sunslammers

1.82

The Son of Rome

After three days and four nights spent wandering the boundless lands of Thrace, we found our first true city. More than just a collection of brutal nomads and whatever burdens they could carry - like a haggard Roman legion with no clear chain of command - or a system of mountain passes and caves overflowing...

1.81

The Young Griffon

On the third day, we sent the sea dog home.

The lands of Thracia were an unmarked expanse of snow capped mountain ranges and lush river valleys, with civilized settlements slim to none. My own Scarlet City had nestled itself between two mountain ranges and straddled a river, but the monuments and wo...

1.80

The Son of Rome

The Thracian kingdom could hardly be called as such. In my time I had seen some truly dilapidated capitals, and borne witness to some heinously destitute kings, but they had always carried with them a sense of primitive weight. The Celtic kings were at least properly crowned, the hulking Gauls could at leas...

1.79

The Young Griffon

For the concept of a greater to exist, a lesser was also required to give it meaning. For a man to be notably tall, a distance notably far, a body of water notably deep, there had to be a corresponding norm that each of them surpassed. It followed, then, that for a greater mystery cult t...

1.78

The Son of Rome

“The kyrios of the Raging Heaven was a Hero before he was the Tyrant riot,” Scythas spoke softly as we rode beneath the light of stars. “And before that, he was only a man. Dutiful, and later wise, but ultimately no greater or lesser than any other mortal soul.”

A half moon rose steadily up ab...

1.77

The Young Griffon

Our objective in Thracia was clear. It was also nearly worthless.

A golden cup filled with spirit wine. That was all the Gadfly had given us, along with a vague marker on an endless charter of land to find it in. The belligerence in my heart urged me to take him at his most literal word, dip my toe ...

1.76

The Son of Rome

Thracia, otherwise known as the nation with no definite boundaries, was a barbaric land in every sense of the word. Its cultures were unrefined, its peoples were savages, and its treatment even of allies was brutally cruel. My father as well as Aristotle had both told me stories of the Thracian tribes when ...

1.75

The Young Griffon

As a boy first learning how to sail beneath my father’s watchful eye, the Eos had seemed to me a daunting vessel. She was large for what she was. Not a trireme, not even a true war galley, but larger than any trade ship. My father had designed her in the Phoenician style - rather than the four-...

1.74 [Athis]

Athis

The Caged Dove

Life in the Rosy Dawn Cult was miserable.

Athis knew it was an ungrateful sorrow. From the very beginning, her prospects had been hopelessly bleak as a slave. That she had survived a year and then half a year again without any scars to show for it was miraculous enough alre...

1.73

The Son of Rome

We moved with purpose through the dock city. It was a good day for sailing, as far as I could tell - though admittedly I was far from an expert. The abundance of blue-backed tuna, mackerel, and vibrant dorado on display spoke to good fishing if nothing else. I even spotted a few mongers a bit further down t...

1.72

The Young Griffon

I collapsed onto my back in the sand, breathing heavily. My body ached fiercely, satisfying as it throbbed. I ran my tongue over my bottom lip and prodded the split flesh. Sol had given it to me good with the first punch, I’d allow him that much. Of course, I’d given him twice as much in return.

1.71

The Son of Rome

Having aired his frustration, Griffon seemed to shake the worst of his foul mood. Whether it was relief after admitting it, or irritation with himself for letting it show so clearly, he throttled his violent intent and restrained himself to his usual provocations. We both took a dip in the Ionian, and then ...

1.70

The Young Griffon

Olympia‘s western dock town was as I remembered it, though it felt downright decrepit after weeks spent in the grandest city in the free Mediterranean. Stout wooden constructions were the standard out here, no amethyst-veined marble or towering bronze doors. It was refreshing, in a way. The beaches were...

1.69

The Son of Rome

Anastasia‘s shadow pulled away deliberately from mine beneath the wood-carved table, an active separation that was impossible to see and nearly impossible to feel. I nearly hadn’t noticed it at all, the sensation for some reason so much deeper now than the last time I remembered feeling it that I’d al...

1.68

The Young Griffon

I leaned back.

Six Heroic cultivators crowded around the table alongside Sol and I. They had been at the furthest edges of the room when the story began, but now each of them leaned forward on elbows and crossed arms to get as close to the fading papyrus as they could.

In the dull silence that...

1.67 [Aetos - END]

Youngest of the Convocation

Tribulation lightning.

There were as many explanations for it as there were thinking cultures on the earth. From the truly ancient civilizations of Mesopotamia and golden Egypt, to the lowest barbarian hovels in the east and west, every cultivator knew a singular truth. Regard...