Children of Terra

~An unknown time~ ~Telkine Lands~ ~Outer Shores among the damned~ ~Vykan, wanderer among strangers~ It had been a long, trudge-full slog of a time, following the pallor around himself, before a change of the rote cavern scenery coalesced at the horizon ahead. Vykan felt relief in truth, as this was quite unbecoming for an adventure to begin; a swim into a cesspool, a fight he lost, and no direction save his own doing.       At least the end of this monotony began in view. It appeared to be the tops of walls . . . A city! As the walk grew near, the rankness and humidity relieved upon Vykan's senses. The glow of the cave evaporated back due to fires of brazier light, wall sconces, and candles. A land of antiquity. The grand walls were adorned with painted figures in Mediterranean fashion, key ornamentation of the borders -- classical, yes. The height vast enough that few manlings could ever muster the strength to throw a hook over. But, most of all were the pillars, mixes of Grecian -- evoking the sensibility that this was a land related to Vykan's goal.       Beyond height of this construction was scope; as far as the eye could see, there was no end. The crowd funneled to one of the sparse entrance gaps in the fortification, and from that, crowds split into further directions beyond. More of these Kourete knobs finally appeared in number, in guard roles seeming. Vykan shuffled into a line, hearing that distinct flow-talk of the midland. At last, his turn.       A greeting, practiced and fluid. Vykan didn't understand a damn word of it. He simply replied, "Island Occidental."       With only a hint of plus, the guard gestured to his fellow, who responded in kind by bringing a parchment from a nearby stone table, back to the conversation. Vykan reached out for the parchment, before an unceremonious slip from the Kourete plastered the parchment on his chest. Vykan stepped back a half step, remarking: " . . . the hell was that?"       "Daktyloi blessed. You understand us now, and we see you marked as a barbarian oaf." The Kourete gestured to Vykan's chest, which now seemed to have a tattoo on it, inky black. Before Vykan could retort, the Kourete followed up, "We are busy. Go be bereft of sophistication elsewhere." With another uncouth grab, the first Kourete heaved him about the shoulder to inside the fortification walls.       Ugh. The city was begrudgingly beautiful. Fountains marked rest stops for busy streets, statues of great figures adorned cross-street corners, and rectangular buildings adjoined like puzzle-work. The craftsmanship! It pissed him off in some sense that he still would have to wander about, so he chose the biggest street to walk down. People looked at his passing with sneering uproarious disgust, so at first chance, he took a silk linen from a clothing line and wrapped himself about the waist, a sneer back of his own. At least the ground was smooth on the feet.       Eventually, an opportunity presented itself: an open pavilion in what appeared to be a park. Columns interspersed the seated rows of benches, probably for shading cloths to be spread between them. Vykan wondered if it ever got hot enough to warrant such a thing, glancing to the ceiling. He looked back to the people here noting a distinct shift in garbing. Where most people wore lighter tunica, or the kourete distinct in full battle wear, here in the middle of the pavilion were fully en-robed men, to the feet in silky linen, their arms carrying curious equipment. He strode up, somewhat smirking at the perturbations on the benches seeing his trajectory.       The words of the group became coherent as Vykan drew close: "-the supply lines?"       "Intact. The issue is the same: not enough gold to support the expenditure of it all-" They noticed Vykan, stopping.       Vykan drew a breath in, seeing tense from the robed men. "Hail, wised ones. I am Vykan, and I seek Stygia and its fame."       A guffaw from one. The other measured Vykan before answering, noting the mark of a foreigner upon his chest: "Perhaps. We could use a misthios . . . "       The guffawed one took a gasp, "Surely not! He doesn't even know the base laws!"       "Think this way, all the better for fodder, brother."       " . . . Barely, look at him. Pudgy. Flabby. He'd sooner be a korybant."       "I thought the same. A whole unit of korybante like this one . . . "       "I was joking! They would . . . Ah. Misdirection. Make those damnable fools underestimate us, make them think us all fat, stupid, uncouth-"       Vykan had enough, interrupting: "Likewise, you sloven pigs." He noted the reddening face of the one, and perhaps a hint of smirk on the other. "I did not ask you for soliloquies, nor did I make you for poets and bards. I ask of Stygia. And its fame."       