--- Alba, Priestess of Aphrodite POV
With relief, I glance upon my thick fur-lined leather gloves which lay to one side, a casualty of my frustration. Fingers numbing with cold, I feed the flicker of flame several more twigs and a freefall of dry leaves, blowing my breath to encourage the fledgling embers to glow bright orange and burn the wonderful treasure I offer. I am only at this point after multiple failed attempts striking a flint until I got lucky. Skill would take one perhaps two attempts. I am determined to learn or research a spell to create fire after this, someday. With ample satisfaction, I place several logs around and upon the fire and then search and find a rickety chair to plonk into position before the fireplace to warm my body and collect my thoughts. I am certain the Goddess doesn’t send me on a fool’s errand yet the cold this body feels challenges my resolve. I intend to warm my fingers before wrapping them once again in my thick gloves.
After a time, the fireplace fills with a roaring fire squashing my doubt. Feeling the warmth, my breathing slows and this human body I occupy relaxes. A body out of the water is very needy … after wanting this for so long, my first weeks and especially this last week have me thinking a mistake has been made. I rotate one of the several rings on my fingers, checking. These and the potent Magus’ Amulet, Magus Drexel Marner’s parting gift to Allene, his Apprentice when male and later as the Arch Priest of Aphrodite were cherished by him to the point of obsession. His feelings of appreciation for his Master, the Magus, stronger in our brief reunion when he stole me back still bound to the ring, than at any time I taught him, when a, her.
When first reunited with his or her body I could sense the magic in all the items despite Drexel placing his condition, only an apprentice of his could utilise them. I shouldn’t have been able to notice anything magical, to non-apprentices of Drexel they would appear inert, although otherwise precious and hold value as jewellery. I suspect my body and soul to blame, I am still, in a macabre way, two-thirds Allene. I worship Aphrodite and I practice Sorcery like her. She wore me as a ring, and I taught her neophyte sorcery. The spirit bond we shared familiar and now I am closer than close, occupying her body instead of residing in a ring upon her finger. Yet while I am aware of the magical trinkets once the sole property of Allene, I am not Allene enough to wield them.
---
I wake with a start. The darkness surrounding me, the fireplace I assume out of wood.
Multiple spirits assault my mind, buzzing and whizzing. None can do me harm; they discover my presence as I discover them. I cast [Protect Being (Spirit)] not because I must, but because I can, to reduce the annoyance. With the respite I cast [Soul Sight], the spirits have long lost their form, now shadowy white ghosts with a tail stream descending into each of the trinkets I wear. I challenge each to spirit combat and subdue them in turn, my [Protect Being (Spirit)] protecting me from any retaliation.
I reclaim a Spell Storing Spirit in a ring that memorises the Faith Magic spell [Far Sight], which has spare capacity for two more. Another Spell Storing Spirit in an earring which memorises multiple Divine Magic spells; [Assess Aspirant], [Worship (Aphrodite)], [Sanctify Area (Aphrodite)], [Bless Wife], [Sooth Birthing] and [Locate (Faithful, Faithless, Heretic)]. Obviously from a time when Allene still worshipped Aphrodite. Then the prize! The Magus’ Amulet: the spells become known when I contact each of the fingernail-sized gems, [Damage Boosting - Strike], [Damage Resistance], [Spell Reflection], [Spell Resistance], [Spirit Resistance], [Stun Flesh] and [Mystic Vision]. There is also, what I thought impossible, yet when I investigate with the tips of my fingers I discover [Duration (6)] and [Empower (6)]. The last two will enable my spells to last longer and intensify the effects.
There are also three gold loops, their placement odd to me when I first ‘awoke’. These each contain a bound Magic Spirit where I can draw magic to power my spells, who over time will recover the magic I draw. Left nipple, right nipple, and a certain sensitive place between my thighs – I adapted to the first two easily as I didn’t know any different. In fact, I thought them natural in some way until I visited the Temple and certain things were explained to me. The third, a shy mystery still as I didn’t reveal its existence while at Temple. I did wonder though if the first two can deliver a degree of gratification above and beyond the expected mystical, can the third.
