David White
Stories
4
Chapters
1,771
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1.0 K
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5 m
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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 with hulking redheads, this was a permanent settlement. One built to last. Unsurprisingly, it was a Macedonian addition. Even less surprising than that, it was a desecrated shell of what Alexander had…-
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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 workings of stone that a city state required had altered that landscape in a profound way. Made it difficult to truly compare the land of my birth to these northern wilds. Fertile land was a luxury in the…
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92 •
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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 least build serviceable walls, and for all that the Egyptians disgusted me in a deep and personal way, I could not deny the magnitude and grandeur of their cultural works. For all my qualms with the…
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92 •
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For the concept of a These lesser mysteries were the source of inspiration for most men of virtue. Logistically, it was impossible for things to be any other way. A Greek cultivator was an exceptional existence, but the greater mystery cults were even more exceptionally selective than that. A man had ten choices and ten choices alone if he coveted the pursuit of highest virtue. This was the first and in some ways most important decision he would have to make in his life. The pursuit of heaven was a…
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92 •
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“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 above while we traversed the Thracian countryside. Griffon led the way with his virtue, rosy pankration hands hanging like lanterns around our heads and drifting with the current of his thoughts. The constructs…
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92 •
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Our objective in Thracia was simple. It was also nearly worthless. A golden cup filled with spirit wine. That was all the guidance 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 into the vast expanse of Thracia and fill the first golden cup I found with the cheapest spirit wine available. Accounting for the time wasted sailing here and back, we were out a week of travel…
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92 •
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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 I was a boy, and the Greek perspective had differed little from the Roman perspective. Northeast of Macedonia and separated from the Aegean Sea only by a thin line of coastal greek colonies, the greater…
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92 •
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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 When the prodigal son of the late Anargyros Aetos first received my father’s blessing to venture out into the wider world, setting sail for greater shores, the Eos had seemed to me a lonely vessel. Nikolas, a senior Philosopher at the time, had led her over the horizon with the deft capability he showed in all things. But even so, there had been…
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92 •
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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. That she had survived a year and then half a year again without any scars to show for it was miraculous enough already. When an initiate of a greater mystery cult considered even the natural born citizens of their city to be a lesser existence, it went without saying that their slaves were worth about as much to them as a loyal dog. Sometimes less. The…
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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 the beach hauling swordfish as large as their torsos. The sight alone was enough to provoke my hunger, evoking vivid memories of the roasted filets Griffon had served at the Kronia. I debated my next…
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