Hellas.

Kriti.

On a hilltop above the City of Dori.

Deimos looked at the encampment. It had grown larger in the past few days. The army was growing. Many were bandits masquerading as mercenaries. The city of Dori itself had increased its contribution by assigning many of its defending soldiers to the gathering force.

Unfortunately, calls to allied cities had resulted in token contributions. A far cry from the numbers initially committed. So far, only around 2,000 had arrived. A strength which included more mercenaries. Cannon fodder.

Some allies had to decline as Dionysian festivals were in full swing in their cities. Their rulers were keen to avoid resentment from soldiers who were looking forward to the festivities.

Deimos was starting to feel angry. Their recent crushing defeat had made the mortals warier. The ignominious way Ares was defeated added to the reluctance of Dorian cities. Not to mention that the Champion and his minotaur pet were quickly disposed of by that High Mage and his companions. He cursed the reticence and fickle minds of mortals, kings and ruled alike.

Phobos, on the other hand, was deeper in the Dorian Hills. Organizing and mobilizing beasts and spirits who followed the battle-god. Deimos was keen to use them. They could soften up the defenses, keep the men in line and act as the vanguard of the attack. And there were a lot of them.

More importantly, some beasts and beings could be diverted to harass the Pelasgoi, hindering their ability to help Akrotiri. He decided to do so immediately. It might draw off some Pelasgoi troops from the city. They have proven to be doughty warriors. The backbone of the city's defenses. He called one of the army's couriers.

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“Thy Will, my Lord?” said the courier. A keres. A winged abomination made out of the bones of a man and reptile. This creature is but one of the many variations. One of the contributions of Eris.

“Send this message to my brother,” he ordered. As he watched the creature fly away, he couldn’t help but feel that there were plenty of gaps in his understanding of the entire grand play.

The goddess refused to come out from her domain near the gates of Hades but lent some minions to the brothers. She did mention more aid, but she will not grace the battle with her presence. Even her minions appeared to be busy.

The brothers were surprised. Eris was a goddess who basked in the death and tumult arising from battle. For her to say no was strange indeed. But the brothers knew better than to pry. The displeasure of the goddess of discord was not a matter to be courted.

As to the patrons of their father, their representative, a dark hooded and masked man, disappeared the same time Ares got dumped with that mountain of stone. That man was an evil entity. The hideous and fearful aura that surrounded him dwarfed the power of the gods of terror and horror. His true nature was blacker than the pits of Tartarus, Deimos was sure. His brother concurred. Both of them were surprised at and apprehensive about their father's involvement with them.

They both knew their father’s intelligence and common sense sometimes desert him. This appears to be one of those times. Fortunately, the being had left behind some of its fast travel parchments. Those would help. But he feared what commitments his father had made with such dark and evil creatures.

He turned his gaze to the tents below. A Champion. Or Champions. It’s high time anyway for the gods of fear and terror to have their own.