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Alecto: The Red Fury's Return
- Alecto: The Red Fury's Return -
And so it was, that the wrathful warrior woman known as Hermesia went forth from the lands of the great empire of Byzantium and by horse, wagon and her own feet and willpower she did arrive soon at the shores of the Greek island of Delos, in the Mediterranean sea, wither had come a certain mystical scroll that she had suffered greatly to obtain ere her time in the city of her birth came to its' end. There was naught left for her there once her campaign of vengeance was finished... yet, even so she could not simply put aside her sword and fight no more. But she was having a crisis of faith, for during the awful trials that befell ere she turned to the path of the warrior rather than the priestess... the goddess Cybele had not answered her heart-sent prayers, not even during the hours of her greatest torments. It was not the goddess who had saved her in the end, but soldiers loyal to the cult of Cybele, rather than any sort of mystical being or otherworldly force. And that caused her to question, and her questions only grew with time, so that she had a great desire to learn the origins of the sacred scroll itself and find out if it was indeed imbued with supernatural power. For she had studied it, mastered all the rites, rituals and spells that it contained, and ever did she feel something within her that was not there previously. But it was a nameless sort of thing, and she wanted to be able to understand it better. The old eunuch who was the head of the cult in the city of her birth had given the scroll into her keeping, feeling that none other could be entrusted with its' secrets better than she... the only woman, the only person, who had ever it seems been able to unlock them. Or so did the old eunuch believe of her! She was not certain that it had any real power at all, and started to wonder if the true power was within her all the time. And thus was it that she disembarked from the vessel that bore her hither, and made landfall on the shores of Delos.
She was a very powerful looking woman, the great Hermesia was! Though she had slender shoulders and bones... she trained hard until her muscles rivaled those of any gladiator of old Rome, and her dark skin was as of the sort of hue that brought to mind the peoples of North Africa, whence her ancestors of old had originated. Her eyes were darkest brown, large, and filled with a certain sparkle to them that in her former professions men found alluring to look upon. Her hair was cut short in a style oft favored by men or boys, and she had it dyed a deep blood red color. She kept it thus, for to her it was a symbol of her newfound calling... a fierce calling founded on blood and blade. Today was a warm day, in the early spring of the year, and she was dressed appropriately for the Mediterranean weather of that season. She wore clothing that was probably more common in the lands to the east, having spent some years there as a sword for hire before deciding to embark upon this adventure. A knee-length tunic, crimson in hue, with gold trim at the bottom of its' skirts and sleeves, beneath which she wore a pair of baggy trousers that were tied at the waist and ankles with drawstring. The trousers had a draped style to them and were of an elegant design, fit for eastern nobility... a gift to her from a grateful princess whose honor she had defended, the only payment she accepted for the deeds she performed in that great lady's name. Upon her head she wore a gilded circlet that had in its' front center a fiery looking ruby gemstone. A pair of boots, of the old Roman design, were upon her feet... and in her ears she wore a pair of small gold loop earrings, to match the gold nose ring that she also now favored. She also had upon her wrists a pair of leather wristbands with metal studs, gold in color, decorating them. Lastly did she wear a necklace of black pearls around her neck, and a wide sash belt was about her waist... with a fiery looking print that resembled orange flames upon its' fabric. She carried in a sheathe upon her back a curved saber of the variety favored by eastern warriors of the desert lands, and all who looked upon her took her to be of the nobility of that part of the world. Though her reputation preceded her in many places she visited, and it was a reputation that commanded either fear or respect from others. She had decided never to be a victim again, not ever again! And by her blade, those deserving of death became the victims instead. She was a mercenary, an avenger, and to some a holy terror. That is why they called her the Red Fury.
