“I said bring me more wine!” the wine cup flew across the room smashing into dozens of pieces, the shards scattered atop the marble tiles. Therapon Duris, youngest son of Theodekles Duris and a scion of House Duris was turning red with shame and anger. Having rushed home after the debacle at the market, his father and older brother had witnessed his shameful appearance, his brother concealing a smile behind his upraised hand.
The entire event was soon known within House Duris after the arrival of a patrol team, and rather than demanding the execution of those responsible his father apologized to the lowly guards. Therapon had in this way lost his guards, his spending money, and soon enough his reputation. He was incensed at the weakness of his father, and afraid of what the other nobles would say, how they would treat him once the news got out. An outcast, that’s what he was doomed to become, shunned, and ridiculed by his peers.
A creak could be heard as the door to Therapon’s room opened, but rather than a servant with the requested wine, his brother Nicandros appeared. “There will be no more wine for you brother… you have stained our reputation, more so than you already do. I do not see why father continues to dote upon you… but I am happy to say that ceases today. There will no more wine, nor women for you, no longer will we turn a blind eye… and it is my duty to personally straighten you out. Tomorrow at first light you will be training alongside me and our guards. Oversleep, and I will personally come in here to whip your sorry hide into shape! Do you understand?”
Therapon simply glared at his brother, the anger was clear, and it was obvious he would not accept anything the elder Nicandros had to say. “I will do no such thing! You are not the head of the house yet brother… I will go and protest to father, clearly he is not in his right mind!” Therapon was furious, his face looked like it was boiling as he marched towards his brother who blocked the doorway.
In this moment Therapon had not put into his mind the large physically imposing stature of his older brother, the man was an accomplished soldier. The younger Duris yelled for his brother to step aside, stating that he would cut him down if necessary while wielding his fruit knife. Nicandros stared at his younger breather as if he were staring at a piece of trash on the road.
“Make me move you little shit! This moment is the clearest father’s mind has ever been… personally I hoped he would have sent you away to the countryside. The soiled tunic will make you right at home with the livestock.” The insult was too much for the younger Duris, as it brought up the shameful memories of the afternoon. Seething with anger he charged towards his brother, swinging wildly with the small knife before a powerful right hook shattered his jaw, sending him screaming to the ground.
Having delivered his message and the punishment the spoiled prick had rightfully deserved Nicandros departed. In his wake he left the crying Therapon sprawled on the marble tiles, tears and snot streaming from his eyes and nose. The dislocated and shattered jaw left the young man in pain, each cry only adding to the movement, further increasing the constant suffering.
The pain was so bad for the young Therapon that he failed to notice the shadow creeping through his open window, the hooded figure making their way until they towered over the pitiful noble. “Do you want my assistance?” speaking in a whisper, the hooded and masked intruder could barely be heard over the screams and cries of the young man. Yet somehow, he had heard the offer, ignoring that an unknown intruder had just silently entered his room and accepted the offer without hesitation.
Reaching down the figure placed its gloved hand above Therapon’s jaw mumbling unintelligible words in whispers. Slowly the hand glowed with an eerie purple light, after which strands of that darkness reached out like cloying tentacles, wrapping themselves around the young noble’s mouth. As this was happening something was moving under the figure’s gloves, followed by a thick black liquid resembling old blood dripping onto the floor from below the fabric. Then there was an audible crack, a muffled yell, followed soon after by a string of curses.
Whatever the figure had done it had worked, Therapon’s jaw was realigned, even his broken teeth had been completely restored. Even still the man was rightfully cautious of the strange creature, only now understanding the fact that this was an intruder who had entered undetected into his room. When he thought back to the strange light and the unknown magics used, fear could be seen in his gaze as his eyes drifted from one corner of the room to the other, landing on both the door and the window.
“No need to be wary scion of Duris, my master delivers an offer. A proposition that is mutually beneficial to both our parties. Agree, and tonight I can offer you the position as heir of your house. What say you?” The way in which this unknown entity spoke caused the hairs on the back of Therapon’s neck to stand on end. Yet the gift was far too enticing to reject, in any case it was possible that should he refuse to listen, the figure would kill him then and there.
“Go on… I’m listening.” Collecting himself the young noble put up a front, returning to what he knew best, arrogance, and baseless self-aggrandizement, that which buoyed his feeble superiority complex.