The calm one replied, "We did not last this long by charity, westlander. Such a trove is a gift for the deserving. You will have to do we, Telkhine, service. The shortest and easiest is military -- understanding. Unless you have the patience for centuries?"       . . . Fuck. The long way or the short way? Vykan pondered, weighing each, before another epiphany. This was an adventure! Not a slice-of-life! He spoke with a side eye at the other man, "I will bring my flabby, pudgy arm for Telkhine."       The calm one turned to the other: "See? Reason enough for us. Guide him to the barracks, I must propose an idea to the council. An idea just might work . . . " That one left, the other turning to Vykan.       "Hfff, come with then, 'misthios.'" ~A time later~ ~Telkhine Lands~ ~Barracks and Grounds of the Korybante~ ~Vykan, misthios~ Time had been probably weeks since Vykan arrived at the Korybante camp, located far from the first city. Time was also guesswork without any tool to measure with. That aside, the journey was pleasant, and fulfilling of scenery beyond an underworld of shit-mud. Carted from the arriving city, named Therodos apparently, to an outskirt region proved good for the spirits. Idyllic roads of packed dirt, the cavern widening to the point the ceiling itself could not be seen, and only the faintest of glow that otherwise approximated a 'sky' made the journey short. This land was vast.       The camp proper was a forward base, and Vykan could tell was slowly to be packed with other like-rabble. He was among the first; as apparently the idea of fodder struck a chord, and immediately Kourete were dispatched across Therodos and beyond to other city-states for the 'detritus of society' as Vykan heard said. The korybante-initiate were dressed similar to Kourete, save less armor and lower quality arms.       The main reason such a common tactic had not yet been used was pride, in the Telkhine people. To stoop low was seen as a betrayal of their culture, but the wears of 'the crass' was tiring enough to disregard such in finality.       Vykan was taught basic import of Telkhine battle tactics, of the need of a commandant Melia, a she-priestess that weaved battle song to drive the Kourete troops forward. There were standard troops of peltasts, archers, and infantry; all of which spectral ghosts of low will. These dispersed with sufficient force, the hard part being the act of hitting an ethereal firstly. The Korybante served the same purpose as the Kourete, but were not of Telkhine blood; instead humans granted the 'honor' of serving among the semi-divine sons and daughters of Daktyloi, smith-mages of Telkhine. And through it all was the implication: that Vykan and his fellows were the lowest of all -- fodder that comported the barest respect -- all for misdirection of whomever they would be sent to fight.       The training grounds were simple; straw dummies for the initiates to swing against, and a rotating staff of handful Kourete to train them all. Vykan figured there were a couple hundred Korybante here, enough for a fodder army to serve as chaff for true armies behind to learn from. And enemy armies to gain false confidence against.       In short, they were trained the barest tactics. Vykan himself was mostly unbothered, he already expected such. He put such thoughts aside, and went through the whirling motions once more. What did the Kourete say again? 'Pick your favored side to swing from, breath slow, and lash out, again and again. Let the blade flow, shoulder loose. Like this.' Vykan spun in mimicry, striking the straw dummy maybe a centimeter deep, following the cut through with a flourish. He heard a snort from the side.       "Hah! All that buffoonery for that? And you're one of the veteran korybante?"       Vykan sat down and looked at the speaker, being breathless from training. The man was naturally a newer recruit, but still a korybant. With a half-smile, Vykan replied; "Do you see it? The fate of us?"       "Aye, veteran. I also see the status should we few live. Respect. Even rewards."       Vykan smiled to himself. "And what is your dream-reward? I would dip into the River Styx - "       The man went pale, "Aayyy-yeeeh! Mad malaka! Speak not the poison oath-water! There is only death there." Grumbling to himself with a hand on his chest, he spoke back. "I want property rights. All ensuing entitlements after . . . " He walked over to Vykan, leaning down, looking around for a Kourete. "And a Melia woman."       Vykan barked a laugh, patting the fellow on his shoulder. "And my wish was the crazy one?! You aim high, arm-friend! I send you my well-wishes."       "Hah! Your favor will see me through, I wager! Hahaha! . . . Ach, let me see the form again, friend. These moves are dancing prattle . . . "       Indeed. This shit is going to get us all killed . . . Vykan nodded with a smile outwardly, getting up and beginning the forms once more. From the increasing grimace on the Kourete rotation, the battle would not be too long now.