“Madam, are you really sure you wish to disembark here, today?” asked the pilot of the ship that had brought her to Delos. She answered, her sultry voice in stark contrast to her sometimes brutish manner, yet showing a slight bit of irritation at a question she thought was ridiculous: “By every hell! Of course I wish to disembark here... I've paid you well enough in coin to take me hither. And why not today? Ere we departed, you said nothing to indicate that there was any sort of a problem with this.” To which the man, who looked very much like the typical seaman of those times, said with a bit of a nervous tinge to his speaking: “To be honest with you, I had forgotten what day it was. Normally, there is no problem with bringing people to this isle, and many are drawn to it because of its' history. But, on one certain day, a specific day out of the year... they say that unquiet spirits, and possibly demons from the ancient days stalk the ruins that can be found in various places on the island. I think today... might be that day.” to which the Red Fury asked, her exasperation showing visibly: “How, would you even know what day today is? I mean, it is not as if you have some device or chart, or other means of keeping track of the days upon either your person or this rather small boat of yours. I've seen your cabin, or what passes for one, and you've barely anything of worth or real use to anyone there... believe me, I had considered stealing my money back from you when you started singing annoying sailor's songs halfway through the voyage. I'd think you the worst sailor ever, but at least you got us here in one piece! But seriously, what makes you think today of all days, is this frightful day you speak of?” and then the sailor pointed off in the direction of a rocky stretch to the west of the beach. Hermesia followed with her eyes the direction the man indicated and saw there a robed figure that was almost ghostly in the early morning light. They had made it to Delos at the very break of dawn, on whatever day it was when they made landfall there, and somehow the rising sun was making that whole rocky area appear slightly strange with a rosy hue that made the robed individual seem practically ethereal. “Do you think it could be a ghost?” asked the warrior woman, to which the sailor made a sign with his hands to ward off evil and admitted: “I must confess, that I do my lady! I honestly do.” To which the woman laughed dismissively and strode off in the direction of the supposed ghost. As she did so, the sailor called out, his voice almost quivering with fear: “Do not say I did not try to warn you, my lady! I will be in my cabin, praying well for your safety.”
Hermesia licked her full lips and squinted a bit as she tried to make out better the figure that she was approaching. She called out to it: “You there! Shrouded one... who are you, and why do you watch us as we make landfall on this isle? If you mean us harm, you will find my blade thirsty for your blood!” To which the spectral figure called out, its' voice that of a young woman: “I know who you are, you are the one they call Alecto, the Red Fury! You cut a rather distinct figure, if I may say so... one that is a lot more impressive than the tales told of you make out.” Hermesia was not a tall woman by any means at all, but she was physically powerful and it was said she could crush a man's skull between her palms if she so desired to. She could not, but she liked that people believed she could! She smiled, allowing her pride in her reputation to show just a little as she said to the hooded and cloaked young woman: “You are no ghost, girl! Despite what that foolish sailor may have thought. So, you have the advantage of me in this case... tell me, what do you wish of me, for no one who awaits my coming does so unless they have a proposition to make. Or a challenge! And you appear somewhat slender under those garments, at least as I get closer to see you better... so I doubt you seek to meet my blade. Thus, I can only assume it is myself that you wish to meet instead. What may I do for you, if anything?” To which the girl said to the Red Fury: “I wish to help you understand better the power that our sacred scroll has granted you.” and there was no way anyone could have known the purpose of Hermesia's quest. Only the old eunuch, along with several other trustworthy members of the cult of Cybele that had become her family, knew of her desire to journey to Delos, and why she desired to do so at all. Hermesia therefore said unto the girl: “Are you from the cult of Cybele, by any chance? If so, it would seem you got here before I did!”
But the girl, who still had her features and form mostly hidden, explained: “No, I am not from your cult, my lady... rather, there are those of your cult who serve other masters and mistresses here on the island of Delos. And there are messenger birds who can travel far indeed, when the need is pressing. I received word of your journey and the reason for it, and you may trust that I do not mean you harm or ill will at all... rather, as I stated, I wish only to help you to learn all that you seek of your time here.” And the girl pulled her hood back, revealing a young woman of thin, aquiline features who had a totally shaved head and the absolutely palest green eyes that Hermesia had ever seen in her entire life. This girl's face was painted with strange markings that looked almost diabolical in their design, like certain symbols used in various infernal sects who worshiped demons and devils. The girl's cloak was of palest white coloration, but her skin was somehow even paler, almost the color and hue of chalk but with a kind of luminosity to it that made it seem unnaturally so. And, she was every bit as skinny as Hermesia had suspected her of being. Perhaps too skinny to be healthy! The girl was much younger than her tone of voice would indicate, likely twelve or thirteen years old given her short height and very youthful, but sickly, appearance. Yet, she had an imperious sort of tone to her voice, and a rather specific accent as well. One that the warrior did recognize from meeting travelers from far away lands. Hermesia asked the girl about it: “You are from distant Britannia, are you not?” to which the girl corrected her, thence explaining: “The regions north of Hadrian's Wall, actually... a land of shadows and gloom compared to these warmer climes, where in some locations the old ways are still honored. I am a disciple of the old ways, and those I serve here on Delos have taught me even older ways still. Whilst yes, the cult that you serve had a presence here once in the distant past, there are no longer any on Delos who serve Cybele... nor are there any remaining of the cult of Apollo that once was most dominant of all upon this island.” To which the warrior woman inquired wonderingly: “Then who does call this place home, if you don't mind telling me?” but the strange, pale girl only said: “Those I serve now, who like me so await you.” And she beckoned for Hermesia to follow her, which the warrior woman did... though cautiously. She had seen witches like this girl before, and some were good whilst others were evil. The markings this girl bore on her flesh were not those of the good, light variety. Whoever she was, this child was very much a disciple of darkness. And that meant, that the scroll Hermesia had studied... though it once did originate with the cult of Cybele... it had at one point been in the hands of those who revered demons. And perhaps they had tainted it somehow, if it did contain any real magic! This was a thought that was terrifying to Hermesia, for whilst she had no fear of any flesh and blood foe... demons and witches had subtler means of fighting, and against spells, curses, and poisons even the mightiest warrior might fall. The Red Fury was not known to be superstitious... but she was rightfully cautious, about certain things.
