to retrieve Persephone. Foolishly, I even sought to train myself. I know many forms, each more dangerous than the last."
"But you never thought you could take on Hades alone."
"No host could break the gates of the Underworld and storm the palace of Hades. Thousands of men would not suffice."
"We don't need thousands," he said, "Only twelve."
Oceanus, Titan of the World-Encircling River, had three thousand daughters - the Oceanids. Of these, one was Leucosia, who with a dozen of her sisters once served as Persephone's handmaidens.
As an immortal, Leucosia was burdened with memories. Most of these were of the goddess she served. Leucosia remembered the sunlight in Persephone's hair, her gown sewn with flowers, her dainty feet on the spring grass.
Of course, it had just been grass then. That was before there was anything other than spring.
Leucosia and her goddess had wandered the earth as if in a dream, bringing light and life. There had been other handmaidens, but despite being Leucosia's sisters she remembered so few of them from that time. They had drifted apart, some to marry kings and heroes, others to their halls under the sea.
And, to her increasing dismay, Leucosia was forgetting more and more of her time with Persephone. Had it been Attica or Eleusis where she had braided clover into the goddess' hair? Had they gone to Sicily or Boetia afterwards, to make the chrysanthemum bloom?
She couldn't remember the moment it had all ended, because she hadn't witnessed it. They were picking narcissus, and Leucosia had thought nothing of briefly losing sight of her goddess at the time, and then came the terrible earthquake, the scream, and the thunder of a chariot. Leucosia had run into the spot and found an empty meadow.
Leucosia had fewer memories of the time after that, but then she had not been truly aware of her surroundings at the time. The grief of Demeter, the first winter, all passed in a grey haze. Had she truly been there, or had they only been told to her at the time? Her sisters had drifted apart then, and Leucosia did not try and find them.
Then, the brief return of Persephone. Leucosia had heard that the goddess had been returned, and that had filled her with joy like nothing had before. To lose something and have it returned was a unique experience for the immortal nymph. She rushed to Olympus, but before she could even reach her goddess more news came, about the pomegranate, the marriage, and the King of the Underworld. Mortals called it the Rape of Persephone.
And Leucosia knew that she had failed. She could never look her goddess in the eye again, after having let Hades take her. Though Persephone was allowed to return to the surface for part of the year, still Leucosia never wanted to find her. The thought frightened her at first, because she thought her goddess would be angry, or hurt, and so she had stayed away to protect herself from that. As the years passed, one winter after another, each bringing fresh recollections of that time, Leucosia had simply stayed away out of shame. If there was a time to return to Persephone, it was long past. Besides, the goddess would just be taken from her again, by Hades.
Leucosia wandered the coasts, where the green earth met the sea. She avoided the places where men dwelt, for fishermen often tried to give her offerings, which she felt unworthy of. Instead she stood up to her knees in the water, watching the trees and grass on land, and letting the waves beat at her thighs.
It was like this that the Titan Prometheus found her one day. She didn't quite recognize him at first, as she had been very young the last time the Titans walked the earth freely. Besides, he was dressed in simple traveling clothes.
"I'm not an ocean goddess," she said bitterly as he walked down to the beach. He was blocking her view of the trees on this stretch of African coast, home to the brightest flowers Persephone had made.
"I know," he replied, "You're a Daughter of Ocean."
She looked hurt.
"Leucosia," she confirmed.
"Prometheus," was his reply.
She blinked at that.
"It has been a while, cousin. I don't even remember you."
"Nor I you. Oceanus had so many daughters, I could never keep track of you all."
Leucosia could have almost smiled at that.
"So, what brings you to my wretched coast?" she asked. Prometheus gave her a smile of courtesy, though the jest was aimed at herself.
"I thought you might like to help me. You see, I know you were a handmaiden of Persephone-"
It is well known that the Ocean is ever-changing. It is because of this that the Daughters of Ocean are also well known to be shapeshifters. This is why Prometheus quickly found himself facing an angry lioness, charging out of the surf.
He held up his hands, but the lioness pulled up short.
"Easy, cousin! I have not come to mock you!"