I try ‘fiddling’ with the third to determine what specific part of my flesh the loop attaches to, pure discovery only to reveal the truth of course. This invokes sensual feelings, exceeding those when I fiddled with the nipple loops. I suspected, yet the truth is … stupendous, my body shudders and then I look about, trying to ensure no one spies upon me. Is this a humanoid guilty pleasure? As a Giant Gar, none of these delightful sensations were ever at all present …
The cold air reminds me quickly I should draw my warm clothes about me and inhibit my … delicate investigations or restart the fireplace. With urgency I scramble about, ignoring the cold air upon certain fleshy areas in search of the flint …
--- Arnora, Priestess of Zeus POV
I study the mountainside with some relief.
“Seventh time lucky, mother …”
Hrut’s words attract my attention and I force a smile. The path down the mountain ending in a sheer fall requiring my Myrmidon of Zeus and I to explore other avenues of descent. Our immunity to cold and height allowing us to transverse rugged mountainous terrain otherwise a challenge for most I would imagine, certainly Snake Kin. Yet as Hrut points out, multiple attempts involving substantial time, even camping overnight on a ledge was required.
Treading upon the moving ground underfoot an unusual feeling, while the crashing of the water upon the grain-like soil endlessly repeating a wonder. Snow falls and then clears to reveal blue skies, this tumble of water though, fascinating, each build-up to crash different and similar. Endless.
A push on my shoulder. I face the cause. Hrut.
“The water will continue to tumble without you paying close attention mother.”
I nod and drag my attention back to the immediate future of us, the last two worshippers of Zeus. Given that truth, then I am certain Zeus will hear our call for his wisdom. After weeks eking out an existence as the banished and tolerating the complaining of our companion Priestess of Hera the impulse to follow the Snake Kin Priestess of Aphrodite a relief from boredom as much as anything else. Now, finally, upon this strange land, I am at a loss. Hrut and I would need to hike back at least a day, possibly longer to return to the settlement by the water we spied from the mountain trail. As the sole place of interest this side of the mountain range, where else could she be?
“We need divine guidance,” I state and wander off pushing my steps through this peculiar moving soil.
Hrut quickly matches my pace and maintains his silence, for him, unusual.
---
“Where are we going Priestess of Zeus?”
“There!” I point towards a cave mouth. Tall and wide, a thin ribbon of water flows from the entrance and into the endless blue, the source of the crashing water.
Inside the cave the smell of salt, while present isn’t as strong. The stream within the cave emanates from a weeping stone wall, multiple spigots either dripping, running or flowing with fresh water. I know the water is fresh because my son rushes to one of the largest flows and drinks deeply. I shake my head, a taste first would have been more prudent, yet once away from the snow his sense of caution seems to be asleep.
I eye him as I take a sip from my cupped hand. He shrugs of course while tugging free a large dead tree trunk.
Not for firewood I shortly learn as he waves his hand towards the log, inviting me to sit.
I dust off a spot and sit. Once well respected within my community, a large lodge for my comfort, married, many friendly faces recounting tall tales around a great firepit and then change. Visits from prophets and belief in the Divine … now I find myself, in the company of one, although an important one, in a damp shadowy cave.
An arm wraps around my shoulder.
“All is not lost, Priestess.”
His words pinpoint my deliberations exactly. Does he read my mind or does my face betray me so easily?
“We are going to try and seek advice from Zeus … if we fail …”
His finger crosses my lips, forcing me to silence. The act preventing me from voicing my doubt and possibly extinguishing the last of my faith. Faith? A curious intangible thing. The source of our power and our doubt. I still have access to Zeus’ magic, so I can only assume our mutually beneficial relationship continues and therefore proof of my faith in him and his faith in me. How would anyone be able to maintain their faith without such proof? Would that be a greater test? I can't imagine faith based upon pure belief, imagined benefit and no display of your God’s Divine power at your command as confirmation.
“You are his Priestess.” He removes his finger. “Zeus will heed your call.”