It was good that Hermesia had eaten well the previous night before making landfall, because ere long the young witch had led her through various winding paths all across the island so that it was nigh unto midday before they got to their destination. By then, a storm had blown in, and the sky was so dark that it may as well have been dusk. Here, there was a group of ancient Greek ruins from a time long before even the empire of Rome had been thought of... broken columns, shattered walls, and pieces of rubble that once had been a magnificent temple in all likelihood. It was a very remote place, compared to the location of the beach where the sailor's ship remained behind... a gloomy and grim looking place that was made even more so by the ominous turning of the weather. The witch looked about and then, at the last, seemed to indicate that she found what she was seeking. There, on one of the few walls that were remaining intact, the girl pushed a certain stone inward, which caused a loud grating sound of stone on stone to resound from the ground. A section of what had once been the temple's stone floor slid down and inward in such a way that there a deep passage underground was revealed, with ancient steps that ran deep into utter darkness. From out of the opened passage, a great number of locusts then flew forth.
Spiders had their webs in the shadowed corners of those steps, and there were human bones on either side of the dark passageway. This had been either a crypt or a catacomb to house the dead, it seemed to Hermesia, who asked her youthful guide: “So, we are to visit a tomb then?” to which the girl replied in a mock-helpful tone: “Why, yes! In a manner of speaking, it is a tomb.... but, why not wait and let the surprise wash over you?” to which the warrior explained sternly: “I do not like surprises, child.” and it was then that the girl's tone suddenly changed to a more menacing one when she said to Hermesia: “Oh really! Well, I for one do not like being called a child. So we are even, then.” And the girl reached into the dark space and withdrew from it a torch, which she proceeded to ignite using what appeared to be a magic trick, one that Hermesia had oft seen done by street magicians in her home city. “Am I supposed to be impressed?” the warrior woman remarked, deliberately baiting the girl whom she was growing to dislike a great deal. The girl answered in a venomous tone: “Of course not! All I know of you, it would take a dragon to impress you. And perhaps not even that.” and the girl went down into the underground passage, indicating that Hermesia should follow her therein, which she did. The way was dark, and the only light was that of the witch's torch. On both sides of the passage were slots in the wall that held in them the bones of the ancient dead, and piles of skulls and bones were heaped about the floor in places. The way downward was gradual, the steps descending reasonably. The air was humid, and it grew a lot more so the deeper the passage went... until finally they reached as low as the steps went. It was not any hotter at least, at this depth, where the air was still fortunately breathable if filled with the smell of soil and earth, and a tad bit on the dusty side. “Do not tell me you actually live down here!” said the Fury, to which the witch replied outright angrily this time: “Look! I know you do not like me... and I despise all warriors, women or otherwise, given their penchant for killing and rape. So just do us both a favor, dear lady, and stop trying to bait me into an argument... you may excel at swordplay, but you would fail in an intellectual duel with me. Believe me! Others have. Instead, have you anything meaningful to say?” to which Hermesia honestly declared: “No, not really! Maybe just... nice place you have here. Is that better?” and the witch sighed, casting her gaze upon the floor. She had nothing more to say, and got to work at the task before her. This was a half-circular chamber and at its' far end there was a stone door covered with ancient runes from the young girl's homeland... she had carved them herself, and for very good reason. This chamber was as filled with the dead as all else was down here, but there were also a few broken statues and a series of six pillars with three to one side of the door and three to the other. A series of four thrones were present, one between each pillar with two on the left and two on the right... and in each one was the skeleton of a king or queen of old. “Who were they?” asked the Fury, and that at least seemed to interest the young witch, who answered: “They were my parents and grandparents... I brought them hither from my homeland, and decided they should be enshrined in this place, where of old they learned the craft that they would one day teach me. Their spirits counsel me still!” and that was all the confirmation Hermesia needed to know that this child was not just a witch but a necromancer as well. Being a rational woman, for the most part, the Fury did not like necromancers... witches were one thing, but those who communed with the dead were a strange lot at best. And outright evil, at worst! It was too early to know which was the case with this peculiar girl. “I may kill, but I despise rapists.” said Hermsia in answer to the comment the young girl had made earlier about her reasons for hating any and all warriors. The girl responded to that with: “I know... I have been made fully aware of your history in the messages I received. But where was one such as you, when barbarians pillaged my homeland when I was still little and had their way with me? I was far, far too young, and was injured physically by what they did. My parents were not warriors, not of any sort, and the pigs did with my mother as they did to me, forcing my father to watch what they did to both of us. That, was the reason why my parents later chose to send me away to here, where I would be safe from any such further raids. Safe from all wars and those who choose to make war.” And Hermesia realized, just why this child had become so bitter.
