Red Athens, Song of Persia, Ancient Mesopolis Tower --- 550trill Hong Kong

Hours passed. The guard would walk up and down the gate, looking for something, and when this young poet came upon the records of their escape, and of course they did, it appeared that some powerful force had been brought to bear. In truth, there were two.

            “Leonidas did this.”

            “Why him?”

            “That Green Spartan hates all of Red Athens. He let the mages into his temples, and it is said, even slept with one of the woman. The jews call the child the anti-christ.”

            The gate opened. A god stood there. One can tell a god has taken control of the scene when an impossible situation turns into a promising one. What matters here is, the god, small as he was, be Janus.

            “Red Athens must survive the end,” the small man said. “But there is a war in the heavens brewing. You mustn’t leave your father’s side. The mages,” he leaned in, “do not believe.”

            The documents point to Knyght looking with awe at the god. Yes, many believed in gods, the descendants of the Dorians had many. But a Sky Roman god showing himself?

            “I believe you know of my destiny,” a shaken Pericles Knyght said to the god.

            “Yes, we all do. It ends.”

            “That must be the quote of the day.”

                                                           

4

And so they escaped. They marched unabated through gate after gate, Janus the keeper of the gates seemingly having a key for each lock. Knyght wondered about the gods on many a day. His father, once, said he had spoken to Athena.

            “So I mustn’t leave the city?” He asked Calli.

            “I would say this to you: the line of Pericles must survive in the face of Green Sparta,” Calli responded. “They take you, Sky Rome falls”

            “But Blue Babylon and Hammurabi—“

            “Are setting you up? Sky Rome once lost an entire army to Gaul bandits after such a call was made. An entire line of Romulus descendants died in battle. The city had to scrape every ounce of gold from their homes else the city be burned by the barbarians. Bad things happen to princes who think too much.”

            Once out, Janus drew a spell which opened a golden doorway. “Cities will burn, but you have the mark of Aries, and that says much.” He left.

The march back to Red Athens was not without trials. Once, while crossing a stream, a massive beast came from it, screaming a hoarse language that was just as terrifying as that of hell. Now, Knyght wanted to run, as many of us do, but this beast came at him too quickly not to face. He stood his ground, feeling the rush, going for his blade, only to see the smile of Calli—they were both unarmed. The beast continued to scream, but did not attack. Finally, it grumbled and ran off, only to be chased. Knyght never liked a coward. Finally, when Calli was out of sight, he called upon the woods to become alive. A fire emminated from his palms; he sent it towards the beast. It was said by many wordsmiths, this flame was as rich as those from deep within the earth. The water beast had no chance.

            A few minutes later, back at the stream, Knyght put his arm around Calli. They continued there march, Calli laughing the whole way. “You chased off a water demon. You were going to kill it.”

            “Nature has more demons than Hades. Sometimes, Hades fills with so many, they burst out into the world. A simple magik trick to harness them. Someone followed us. Someone thinks me weak.”

                                                            5

Opti had no sense of surprise when he saw his son enter the throne room. Disappearing princess wounded by assassins, a mark on Calli’s, and not even a flinch from the father. He walked to them, held his son close merely to see into his eyes, and began laughing.

            They all took to the strong drink that night. Calli, being Sky Roman, took to it more than the others. His yellow armor became stained whenever he tried to juggle his drinks by hand.

            “Delphi,” Knyght whispered, “Why?”

            Opti looked to him. “Perhaps because you play with things meant for the gods.”

            “You don’t like my choice of career?”

            Opti turned his back to his son. “I like little that you do. The same with my father. He never understood my machinations for politics. I am confused by magik.  I see men going mad with it. That is all I fear, Pericles.”

            Knyght stood. “What If I no longer wanted to be a Pericles.”         

            “You cannot forget your family.”

            “But I must. The world changes. These things are all falling into place. Something tells me a monster is at our gate waiting to unleash Hades.” He walked around in a circle. “I see things, sometimes, at night. And it be not my madness—that madness you try to hide—but a people’s desire for blood. I dream, dream of a cities burning. What can one man do?”

            “A democracy we be, my son. I can tell you one thing: Red Athens may fall, but, like Atlantis, will never be forgotten.”