---
“I forbid you to do this Hrut!” I scream. The echo in the cave my ally in this instance.
“My castings will wake him to our plight and then yours can truly converse with him. Otherwise, we will need to at least wait a day for your Divine Magic to renew. A day in which he could be busy elsewhere doing God things.”
“Your Divine magic is single-use, once used, gone. You know this! There is no Temple for you to renew …”
He hugs me, tight. With a whisper, he says, “We can’t fail and if not now, when?”
Does he read me so well? He fears, as do I now, daily failures to commune with Zeus will break my faith and once my faith is broken will my Divine magic renew overnight as it does for a Priestess, such is the bond to our patron God. Everything depends upon faith and Zeus feels distant. We are alone, the last two and only we can keep or lose our faith.
I move my head, my cheek rubbing his maturing beard. I consent to my adult son’s plan.
Hrut breaks our hug and sets about marking the ground for the ceremony. He takes a great deal of time selecting cornerstones, smoothing the ground, which is easy given the grain-like soil and then with a wide smile he places a small statue of Zeus in the centre upon a large smooth rock. I recognise the idol, the detail lifelike superb and I can easily imagine Zeus’ beard flowing in the wind.
“I thought I ordered all the idols created by the traitor Nasim destroyed?”
“Yes, you did Priestess of Zeus. I took a different view.”
I raise my eyebrows and interrupt. “A different view …”
“Nasim crafted the idol when faithful to Zeus and anything after is irrelevant.”
I resist confronting him face to face, my footfalls to meet him in the centre would destroy his careful preparations, therefore I pace the boundary. He smiles at me! Several times!
When satisfied with his preparation he approaches me, and we are face to face. No, he now looks down upon his mother slightly. When did he grow so tall? Have I been too busy to notice? I clear those thoughts; I remind myself I am displeased with him.
“Explain yourself, Myrmidon of Zeus, you disobeyed your Priestess,” I thunder.
“This is the image his Prophet agreed with. This is the image the High Priestess of his Temple in Quest Town agreed with, although we know she warned him of revealing himself in this likeness. We need this to succeed mother … Priestess. I am hopeful, with such a fine idol …”
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
I place my finger across his lips this time and shake my head.
“You test me Initiate.”
His face goes blank. Calling a Myrmidon an Initiate, although true, is a borderline insult within Zeus’ worship hierarchy. Rank Titles are important, the usage a degree of separation from Aphrodite and her rabble.
I rub my hands over my face. “Come on Myrmidon, you begin and then I will follow …”
---
Hrut correct. With him and I resting upon our knees, face to face on opposite sides of the idol he casts [Sanctify Area (Zeus)] and then [Worship (Zeus)]. His prayers go unanswered and instead of disappointment, his face glows with expectation.
I cast [Sanctify Area (Zeus)] and then [Worship (Zeus)], boosting the Worship spell with all the magic power within me. This shouldn’t make a difference. Being a Priestess, Zeus and I share an intimate closeness, a link from the ordination, which magic shouldn’t influence, yet, what did I have to lose?
There are no sparks or shouts. No Divine light. The weather outside the cave, somewhat overcast, dark rolling clouds still holding onto their moisture. The weight will hold the clouds against the mountains. Eventually, the moisture will fall as rain. The clouds will rise and blow across the mountains, the moisture cooling until cold enough to drop as snow. I didn’t know this before now …
Hrut’s jaw is agape while his hands wave towards the idol of Zeus.
The idol strolls down from the stone platform as if he owns the world. On an urge, I place my hand down to lay upon the pathway to his obvious destination – me.
Once upon the palm of my hand, I raise him until we are face to face.
“Well met Priestess of Aphrodite,” says the image of Zeus, the lips of the idol moving, moustache on the top lip, beard below.
I resist the urge to wrap my fingers around him. My faith surges within me. From almost losing hope, questioning my purpose – to this!
“We require guidance mighty one, we are the last …”
He smiles, arms stretching out, open palms plain to see. “You are the new beginning Priestess.”