“I know what it is to suffer as you did, but cannot imagine at that age what it must have been like. No child should be forced to endure such torments!” remarked the Red Fury, who despite her reputation for ruthlessness had a soft spot for children deep down in her heart. “If you know their names, I could slay the lot of them for you.” she offered, to which the child replied in a monotone: “No need. I have already slain them all, and with means other than by the sword. Where their bones lay, none shall ever find the resting place thereof.” and Hermesia gulped audibly, shaken to her core by the realization that this child before her might possess such power despite being so skinny and frail of body. An awkward silence had fallen upon the chamber then, and the witch returned to her work, moving her hands over the surface of the rune-carved door, satisfied at last when she found what she seeking. She pushed inward on certain runes, spelling some sort of password in the language of the runes... each rune she pressed went into the rock of the door, and then when she had finished there was an audible click and the door slid down into the floor, with much dust blown upward from the recesses into which it slid. A panel slid shut over that recess, and thus the door was now fully opened and safe to pass through. The pair entered the chamber, the child witch first with the warrior woman following where she led. They passed through a series of maze-like chambers and storage areas that would have rivaled the ancient palace of Knossos on the isle of Crete. There were living chambers there too, and other children along with several men and women were dwelling in those spaces. They all had shaved heads, all wore white robes, and were it seemed all from many distant lands, with only a few seeming to have hailed from Britannia and the places that lay to the north of Hadrian's Wall. Many were praying in foreign tongues, some chanting in an old arcane speech that outsiders would never comprehend, and a few were cutting themselves and using the blood they spilled from the wounds in various rites and rituals. This was indeed black magic at work, and into Hermesia's mind there came the ghost of a realization... this was their weapon against war, their way of seeking vengeance against their enemies. These were all outcasts seeking a fresh start, and in that they were little different from the Red Fury herself... all that differed, was the methods they employed and the gods they revered. If gods they revered at all, and not demons as many such as they were known to worship. Even so, the warrior woman was cautious since those who have been hurt in the past are likely to be highly mistrustful of outsiders. Indeed, many of these people seemed to glare almost hatefully at Hermesia the moment they noticed she was carrying a sword. Soon, the young witch brought the Fury to a temple-like chamber wherein at the center was a mighty sarcophagus that appeared massive in its' proportions. A large individual indeed must lay within it, Hermesia imagined... and the room had upon each of its' walls murals depicting scenes from some ancient myth or legend that the warrior was just not familiar with in the least. The chamber was octagonal in shape, and against the far wall beyond the sarcophagus there loomed a great throne that was set up upon a low dais. The throne was made totally of bones, at least five sets of bones in total. Five skulls were mounted atop it, and a black cloth was so draped over the seat and back of the throne, with cushions set upon the seat for comfort. This was all maintained in a way that made it look like the throne was still in use. But whoever could desire to sit upon such a grim seat, was someone Hermesia was in no hurry to meet with. The sarcophagus was also very strange, for into it was carved countless demonic looking faces and skull-like countenances, and the marble and stone of the sarcophagus was jet black in coloration. This was an unholy resting place, consecrated seemingly to death itself. The witch walked over to the sarcophagus, kissed its' lid, and did then seat herself upon the throne, whereon she asked Hermesia: “So, warrior... are you ready, to learn the darkest secrets of life and of death, and to meet with one who knows the full power of the scroll you studied?” to which the Fury was unsure how to reply, choosing only to say: “I would indeed meet with whomever it is that serves as the caretaker of this place! But whatever secrets the scroll holds, I am a bit uncertain as to whether or not your people know the right of it.” and the girl shook her head in a way that appeared disapproving, before stating: “In any case... let us proceed, with what needs to be done.”