Ch 2.

A scholar told me of the next events. All one need to know be this: a call to arms was  made, an invasion of the east was planned, and the cross on Knyght’s shoulder screamed of impending disaster.

“We should not leave our people to die.”

“We shouldn’t; Ionia holds Red Athens citizens.”

“It would be a fallacy, father. Green Sparta needs only a second’s edge to take the walls of the city.”

“My son, you are smart, but beyond understanding of the big picture. They kill me, I will be hailed as a martyr, the other  isles will gather, the fleet will assemble, and Red Athens is victorious.”

“I don’t see it happening like that. One thing all democracies fear is evil.”

The father to son chat began much like this. Pericles Opti, a man of indomitable strength, usually agreed with the youngest of his sons. For some reason, the boy had a call to power, but his leadership, the king thought, was as weak as his understanding of math.

Tears took to Pericles Knyght’s eyes. The unfeeling prince showed emotion. He slammed a fist on the wooden table.

“Be damned with martyrs.  Is it all of our destinies to die these damned tragic deaths! I intend to be a beginning, not an ending.”

            A true breed of warrior, Pericles all be, and like a tide taking to the sea, one cannot hope to understand the plight of Red Athens without understanding the darkness descending.  This writer sees something big happening—and only one of the Pericles line understands it. The works of Jude say Pericles Opti smiled to his son’s emotions. He took to the pounding of his son’s fist with joy; the boy grew before his eyes; but the kings resolve didn’t lessen … a tyger was he.

            Pericles Knyght left the room, tears coming down, ashamed and afraid, doubtful and distraught, he decided that he would stop the mission on his own. He loved the city too much, his father too, and wouldn’t leave it unguarded.

            He went to the sole man he could trust. For some reason, much of what you here in the pages of books about Sky Rome is the wolf skins and the many gods, based on Greeks as they were. Calli, I believe, sensed something different, something Sky Roman, in the young warrior.  Born to the belief of his call, Calli had decided long ago to meet his end protecting the next king of Red Athens.

            “Janus,” Knyght said hours after the party, to the warrior of Sky Rome. “I read he is the god of gateways.”

            “The gateways to all things: hell, paradise, and the line between.”

            “I would like to know his power, be an ally.”

            Calli laughed. “Is Athena not enough for you Red Athenians? Does Aries touch not sit well with you?”

            Knyght smiled. He walked out. The room they were in, called Ogadi, was based upon the travels of one Red Athens greatest warriors to a place called Afrikana. It told an epic story, where one man, blade pictured in hand, would face off against much when the evils of the lands opened up. The picture of the final scene drew Knyght to it: the blade, it seemed to go through both the hero and the villain. But he wasn’t sure what it meant. He was a battle mage, not a blade master. Destiny sitting on his shoulders, he thought back to the times when one could go to Delphi and  hear no surprises.  Now, in the Ogadi room, he questioned if it was in him to do it, to end the war with a thrust, only to lose a life.

            “You stare much.”

            “Yes,” Knyght replied to Calli.

            “Because you see your destiny in a portrait?”

            “I see it everywhere.”

                                                                        2

They left. Pericles Knyght became obsessed. Calli talked him out of his words, for the tyger of Red Athens be the king who understood what risks to take. Somehow, the Red Athenian’s tears had no affect. He did as his father ordered. He was much, but all because Pericles Opti had protected the city for so long before. He had to trust in this, go against his instincts, but be damned if he felt the overarching doom coming to the city of Red. 

“Tell me why?” Calli stood in between Verce and Numid.

            “Let the boy ponder,” replied Verce, a pipe in his mouth. Numid merely shook his head, downed the rest of his drink, and walked away. Now, the Free Celt Verce was apt to go against anything Calli said. A rivalry brewed between Sky Rome and the Free Celt empire.

            He did look like the perfect Free Celt. Born of the Gaul gods, he turned into quite the leader, the best of politicians. The blue paint on his face and arms was only a reminder of the chaos he played with. There is an old saying which sums up the Verce’s people: between a pact of wolves and a Celt, always run towards the wolves.

            Calli grunted. “Do you know how to spell your name, son to Chaos?”