"Why else would you say her name? I don't desire your pity, if that's what you've come for. I have drowned in pity."
Prometheus smoothed his robes. It was a bit odd, to hear a maiden's voice in the mouth of a lioness, but such things are not so strange to the gods as they are to us. He held up his hand.
"Please, simply hear me out. I am no more fond of Hades than you are. He stood aside with the other gods while I...well. Suffice it to say, we both have our accounts to settle."
"Hades is the King of the Underworld," Leucosia said, turning back into a maiden, "He is untouchable."
Prometheus smiled.
"You have thought about it, though."
Leucosia looked away. His smile seemed to mock her.
"I have. I thought, for a time, of entering the Underworld to retrieve Persephone. Foolishly, I even sought to train myself. I know many forms, each more dangerous than the last."
"But you never thought you could take on Hades alone."
"No host could break the gates of the Underworld and storm the palace of Hades. Thousands of men would not suffice."
"We don't need thousands," he said, "Only twelve."
- Location
- Great Khanate of Scotland
- Pronouns
- She/Her
V.
Erastus' friends would never understand. To them, he would always be "the man who won over Aphrodite".
It was true that Aphrodite had been attracted to him. He was the very specimen of a young man, everything the Greeks thought was attractive - slender, athletic, with a clean face and a head of dark ringlets. The goddess knew how to appreciate beauty, and in the end her attraction had been inflamed to the point where she simply had to be with him, if only for a night.
Erastus would have refused her, she knew. Erastus had heard what happened to men that lay with goddesses, and besides he had an object of affection all his own, one of his fellow soldiers. But the goddess of beauty was not to be denied, and so Erastus had not resisted. He didn't move, he didn't speak, but it was enough for her to enjoy his body, which in the end was all she really wanted. There had been a whirlwind of a night, and then in the morning she had left him with the marks of her affection on him. He had lain there, and he knew one thing for certain: he had never once had a choice in the matter.
His friends didn't see it that way. No matter what he said, all they heard was "I laid with Aphrodite herself."
Perhaps it had been a mistake to tell them, he thought afterwards. He had been afraid that they would call him a liar, but he had felt helpless and wanted his friends' sympathy. Now he would have preferred disbelief to the praise they showered on him.
The more he had insisted that she had forced the encounter, the more they had grown confused. She hadn't struck him down for lying about having her in his bed, nor had she struck him down for bragging about it...but what man wouldn't want Aphrodite in his bed? What man would refuse her? And anyway, how could a woman, even a goddess, force a man into bed? The more Erastus argued, the more they begin to think that perhaps he was a bit cracked after all.
Erastus had learned before the confusion had turned to mockery. He no longer shared his story, but the damage had been done. His friends drifted away, especially as he grew more withdrawn, brooding over Aphrodite and his own doubts. His partners stopped coming to him altogether after he had failed to perform. He was moody, and spent far too much time sharpening his sword, and in the end he decided that whatever the others might say, he knew his own truth. And his truth was that a goddess had raped him, and that there would be no justice from it.
He was discharged from the army, and so he had gone looking for somewhere else, where the people didn't know him or his story. He also needed to learn more about the gods, about Aphrodite, and perhaps learn some way a god could be made to answer for their wrongs.
They said the best storytellers in Greece lived in Athens.
Erastus' friends would never understand. To them, he would always be "the man who won over Aphrodite".
It was true that Aphrodite had been attracted to him. He was the very specimen of a young man, everything the Greeks thought was attractive - slender, athletic, with a clean face and a head of dark ringlets. The goddess knew how to appreciate beauty, and in the end her attraction had been inflamed to the point where she simply had to be with him, if only for a night.
Erastus would have refused her, she knew. Erastus had heard what happened to men that lay with goddesses, and besides he had an object of affection all his own, one of his fellow soldiers. But the goddess of beauty was not to be denied, and so Erastus had not resisted. He didn't move, he didn't speak, but it was enough for her to enjoy his body, which in the end was all she really wanted. There had been a whirlwind of a night, and then in the morning she had left him with the marks of her affection on him. He had lain there, and he knew one thing for certain: he had never once had a choice in the matter.