After which a group of the dark acolytes gathered into the chamber, and formed a ring around the evil looking sarcophagus. They chanted, their voices using low and guttural sounds in a speech that had not been uttered upon this world in thousands upon thousands of years even during that bygone era. Then, as they moved towards the sarcophagus Hermesia stepped back instinctively to give them room. They cast the lid of the great container aside, and beckoned for the Fury to come forward and gaze within it. Inside the sarcophagus' interior lay the skeleton of a man whose bones were decorated in black armor that was of a kind that Hermesia did not recognize. The man's skull had upon it a gray iron crown into which was set a single emerald-colored jewel. And buried with him was a black wooden staff that was long, straight and had on the top of it a round cap decorated with an eye-shaped ruby. A spike rose up from the top of that, so that the staff could also have once been used for a spear, and two much smaller curved blades went up from the sides of that round cap like the horns of the crescent moon. The skull had over the face a mask that was featureless except for slits for the eyes and a slit for the mouth, with air holes bored into it to make breathing possible. Black robes were covering the armor, and whoever this man had been, he wore no attire that was common to the present era of history, or any of a past that the warrior woman had studied. And she had studied a great deal! “Who was he?” she asked, and that is when one of the acolytes began to lead a chant, chanting: “The Living God! The Living God! Father of the Five, and Lord of the Dark!” And as they chanted this, the young witch who sat upon the throne of bones stood up upon the throne in order to reach the five skulls, which she kissed. Each skull in turn, she kissed upon the forehead once. Those must have been the five from the chant, whomever they had likewise been. The child witch then walked over to the sarcophagus and had to be held up by some of the other acolytes so that she could access the body that lay within it. She placed her hands upon the mask, palms caressing its' surface as she closed her eyes tightly. The chanting regressed back into that strange, guttural language from before, and ere long the child was given a black-bladed dagger that she used to cut her palms with... carving into each an inverted pentagram. It had to have hurt a great deal to inflict such a thing upon herself, but if it did she showed no sign of the pain registering. “The Five! The Five! The Five Children of the One!” the acolytes chanted then, and the child was brought back to the throne, where she painted in her own blood upon each of the five skulls a particularly unusual series of runes in a script much different from those that were etched into the stone door. The whole ceremony was unnerving to witness, and Hermesia wondered at what point the person she was told she must meet with would arrive. She kept silent though, for in some black magic sects it was death or worse to speak aloud during the rites and rituals, unless one was called upon to speak. The child seated herself again on the throne, and stared out towards the sarcophagus blankly, as if her mind was now a great distance off and away, or in another realm of existence entirely. Then, after an interminable amount of time seemed to have passed, her eyes darted all about, before setting their gaze firmly upon Hermesia herself. This was not the gaze of the young girl from moments before... those eyes now had a different intelligence behind them, and one that seemed fixated on the warrior woman and nothing else. The young witch did then speak, but her voice was that of someone else... and whether the tone was male or female it was a bit hard to say because there was a bit of both to it. And this was what that voice said: “Long has it thus been since the days of Atlantis, and even longer since I called this isle my home! Many islands, have I so known as my dwelling places, some which are now beneath the waters of many seas and oceans. Of old I had five children whose mother was the goddess you know as Lilith... and, when they perished, I did create this throne from their bones so that I might be with them still whenever I sat upon it. When it was my time to die, for I was mortal when I lived here, my followers buried me within that coffin made from stone and marble, black as a starless void. And into it my bones were laid to rest... though through the arts of necromancy it is yet possible to call me from my present incarnation elsewhere, for in those hours in which I am dreaming it is possible to summon me if a sorcerer or sorceress has the power to.”