            “Let us keep magik out of the conversation,” Knyght said, walking away from the impending verbal argument. He understood that, for some reason, he had an easier time making friends outside of his people than inside. He would be willing to lay his life down for these troubled foreigners. Would he do the same for Red Athens? Could he?

            “The mark of Aries,” he said to Verce.

            “What of it, young Knyght?” This points out that Verce, though he aged well, was turning towards the point of merely being a politician. He couldn’t outrun the young warriors like he once could. But he fought on anyways, not letting the age, the aches, take control—for he controlled.

            “What do your people think of pieces of the gods?”

            Verce smiled. “A mark such as that would make you a king of much. The peoples of Gaul believe in much, the chaos of Thorn, the absolutes of Death, and the truth behind marks given by gods.”

            “But you don’t even  believe in his gods!” Calli pointed out.

            “I believe any signs from the gods should be taken—for there are few today, less tomorrow.”

            A week passed. Some ships came past them. One burned. They stopped the voyage, came close enough to take a small boat there, Knyght leading, Verce and Calli sitting too close for comfort, and Numid sticking on the ship, as Carthaginians were apt to never leave their sea masters.

            The arrows came first, the bows peaking out of the holes in the ship, fire on the tips, one nailing Calli in the arm and when  he screamed, and he did, there rose a bloodlust in Knyght. They had been set up by the Blue Babylonians. Smart trick, he thought to himself. This battle mage put his hand in the sea, a flood of water rose into the air, arrows still flying, now clearly a few swordsmen in blue on the deck. And when the water collided, he felt the pain and glory that was war.

            They had to jump off the small boat as it went to the flames. Within seconds the water had enveloped this second ship. Aboard another, faster ship, they continued toward the  lands of Ionia.

            “I have to be smarter,” the youngest Pericles said.

            “In a sense,” Verce said as they went back on board. “it would appear you feel cursed by your powers.”

            “But I took to the mage schools; I made the choice.”

            “We all make poor choices. I have made an infinite number, like going on this death mission.”

            “Why say that? My father is smart—“

            “But you have no choice, do you? One Red Athens colony falls, the rest will see you weakening, they will ally with the victors, and the war will be over in a matter of time. You face impossible odds, young mage.”

Whilst they continued, ships took them through the wide sea, past the islands, to Ionia, the backdoor to the Red Athens empire. Knyght thought, while on voyage, to the times he could run across the beaches of Ionia without fear. His father would laugh with his mother, and they would hold each other close.

            He had met with his father once before, this scholar will note, and the words exchanged are still a mystery. Some say the son told the father he intended to become a battle mage, and the father, prone to rages, nearly had one. Others say the son simply toyed with the illegal magiks, and this disturbed Pericles Opti.

            Days passed. Knyght drew images, his hobby outside of magik readings. Drew and watched as something on the horizon came to meet the fleet. There was disorder in the land of Red Athens, and being a Pericles he felt it more than anyone else. He sensed something within his father—a lie any tax collector would catch. Did his father truly intend to be a martyr?

            The shores looked quite chaotic: buildings burning, people running and yelling, soldiers with heads off, soldiers cut to pieces.

            Once ashore, the young mage going into a small strong point on the beaches of Ionia.  According to the texts, Numid the Carthage prince and Verce the Celt were already ahead of them, leaving the ship immediately, preparing a battle strategy.

            “What has the world come to,” Knyght said entering the room, “where one, who has to fight off the girls, sees two who must chase them down?”

            Numid smiled, as did Verce.  Numid is an interesting character unto himself. Most people, when thinking of Carthage, will note how they threw babies into the fires for sacrifice; this also happened on a daily basis in Green Sparta. But Numid was a different kind of prince; some said he came directly from a line of Nubian pharaohs.

            Verce put a blade to Knyght’s chest.  “I see only two reasons to keep you alive: you are pretty, and so is your mother.”

            Calli grasped Knyght, and,  pretending to laugh, had inched forward into the blade almost drawing blood. “Let us not rush,” Verce said, “into a battle before we don’t know who we face.”

            “Blue Babylonians. Hammurabi bow. Legions of warriors,” said Calli, “it has all been seen before. They lack the fighting spirit free men have.”