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Elsewhere on the opposite end of the city at the very edge of the western slums sat Gylippos, his hands drenched in blood, the body of an older man resting at his feet, a sharp stone protruding from one of his shoulders, yet he was still barely alive. Years of filth, grime, and a lack of nutrition had taken their toll on both men, identifying them as residents of the slums, with this area being the worst of them all because of the Taureas family.
“It was all your fault! Because of you those monsters took mother! But that wasn’t enough… you offered your own daughter… your own flesh and blood as collateral… for your damned addiction!” Gylippos kicked the old man with all his strength which wasn’t much, but still managed to elicit a pained groan from the man.
“Do you even care! What happened to the father who raised us with care… we trusted you, and you sold Pelopia like a fish at the market. You killed her!” Unable to contain his rage the younger Gylippos released his hate upon his father, a hail of weak punches falling towards the old man’s face. Gylippos’s father had been the cause for all their problems, often drinking and gambling away what little they had before beating both Gylippos and his sister. It was only the frayed memories of happier times, of the times before the failure of their shop, before their mother was taken by the thugs, back when before they had entered the slums that kept the two children going.
“My wonderful sister… she was the only good thing left…. Only she understood me, encouraged me… and you allowed her to go through that pain, that suffering… all for a few bottles of wine! You are scum… No, you are worse than scum, you are years of accumulated shit, piled up into one ugly package.” Gylippos struggled to speak through a curtain of tears, his voice breaking constantly. It was clear that Gylippos hated his father, despised him, but it was another matter altogether to go the extra step and kill your own flesh and blood. That little strand that remained of the boy that once was held against the man that wished to end it all.
Gylippos’s father lay there looking up towards the darkened sky, at the twin moons hanging overhead, like a pair of eyes gazing down at the world below. Watching, observing this comedy that was his life, a tragic one, but one that the prissy nobles would enjoy to watch and laugh at while they indulge themselves in food and drink. The old man was already broken inside, it was only now that the outside was catching up to reflect what lay within. His face was a mess of cuts and bruises, many of his teeth having long since rotted away or removed, with a body that was little more than a stick, emaciated to the point of skeletal while dressed in loose fitting rags.
“What are you waiting for, do it. Or are you still the same little bastard, hiding behind women. Your sister isn’t here to protect you anymore, we’re both scum you and I… So, what are you waiting for! Your failure of a father lays before you… Do what you came to do! Or are you too much of a coward… What would your sister think-” The old man had pressed too hard, although that may have been what he wanted, a way out.
Gylippos discovered a nearby slab of rock from a collapsed Insulae, big enough to need two hands, yet light enough that he could lift. He hesitated when he lifted the stone, hesitating, his thoughts focused on his sister, what she would say. It was at that moment that the old man triggered his son, in that moment all hesitation and thoughts of leaving disappeared and the slab was brought down with all the force Gylippos’s thin arms could muster. The weight of the rock in addition to the force of the strike smashed the old man’s head like an overripe tomato, bit of brain and bone were splattered across Gylippos’s body.
Those who had spent long enough within the slums would have become desensitized to the violence, death was a neighbor, and often one would find bodies laying in a trash heap, awaiting the corpse collector’s arrival. His sister, his poor Pelopia had been the same, she had not survived the first three days of what the brutes of the Taureas did to her. He had gone to save her, found a way to do so, but he had been too late… a single gold talen, that is what he was given, the price for his priceless sister’s life.
Gylippos took another glance at his father’s corpse, as the memories from his youth flooded in, he couldn’t stop the bile from rising to the surface. The vomit stinging the throat as he released everything onto the dirty broken streets. “Those bastards, I will kill those bastards who did this… Argades, I swear upon the gods that I will carve out your vile heart. No matter what it takes… I cannot die until then.” A fire was burning in the young man’s eyes, most likely the only thing that kept him from ending his own life then and there.
Picking up the pieces of his shattered life Gylippos held firm to that one gold coin, the only reminder of his wonderful, loving sister. Without a direction he stumbled away from his father’s body, disappearing down one of the many dark alleys. Where he would go, even he did not know, drifting wherever fate guided him, so long as the gods answered his wishes, he did not care.