The acolytes all cried out at once: “The Living God speaks!” and then they all fell to the floor and did bow with their faces to the ground and their hands covering their heads seemingly in fear. The god who spoke through the child witch's body then stated: “Hermesia, they say your name is... and some call you Alecto the Red Fury... do you not recognize my voice? We knew each other well, once.” And the voice fell silent, so that Hermesia could answer. She was honest, and said: “If we knew each other of old... it was in another life long before this one, because in this present existence of mine I am sad to say I have never heard your voice or any like unto it before.” to which the god replied: “Ah, that is sad indeed, but I must resign myself to it for not all are made to remember each and every life the way that I am cursed and blessed to remember! But we have little time, for when I awaken from my dreams I will be back in the body of my present incarnation, which is elsewhere, and it could be long indeed before my acolytes can muster the power needed to call me hither once more. Thus, I must say unto you the following. The scroll that you studied, did not originate with the cult of Cybele as your order imagines! Rather, it was of the days before the downfall of Atlantis, and was of that race of peoples who had come down unto this world from the heavens and who had become as gods to the humans of this world. We who taught humanity countless arts and secrets, and sciences and technologies that you would call magic. But the greed of man for more is what caused the doom of Atlantis, and for my part in it I was blamed though the last king of Atlantis gave me little choice but to teach him all I knew. Naught could save him from his appointed doom, however, and the doom of his decadent nation! Many of the empires of the world as it is today are likewise decadent, and many will fall in their turn as well. The scroll's truest power is that through its' teachings one may overcome all their limitations and become stronger, wiser, smarter and better than they were before. It will not grant you power that you do not already possess, and it is not able to gift enlightenment... but through it, one can be set upon the path to illumination. And thus, Hermesia, your own path is set in stone... stronger even than the stone of these chambers, wed with the very earth all around as that stone may be. And even I cannot say where that path shall lead you! I bid you farewell now, and leave my followers here to their rites and rituals. This night's dream is a brief one, and from it I now must awaken!” and following that, the young witch closed her eyes and seemed to fall into a deep slumber, awakening from it with a nervous expression upon her face. “The Living God is gone now, and my heart is heavy. I must join him, wherever he may be!” she intoned, and then to her side came several attendants who disrobed the girl totally. A jug filled with some kind of nectar was brought over to her, for her to drink out of, which she did. “Do you fell any pain whatsoever?” one of the attendants asked her, and she said unto the servant: “None, I am quite numb now all over save for my face and neck.” and she was given yet another drink from a different jug, this one sending her into a deep dreamless sleep that resembled some form of catatonia. She was taken off from the throne and laid upon the floor in front of it, where those acolytes who were in charge of this ritual stood in firm watch over her. One of them told Hermesia: “She is in the dream quest state now, and in it she will so journey forth to the place where the Living God dwells at present. There, she will find a body to inhabit and aid him in any way that he might require. When she returns from her dream quest, she will then tell us of her adventures at the Living God's side, and will shall record all of them on more murals like the ones you see in this chamber. In that way, we will add to our god's legend and continue to preserve his will.” and following that, the Red Fury was told that there was nothing more to teach her. She made ready to go, but before she was out of the chamber she saw a strange sight... four acolytes over in a corner of the chamber were engaged in a ghastly ritual. Two of them, who had ritually scarred faces with the scars in patterns that made them look almost reptilian, were cutting the still-beating hearts out of the other two who were with them after administering to them some drug that made them pass out. They carried the hearts over unto the sarcophagus and squeezed them so that the blood would anoint the lid of it like the surface of some profanely diabolical altar. Samael... Hermesia knew... was another name, for the Devil.