--- Pex, Cardinal of Aphrodite POV
The weapon pile rests high up the beach, safe from the incoming tide. The wagon and tools lay in shambles, water lapping around, over and between, the encroaching wet sand sucking them down.
Ottar observes, caught in the fascination of this natural occurrence. He is probably the first of his kind to walk this side of the mountains. For me, Allene provided a great deal of education over the months, what he wanted, why his present situation should be rewarded and how when he returns in triumph his family over the ocean would finally realise his worth. His tirade either to make me jealous or to demonstrate his superiority he delighted in explaining the many mysteries beyond the mountains; sand, beaches, waves, and tides some of the topics. Details of ocean-going ships, fishing boats, wharves and civilised villages, towns, and cities for another reason; proof of the obvious superiority of human ingenuity and development. Beast Kin being barbarians at best, primitives at worst.
“Ottar, can you deliver one of each weapon to the Dungeon please?”
He jumps at the sound of my voice, and I can’t help releasing a light hissing chuckle only stopping when his face droops. Nevertheless, he does my bidding, and I am alone, well not entirely, I feel the presence of my Goddess, her blessing. I rise by uncoiling my snake tail and slither towards the pile of weapons. The bows and spears interesting, yet there is another weapon. The covering ornate, only the handle can ordinarily be seen yet there is a finger width of separation between handle and sheath, sunlight highlighting the slither of blade length and attracting my attention.
I reach for the sheath, the weapon slides smooth and soundless back into place with a snap. Tying the belt around my waist as the Overseer did, I then draw the weapon. Swinging the weapon in arcs the sunlight bounces off the length. I decide to claim the weapon.
“You don’t appear dangerous?”
I control my response. If the deep voice, probably male and human intended any harm, they would have attempted to do so with my Frost Giant protector absent instead of hailing me. No, this is his opportunity for discourse.
“Like any, we are all different levels of dangerous. Wielding this weapon …”
He interrupts, “Sword.”
I nod. “With this sword, I feel dangerous, yet I know my inexperience with the weapon would prove me vulnerable.”
“Yet, you are … calm when I, a stranger, and a human, approaches you from hiding?”
I continue swinging the sword. “You hide behind dunes, how am I to form an opinion of you?”
“You promise not to do me harm if I reveal myself?”
I slide the sword back into its sheath with a snap. I like that sound, the finality and if I were alone, I would probably try the motion again, but alas …
“I have put away my sword …” I offer.
Via [Mindlink] I inform Ottar and caution him to delay his return, although be prepared to roar into battle. He doesn’t respond, yet his feelings are plain. He relishes this game we play with these humans.
“I don’t fear your sword, I fear what I don’t know about you, but as my father would say, you can’t make an omelette without cracking a few eggs.”
“What is an omelette?” I hasten to add. “I do know of eggs …” Then I feel stupid …
There is no demeaning laughter or childlike explanation … instead excitement.
“Wonderous food, it would be my pleasure to introduce you to this gourmet delight, erm, Priestess?”
“Cardinal Pex,” I answer.
“Oh. Is Cardinal more important than Priestess?” he asks as his body rises from behind the dune. No fur of course. Brown hair, short, although full beard. Ottar would probably approve. Upon his waist a belt, a sheathed sword on each hip. Supple leather clothes, possibly armour yet not stiff like the archers from the town.
“Possibly. And who are you and why should I continue to talk to you?”
His lips draw thin as he smirks. His eyes upon mine. “Cale Exsmith, Head Overseer of Queensport.”
His name, similar in construct to Allene, a first and a last. His clothes seem well made …
“You are alone? Brave or foolhardy?”
“A leader is responsible for those he leads, and I believe an apology is due?” He bows, although his eyes maintain their fixation upon me.
Ottar, return at a casual pace, high upon the beach.
“Why did your underlings need stone from my Goddess’ Shrine, when a mountain full of stone is nearby?”
He drops to his haunches, elbows upon his knees and clasped hands under his chin. “Vanity. The stone required for a statue. For a special and important human.”