His friends didn't see it that way. No matter what he said, all they heard was "I laid with Aphrodite herself."
Perhaps it had been a mistake to tell them, he thought afterwards. He had been afraid that they would call him a liar, but he had felt helpless and wanted his friends' sympathy. Now he would have preferred disbelief to the praise they showered on him.
The more he had insisted that she had forced the encounter, the more they had grown confused. She hadn't struck him down for lying about having her in his bed, nor had she struck him down for bragging about it...but what man wouldn't want Aphrodite in his bed? What man would refuse her? And anyway, how could a woman, even a goddess, force a man into bed? The more Erastus argued, the more they begin to think that perhaps he was a bit cracked after all.
Erastus had learned before the confusion had turned to mockery. He no longer shared his story, but the damage had been done. His friends drifted away, especially as he grew more withdrawn, brooding over Aphrodite and his own doubts. His partners stopped coming to him altogether after he had failed to perform. He was moody, and spent far too much time sharpening his sword, and in the end he decided that whatever the others might say, he knew his own truth. And his truth was that a goddess had raped him, and that there would be no justice from it.
He was discharged from the army, and so he had gone looking for somewhere else, where the people didn't know him or his story. He also needed to learn more about the gods, about Aphrodite, and perhaps learn some way a god could be made to answer for their wrongs.
They said the best storytellers in Greece lived in Athens.
Last edited:
- Location
- Great Khanate of Scotland
- Pronouns
- She/Her
V.
Prometheus poured a libation over the small altar and chanted aloud.
"Poena, daughter of Aither and Gaia, show yourself. Crafty Peona, she-dragon, I have need of you."
This was no goddess or nymph that Prometheus called out to. He was requesting the presence of a daemon, the physical manifestation of one of the ills that afflicted mankind.
Poena, as it happened, was the daemon of Retribution. The patron spirit of punishment and penalties, of the recompense paid in gold to a murder victim's family.
Soon a woman appeared, descending out of the sky on feathered wings. She was gird in armor and bore a spear in one hand and a coil of chain in the other, with a dagger at her belt. A snake curled around her forehead like a headband.
"Why have you called on me, Titan? There is a man in Thrace in want of killing."
"I have a task for you," he said, "A wrong that needs set to right."
Poena scoffed.
"If this is about your imprisonment, that was the will of the gods. You defied the order of Zeus."
"Zeus gave an unjust order," Prometheus couldn't help but say, "But that is not what I mean."
The daemona laughed.
"Don't lie to me, Prometheus. I know you wish to see Zeus undone."
"That is true, but it is not for my own sake. I'm oddly fond of humanity, as I'm sure you understand, and it grieves me to see them suffer under the rules of the gods."
Poena's lip curled in a cruel smirk.
"Humans are beasts. They murder, steal, and cheat each other, and it is only myself and my sisters that exist to bring the consequences."
"Exactly. You bring a balance. Every transgression needs to be accounted for."
The daemona narrowed her eyes. After a moment, she decided to let him continue.
"Go on," she said, chain rattling as she rested her hand on her hip.
"You are a daughter of Aither and Gaia. You have been in this world since the beginning. You know the cycle of the Universe."
"Don't play games with me, Prometheus," she scoffed. The Titan of forethought pressed on, not wishing to test her patience.
"The Primordials ruled the Universe, until Kronos castrated his father Ouranos. Then the Titans ruled, until they were overthrown by the Olympians in the Titanomachy and Zeus cast his father Kronos into Tartarus. Every generation has been replaced by the one that came after it."
"The gods cannot be overthrown. The Gigantomachy proved that."
Prometheus shook his head.
"That was not in line with the cycle. The Gigantes were children of Gaia, not of the gods. The children of the gods are..."
"Man," Poena finished, then laughed.
"You see? The gods have inflicted ills on men and continued to rule. There is a cosmic imbalance."
Poena considered her fingernails for a moment.
"So you want to lead your precious humans against their creators. Why do you need me?"