The implements used in this ritual were sharp and lethal looking, and soon after this there thus came several more people who were brought into the chamber and about to be likewise sacrificed. But these were not willing, unlike those others! These were in tears as they faced their potentially gruesome ends, begging to be spared and not offered up in this way as sacrifices to the dark god that these people did so grimly serve. The victims were bound with thick ropes and carried like sacks of meat ready for the cruel slaughter that awaited them. “What was their crime?” Hermesia asked before she went to depart from the chamber, to which the scarred ones who were performing the sacrifices answered saying: “They did commit none, it is simply their time to be offered up! They lost the lottery which decides who is chosen and so they are to journey unto the void between the worlds, which is a great honor.” The Fury asked of the sacrificial priests next: “Did your god command that these sacrifices be performed?” and the priests told her: “No... no, it is our own tradition that we instituted following the Living God's death. We have long believed that he needs souls to grant him power in the next life, and so we offer up various souls unto him in his name, so that he will never need fear being powerless. Thus, these victims are chosen to aid the god we serve, which is why it is such a great honor. They go unto the void, and thence unto him so that he can partake of their energy when he slumbers and dreams.” And the warrior woman asked the victims, who were still screaming and crying, and sobbing near unto being witless from terror: “Would you like to be set free this day, and to have these sacrifices ended?” to which they all answered as if in unison that they did indeed wish to be freed and see an end to this barbaric tradition. The Red Fury then unsheathed her sword and commanded the scarred ones to cease the sacrifices forever more, or face her wrath. They were not in the least bit afraid of her, so overzealous were they in their blind devotion unto their beliefs... and they tried to strike Hermesia down using their sharp cutting tools as weapons. Only to be cut down bloodily before they could cross the distance to reach her, for her sword was long and her motions swift as lightning. The others all fell upon her suddenly, some with weapons and tools like unto those used in the sacrifices, other with rocks and bones and even their bare hands. The warrior did her best to keep them at bay, easing her way towards the exit from that chamber. Once she got to it, she spun around and ran as fast as she could for the exit, saying to herself aloud as she ran: “Stupid! Stupid of me to do that! Now, they'll all want me dead, and they'll probably just end up killing those people in any case. I've gained nothing by this! Stupid, stupid, stupid!” And as she ran, she saw that the members of this group who were in the areas before her as of yet knew nothing about what had transpired and why it was that the ones in pursuit of her were trying to chase her down. “Outsider! You will pay for this act of blasphemy!” screamed one of them, with another crying out: “Blasphemer! Defiler of all that is sacred! We trusted you... is this how you repay us? You will die for this!” and she knew that if they caught her, her death would be a long and probably gruesome one. But even if she could escape... this particular cult's reach was likely even longer than the cult of Cybele's was, especially if they had people even in the lands of distant Britannia, and beyond. She had to think of a way to put an end of the whole sect, before they could put an end to her... and as she reached the passageway that so led back up to the surface she saw that the whole passage narrowed at one particular point. She decided to turn and make her stand there, for like Thermopylae it would be possible for few or in this case one.. that one being her... to hold off many and possibly emerge victorious from the battle to come. And so she stood just on the other side of that narrowest point, and waited sword in hand for what was likely the entire dark sect to come storming forth to meet her blade. She waited, and they came... and she fought them with all her fury, all her might, hacking and slashing and causing her enemies' limbs to fly and blood to squirt and to splash in all directions. They wanted sacrifices, did they not? She would give their god sacrifices, so sending the lot of them to their precious void to meet him! Heads were severed, men and women did scream, and before long there were piles of bodies, entrails, and puddles upon puddles of blood that did cover the passageway floor. She stopped seeing them as people after a time, and her eyes saw only red.