He places himself in a vulnerable position. Below me, before he can take any action, he would need to spring to his feet … I cast [Find Enemy] and immediately flashes of alerts appear behind my guest amongst the dunes, while several more ping from the direction of the ocean. I cast [Shield] and boost the spell with over half of my magic.
“Don’t your people mine the mountain?” One of Dungeon Arsu’s cautions, the main reason why she doesn’t claim the path down the mountains as one of her Zones because the humans are a plague, ravenous for minerals, wood, and wild animals.
“We do, although for precious metals, like gold, not for the kind of stone suitable for statues.”
They creep closer, now out of the water. The crashing waves covering the noise of their approach, three is their number. The cowards in the dune seem to be waiting for another signal.
A number wait amongst the dunes, please introduce them to your axe.
“Perhaps we have the basis for trade?”
His hand rubs his chin. Contemplation? Or delaying tactics?
Three weapons, at least, strike my back. Expecting the assault, I draw my sword in anticipation, their surprise allowing me to swiftly close the spear length distance between us. The first attacker I drive my fangs into their neck, pumping venom as I do. The second, recovering from his stupor withdraws his spear to ready another fruitless strike. My sword arm simply swings the blade down in his direction, my height allowing a high strike driving through his shirtless shoulder. The third didn’t wait, his legs driving him towards the surf.
An enemy closes in from behind me, so I feign chasing the third, slithering down the dune in haste. I hear a grunt from behind me and turnabout. By design my sudden forward movement the cause of Head Overseer Cale Exsmith’s miss. I am mistaken, his double miss, a sword in each white-knuckle hand, his teeth grinding.
“Surrender or die?” I ask as shouts begin to sound from behind him, amongst the rolling dunes.
He shares with me a triumphant smile. Then dismay spreads across his face as screams of pain drown out the shouting.
He lunges again. I manage to swat away one of his swords with my own. A successful parry? Both of his swords with differing ferocity still strike me and yet slide away without doing me harm.
“Who are you!” he screams.
“Do all humans have a poor memory?” I deliberately quirk my head to one side. His teeth grind as he raises his swords and charges again.
Reaching into my Goddess’ Disorder Realm I cast [Confuse]. Dropping his swords, he grabs at his head. I feel his initial resistance and then acceptance. He stands looking about, face blank. The sky enthrals him, as does the ocean … he kneels to grab a handful of sand and allow the grains to flow through his fingers. The simple things entertain him.
From the dunes, three humans stagger forward hauling a body each. Towering behind them Ottar, wide smile upon his lips and blood-red axe resting upon his shoulder as their escort.
I point to the two dead nearby and the three humans add their cargo to form a pile. They then sit adjacent to the pile of blood and gore. Ottar in the meanwhile grabs the High Overseer by his shoulders. Shortly after, Cale Exsmith comes to his senses and one accusing look at the dead and prisoners reveals to him, his weak position. Eyes thirsty for revenge he nevertheless controls his emotions and rapidly calms down. A realist then, there is hope. I nod to Ottar, who releases him.
“Now. Do I ask Ottar to crush your skull and hope your subordinate is more reasonable or are we going to come to terms?”
His head hangs low which shakes in denial. “We can come to terms … but first how do you resist spear thrusts and sword strikes?” His head rises, dark eyes searching for an answer.
“Given the afternoon is still upon us, we have time for a complete explanation. The worship of the Goddess Aphrodite is a wonderous thing …”
--- Dax, Priest of Nasim, God of Justice POV.
“Have all the preparations been made?” I try to remain proud, one hand upon my war spear, the other gripping the arm of my Priest throne. The high back of the throne accepting a recent addition, the carving of a shield, crossed spears behind.
“Yes, as best we can. Against foes not of our race, our Temple in the river on stilts would be more effective of course …”
I nod and wave him away.
The weeping of the females and young are like a serenade of doom, we are failing. The simple fact is their numbers are greater than ours. Although some of us wield his Divine magic we have been too few to make a difference and now they come for the final slaughter. Our efforts to rally new worshippers to our God thwarted, always shouted down, harassed by other Lizard Kin until they grew bold, slaughtering each Prophet ordained. Then began their true campaign, first Sites and then Shrines and now our last refuge, our Temple to Nasim, God of Justice upon the great river.