            The Blue Babylonians were led by a series of warriors said to be the sons of Hammurabi—they be the Hammurabi Bow. There is also the story of the second city of Blue Babylon being built over a piece of hell. The mages there said it would enhance them. Some said the entire belief system of this epic race changed: they began to kill even there own, a power hungry emperor stopped the freedoms of the citizens, and mad demons flew over the city.

            The battles came to the colony of Ionia.

The small band went and took command of the walks along the city. Blue Babylonian soldiers put the small Greek city on siege. Massive catapults were brought up. The screaming of the soldiers on each side made Knyght frown. He had yet to see such a hate between two peoples. Even Green Spartans were said to fight with honor, to the last man or not, they wouldn’t murder prisoners, but would make them slaves.

            The group stood on the edge of the farthest wall. “Why, again, are we standing so close to the walls … to death?”

            “A man who lives once has no advantage, where a man who dies—“

            “Without the jokes.”

            “I seek to see what makes them. If we are to beat them, we first must understand them.” Knyght pulled out a small “square scope” as it was called. He looked deep within the Blue Babylon lines, but couldn’t take his eye off of the Carthage diplomat. He admired the power of the people, even if they were rivals in Sicily. He knew if Blue Babylon allied with Green Sparta the fate of the world would be balanced.

            Deep within the lines, past the catapults and the archers in blue, was Hammurabi. They said the Hammurabi line had fallen to evil and power. It was also said the first laws of chaos were formed in Blue Babylon. A battle mage was curious.

            An arrow killed a soldier standing on the wall, entering into his eye; her cried out for a second. And the battle began. Numid threw Knyght to the ground, ducked himself, and began cursing in Pheonican language. “Let it be another day, boy.” The diplomat stood, took a bow from the dead soldier, and began firing. The story goes, he died firing arrows protecting a people he barely knew. Even Calli respected this death, for a Sky Roman understood the honor of the warriors from North Afrikana.

The scholars are differing on what happened next. Some said Ionia fell, and the  heroes failed, because they refused to strike back with magiks. Now, Blue Babylon used the magiks of hell. Some said that, in the face of the catapult shots and fireballs, Knyght stood holding the line against the empire. His small band stood strong against the onslaught, only to see the white flag go up. They, being adventurers, took a small band of elite soldiers to the ship, went around the canal, and entered in behind the massive lines of Hammurabi. They found a hill, and for a moment, the mark of Aries warned Knyght of someone with them, of a gate opening close; or maybe it was his magik; maybe …

            “Where does justice begin and peace end?” Janus stood on a hill. It is said Pericles Knyght got a closer look to the Sky Roman god, the keeper of the gates of time, the two faces god who could save you, then torture and kill you, as that is what the real gods did—played like boys in their toy houses.

            “We failed. Our presence did nothing.”

            “All people fail in life, someway or another, they grow up in blood.”

            Again, Knyght pulled out  his scope. This was a deep disrespect to the god, as he seemed to be ignoring the deity. The city of Ionia began to burn. The  last hold of the Red Athen’s empire to the east was gone. Green Sparta had an army willing to batter down the rest.

            “I have to do something!” He threw the scope down. “I am a Pericles!  I do not fail.”

“There are infinite options for infinite failures.” Janus said. “You are at the beginning, where you have too many choices. The one wall you fear you can’t escape is the one you must find.” The god moved his finger forming a square of light and then doorway—he disappeared.

            Knyght looked over to Calli. Verce was behind them, eyeing for advance scouts of the enemy. 

            “I have an idea,” Knyght said. He smiled. “Perhaps I will look better in Babylonian Blue.”

                                                            3

Young scholar, Calli may have been smart, Numid and Verce talented, but this hero did many stupid things. The documentation is there, the facts tell the same story. The Pericles line, some said, allowed for failure at the greatest levels. But why would one tell a story without a succeeding hero?

Outside the Blue Babylon lines, Calli couldn’t believe it. He watched the Red Athens prince kill a scout, undress him, and say something to the coming winds. It is said, according to the Tellers of Mycenae, much like the minotaurs could hide behind masks, so too could certain men of Dorian blood, the richest line of Greeks. Or so it was said.