Children of Terra

~The Stygian Shrine~ ~In the Temple Quarter~ ~Arcoscephale~ ~Vykan, blessed-Korybant~ Vykan took an inward breath as he adjusted to his new body; outwardly the same, but just from the looks of horror on the temple guard -- oh so worth it. He had been immersed in the waters a while, judging from the shift in crowd movement and increased guard presence. Archers began to fire at him from 100 meters away across the River confluence, while guards began to form ranks. They didn't appear to believe their eyes: that Styx would bless an outsider -- even as arrows plinked off his skin.       He made a show of drawing his dagger -- clothes intact -- and trudging toward the throng at the core of the temple. The myrmidon did not brave Styx to meet him, knowing full well the dismal return rate for the brave who ventured. Once Vykan made landfall, the archers clustered behind myrmidon phalanx, seeing rage in his eyes. He descended upon the phalanx wall, where it became apparent of farce or reality.       Vykan fought like a true korybant, deflecting spear thrusts with wild abandon, yanking one out of myrmidon hands for his own. It appeared Stygia had blessed him with greater strength. Not particularly superhuman, but enough to be overly disruptive for even a hardened veteran. Archers drew xiphos and harried between myrmidon encirclement, sensing the danger.       Adapting to the flow, Vykan whirled the spear sauroter into the circular myrmidon shield, batting them back, forcing the phalanx into an adaptive formation lest he break the line -- singly. They held, training enough to handle a skirmish, before an opportunity presented to Vykan. He had taken a back step to regain a strong footing; a foolish myrmidon stepping in to press the attack.       Quick, Vykan spun the sauroter about his own neck for a lever to increase the speed. It arced up and down low, catching the knee of the myrmidon soundly; shattering it to a right angle. The tide broke, Vykan exploiting the phalanx gap too quickly for them to recover. He arced cleaves through the light armored archers, cutting massive death-blows into one after another.       Perhaps half a platoon was dead in moments before a Hekateride fired a magic bolt into his back, pushing him off the ground and away the sundered garrison.       While he recovered from the blow, skin intact beneath scorched toga, she spoke: "So it is true. Stygia gave its favor to a miscreant."       Vykan planted the spear, then tore the toga from his shoulders, tying a knot around his waist. The sight looked fiercely regal, like something long past of Telkhine history. On his chest lay bare -- for all to see -- his mark of the Daktyloi, the tattoo that betrayed him as an outsider. Murmurs and murmurs. Vykan only smiled in response.       The hekateride spoke: "I would sooner see myself fall on my blade than you as a hero, damned one. How did you survive Khaos? We scattered you on the rivers. I was there."       Vykan ignored that, answering: "My oath will undoubtedly take me outside these lands -- foul lands. Save us the trouble then. Point me by whichever means grieve you least to the skein beyond. Or do you prefer my haunt?"       She narrowed her eyes. "You would flee from us? No clamoring of vengeance? After what we -"       "After what?! Don't play fool! You believe flaccid Ephor? Whore Melia? No!" --Vykan took a breath-- "My oath is more than petty gain from spilling your blood. Lead me to beyond, or I find another . . . "       Vykan pulled the spear from soil for emphasis.       The hekateride sensed resolution, or perhaps the danger in allowing this to go on. "Very well. Come, we tarry not." She whirled and began to stride away, some of the myrmidon looking to her in abrupt confusion. She shouted back -- without looking -- "Leave him! He has countenance. Carry on!"       Vykan sighed his frustrations away. Looks like today won't be annoying as shit. He made to follow the hekateride to within the inner temple-shrine. She guided him to an inner room; from the draperies, ornamentation, and incense burners -- her room. She threw a plated-chain hauberk at him, with a helmet of plume unlike any Vykan has seen. It appeared the armor was enshrined, as though in remembrance. He looked at her.       She drew her lips thin. "The armor of our young master polemarch. He left Telkhine upon reaching manhood, to live his life, and will return one day . . . Alas, we can make another set. He probably outgrew it anyway."       Vykan put the armor on, noting the smoothness by which the chain-rings sunk around set-in plates of light myrmidon bronze. It was loose on the shoulders and sleeves, long a bit past the half-thigh.       "Put the helmet on. I would rather have rumors than truth."       Once he obeyed, she clapped for attendant shrine-maidens. The entering meliai had grace, Vykan barely noting a pause of seeing a man and hekateride together. The honored-hekateride spoke: "Fit him to his armor. Quick, dears." They bowed and began measurements.       Perhaps as a distraction, the hekateride spoke to break the silence. "Our brothers -- daktyloi -- would better suit such tasks of smithy-work. But we have no need to summon them for little jobs. It would only make them testy. And I would rather wash my hands of this all." She made breaths to continue, but the meliai stood up, finished in their task.       Vykan stood as well, testing the taut of his chain. It hugged his body like silk. Like the weight distribution balanced to wear each muscle of the body equally, at all times, in all motions. Natural. He rolled his helmeted neck.       The hekateride held a xiphos of ornamented gold and silver to him, along a slighter larger shield than buckler. He took them, feeling for the balance, testing the pommel against his bronze grieves. The hekateride clapped her hands once. The meliai left.       He looked to her, and she spoke: "We make for Eridanos. The river of Elysium. The way out." She walked past him. "Better now."       He agreed. Better now. Glancing one last time to the spear, he followed her out of the temple complex, sheathing his xiphos in the belt scabbard. I liked spear fighting, ah well. Upon seeing a holy hekateride and what looked like a new champion, people in the surrounding complex began to shout in adulation. She would wave her hands, making the myrmidon kneel in her passage.       They marched through Arcoscephale, crowds forming as word spread. 'A new hero marches from Arcoscephale!' -- 'Praise to the warrior!'       Vykan found it amusing, seeing his effigy disemboweled while the same people cheered his ascendancy. And the difference was one helmet.       And just like that, they were headed eastward, to the farthest point of Telkhine on the shores of Khaos. ~Fields of green~ ~And flowers bloom~ ~Skies of cream~ ~And waters blue~ ~Eridanos, Elysium-gate~ The journey had been fair -- hekateride content with journeying quick; lands full from favors gone. Celebration lingered as the ceremony month neared end. The pair passed fields, over hills, through glades, and finally came to a soft embankment. Waters lapped with regularity to the wide river. It almost seemed like a lake shore, from the tranquility. Soft mists hung on the surface, hiding motes and wisps as gentle things played.       Vykan looked to his guide. She looked to the horizon, eyes full of distance. Then she matched his gaze, speaking: "These gentle waters will take you beyond the skein. You will not return save herculean means. For both our sake, I hope you find your oath out there."       He held his words a moment, considering. Then: "Your lands suffer a minute corruption. Have care. If my oath ever brings me back, it will be doom to you all."       The words themselves held an affront, an indignation. But the hekateride saw the fire in his soul-windows. The weight of Stygian oath. She nodded. Perhaps Telkhine had grown too fat.       She watched as the misthios walked into Eridanos' embrace, as he turned one last time to Telkhine -- looking past her -- as he slowly fell backward into the water, drifting away with each lapping until the mists took him ever away.       And she prayed, inwardly, he would never return.