Leaning forward I push myself out of my throne. While other religions venerate at an altar, the God of Justice knows when the breakers of the law resist, blood must sometimes be shed. The spear and the shield are useful tools on those occasions. Unfortunately, our foes fight to preserve their right to use those same tools in the name of revenge and wish to deny them to us, by slaying all worshippers of Nasim, God of Justice. They seek revenge for the deposing of their chosen, Tor.
A wailing horn blows.
A heavy sigh and I grab my shield from beside the throne and as I run to defend our Temple, I equip the shield upon my right arm. Many consider my wielding of a spear in my left claw a blessing from Nasim, and I must, at times like these believe them.
---
“The blocks of stone, genius, Priest Dax!”
One of many youths look upon me as some sort of hero, yet knowledge of our own race and the tactics Lizard Kin employ upon the river, common. Swim underneath the Temple and push up through the floorboards an obvious tactic. An adoption from attacking riverside warehouses, piers and wharves or moored riverboats, the latter to hole them as a distraction so more profitable riverboats can be raided and stolen with their cargo intact. This will weaken the Temple structure and allows for intrusion if not repelled in time. That is if the heavy stone doesn’t make the task difficult. There are exceptions in important places, due to our numbers, we planned to allow the floor to be raised from below and in that moment strike down with our spears.
The losses accepted by the attackers because for every few losses there should be a breach. The failure, a shame, so the reporting back of this took the entire morning, none wishing to be the first. The river ran red with enemy blood, while we licked our wounds and bandaged the more serious.
“Rest. They only have direct assault now,” I reply with a false strength to my voice, trying to instil hope.
“Yes, but they can’t simply launch themselves from the water onto the landing, the wall we have built will surely make them pay?” explains another, his tooth lined jaws open and eager. Encouraging the few others with him to nod in enthusiastic agreement.
“Only if we stand guard and take our opportunities. Water and food and then back on watch. Every second Kin rests while they can …” My words falter as the females and children enter my throne room. I understand they believe the throne room the safest, yet once empty of warriors they would be at the mercy of any attackers regardless of the room. There would be a certainty the attackers would head for the throne room first …
“We are here to offer our assistance Priest Dax.”
I blink. Open my jaws to speak and then close them. The warriors nearby begin to hiss in laughter until I sweep them with my gaze.
“I and the warriors thank you, one and all for the food and bandaging. I can offer you the throne room for your safety …”
She shakes her head.
“You misunderstand Priest Dax. The female Lizard Kin will no longer remain passive. Waiting. We don’t wish to become victims and casualties in this religious war. Several of us will take care of the young, the rest will pick up the spears and shields of our fallen husbands, fathers, brothers and sons and defend our lives and by way of convenience this Temple.”
“You have no martial skills …”
She grins, leathery lips pulling back from sharp teeth. “Between now and the next attack each of the warriors.” Her arms wave towards my gathering of males. “Will drill us on the basics. Enough technique so we can thrust spears safely with enough force through the camouflaged holes we helped prepare in the wall around this Temple.”
By headcount, a quarter taking care of the lizardlings would leave a female count of twice our current number of warriors. The four walls would be sufficiently covered as well as some internally patrolling in case the foe repeats their first tactic while we are distracted. We are all to share the same fate, regardless, so why not accept their offer? Tradition?
“Accepted.”
My warriors surge towards me and I wave them away.
“We fail and they die anyway.” I let my response sink in. I am fortunate that the older, wiser, and more experienced warriors died defending Prophets, Sites and Shrines. All I am left with are the younger warriors, those deemed too green to wander out into the harsh world, yet respectful of my age and implied wisdom.
There are stifling murmurs …
“So, train your mothers, sisters, wives … the better you do, the greater chance they stay alive, and we stay alive.”
I wave them all away and the commotion of their departing, heartening … there is life and hope yet.