"They know their retribution is just, but with you at their side, the deeper laws of the Universe are at play. You alone, the spirit of Retribution, can hold anyone responsible. That is the power of daemons. And if you join them...you can bring punishment on their transgressors yourself."
"You mean fight alongside them? How droll..."
"It is the best way. How do you feel about the god Ares?"
Now Poena narrowed her eyes, all traces of amusement gone.
"So many wars. So many unjust wars. And so many undeserved victories. Yes, there is an accounting to be made there."
She suddenly gave him a broad, toothy grin. Not for nothing was she called "She-dragon".
"So, do you have an army? A group of heroes? Who are these agents of vengeance you wish for me to aid?"
Prometheus let out a breath of relief. Even gods and Titans were not completely safe from daemons.
"The pieces are already in motion. I have given them a few nudges, but we'll need to go to Athens..."
Prometheus poured a libation over the small altar and chanted aloud.
"Poena, daughter of Aither and Gaia, show yourself. Crafty Peona, she-dragon, I have need of you."
This was no goddess or nymph that Prometheus called out to. He was requesting the presence of a daemon, the physical manifestation of one of the ills that afflicted mankind.
Poena, as it happened, was the daemon of Retribution. The patron spirit of punishment and penalties, of the recompense paid in gold to a murder victim's family.
Soon a woman appeared, descending out of the sky on feathered wings. She was gird in armor and bore a spear in one hand and a coil of chain in the other, with a dagger at her belt. A snake curled around her forehead like a headband.
"Why have you called on me, Titan? There is a man in Thrace in want of killing."
"I have a task for you," he said, "A wrong that needs set to right."
Poena scoffed.
"If this is about your imprisonment, that was the will of the gods. You defied the order of Zeus."
"Zeus gave an unjust order," Prometheus couldn't help but say, "But that is not what I mean."
The daemona laughed.
"Don't lie to me, Prometheus. I know you wish to see Zeus undone."
"That is true, but it is not for my own sake. I'm oddly fond of humanity, as I'm sure you understand, and it grieves me to see them suffer under the rules of the gods."
Poena's lip curled in a cruel smirk.
"Humans are beasts. They murder, steal, and cheat each other, and it is only myself and my sisters that exist to bring the consequences."
"Exactly. You bring a balance. Every transgression needs to be accounted for."
The daemona narrowed her eyes. After a moment, she decided to let him continue.
"Go on," she said, chain rattling as she rested her hand on her hip.
"You are a daughter of Aither and Gaia. You have been in this world since the beginning. You know the cycle of the Universe."
"Don't play games with me, Prometheus," she scoffed. The Titan of forethought pressed on, not wishing to test her patience.
"The Primordials ruled the Universe, until Kronos castrated his father Ouranos. Then the Titans ruled, until they were overthrown by the Olympians in the Titanomachy and Zeus cast his father Kronos into Tartarus. Every generation has been replaced by the one that came after it."
"The gods cannot be overthrown. The Gigantomachy proved that."
Prometheus shook his head.
"That was not in line with the cycle. The Gigantes were children of Gaia, not of the gods. The children of the gods are..."
"Man," Poena finished, then laughed.
"You see? The gods have inflicted ills on men and continued to rule. There is a cosmic imbalance."
Poena considered her fingernails for a moment.
"So you want to lead your precious humans against their creators. Why do you need me?"
"They know their retribution is just, but with you at their side, the deeper laws of the Universe are at play. You alone, the spirit of Retribution, can hold anyone responsible. That is the power of daemons. And if you join them...you can bring punishment on their transgressors yourself."
"You mean fight alongside them? How droll..."
"It is the best way. How do you feel about the god Ares?"
Now Poena narrowed her eyes, all traces of amusement gone.
"So many wars. So many unjust wars. And so many undeserved victories. Yes, there is an accounting to be made there."
She suddenly gave him a broad, toothy grin. Not for nothing was she called "She-dragon".
"So, do you have an army? A group of heroes? Who are these agents of vengeance you wish for me to aid?"
Prometheus let out a breath of relief. Even gods and Titans were not completely safe from daemons.
"The pieces are already in motion. I have given them a few nudges, but we'll need to go to Athens..."