As the battle... more like a slaughter... continued relentlessly, the young girl who was the head of this entire sect did make her way down the passageway, hoping to reach the site of the carnage in time. She had awakened from her dream quest, and was told by her attendants of the actions that led to Hermesia being declared an enemy of their dark order. But the child sorceress insisted they stop, and that they so instead bring the Red Fury back so she could speak with her. The Living God had warned his youthful high priestess that she would be needed back on the isle of Delos, and that a great tragedy was swiftly coming upon the whole of their sect there. She had not expected to see anything this terrible though! As she came upon the scene of the battle, she nearly slipped in the blood and viscera that was covering so much of the floor all over the place. The walls were likewise covered in bloodstains, and the screams of her people as they met the sword of the Red Fury were terrible to hear. She cried out: “Stop! Everyone, stop this right now! You too, Hermesia! Stop the killing... all of it.” and everyone froze where they did stand, the ones in the process of dying slumping to the floor to bleed out and breathe their last. As one, every member of the dark order dropped whatever they were using for weapons, although Hermesia did keep her curved saber firmly in her hands, which had wielded it with all of the skill and art of a butcher carving slabs of meat. The warrior woman was covered in blood and gore, and only some of the blood was her own. She looked upon the child sorceress, the high priestess of these twisted fanatics, and she said to her: “Oh, by Cybele's breasts and Attis' severed balls! Girl, why... why, do you let these people murder innocent victims? I tried to stop the sacrifices, the cut out hearts, but I fear that by now I've sent more of your people to meet your terrible god than any who might have been offered up had I left all as it was and did not intervene. Now, you all hate me and want me dead... which is fine, fine with me! I have lived a long enough life anyway, and killed more than my fair share. Send me to Hell if that is as you wish it to be! But know that I will not go there quietly.” The child then slowly walked over and put her calm hands, still bloodily marked as they were with the pentagrams she had cut so neatly into her palms before, upon Hermesia's hands and said to her calmly and in a peaceful and serene tone of voice: “Please, Hermesia, put your sword down... I will put a stop to the sacrifices myself this very hour. And no one of my sect shall ever offer up such victims to our god again. Samael does not wish for such, and never did, despite that we knew this not until this very day! But he had brought you hither, I believe, to show us why it was wrong to do as we have been doing... to give us the courage to stop it. This awful, horrific slaughter all about us, this is the price we pay this day for the blood we have split over the years that we have followed so terrible a tradition. You are truly, I now honestly believe, Alecto herself! One of the three terrible Furies who are sent to punish the wicked, the sinful, and the unjust. Put down your sword, my friend... for as such I regard you, if not kindred in spirit, and let us end this peacefully and part as friends should.” The warrior woman gazed deep into the child's eyes, which were the eyes of the young priestess just as she was before the god had possessed her temporarily. Although harsh words did pass between them previously, the Fury saw in that girl something of herself. Only their methods, were different. “Very well.” Hermesia agreed, and sheathed her blade right after cleaning it off using a piece of cloth cut from from one of the dead acolytes' robes. “We part friends.” and they hugged warmly, as sisters might. “So, how is your god doing?” asked the Red Fury before walking away, to which the girl priestess revealed: “He is well, but quite busy in his new life... I'll wager he will have little time for us back here on Delos, especially in the future. In any case, I wish you well Hermesia... and if ever you do find yourself back in these waters, know that you are welcome in our sanctum.” And the warrior lady so bid a fond farewell to the youthful high priestess of that dark and terrible order of mystics. She strode up the steps and when she got to the top found that the entrance was open for her already. “Thank you, girl.” she muttered under her breath before emerging into the air of the island's surface. It was already nightfall, and late in the night hours at that. The pilot of the boat would owe her a drink when they got back to port, in the next friendly city they could put into. She had quite the interesting tale, to tell him.
And so it was, that the wrathful warrior woman known as Hermesia went forth from the lands of the great empire of Byzantium and by horse, wagon and her own feet and willpower she did arrive soon at the shores of the Greek island of Delos, in the Mediterranean sea, wither had come a certain mystical scroll that she had suffered greatly to obtain ere her time in the city of her birth came to its' end. There was naught left for her there once her campaign of vengeance was finished... yet, even so she could not simply put aside her sword and fight no more. But she was having a crisis of faith, for during the awful trials that befell ere she turned to the path of the warrior rather than the priestess... the goddess Cybele had not answered her heart-sent prayers, not even during the hours of her greatest torments. It was not the goddess who had saved her in the end, but soldiers loyal to the cult of Cybele, rather than any sort of mystical being or otherworldly force. And that caused her to question, and her questions only grew with time, so that she had a great desire to learn the origins of the sacred scroll itself and find out if it was indeed imbued with supernatural power. For she had studied it, mastered all the rites, rituals and spells that it contained, and ever did she feel something within her that was not there previously. But it was a nameless sort of thing, and she wanted to be able to understand it better. The old eunuch who was the head of the cult in the city of her birth had given the scroll into her keeping, feeling that none other could be entrusted with its' secrets better than she... the only woman, the only person, who had ever it seems been able to unlock them. Or so did the old eunuch believe of her! She was not certain that it had any real power at all, and started to wonder if the true power was within her all the time. And thus was it that she disembarked from the vessel that bore her hither, and made landfall on the shores of Delos.
She was a very powerful looking woman, the great Hermesia was! Though she had slender shoulders and bones... she trained hard until her muscles rivaled those of any gladiator of old Rome, and her dark skin was as of the sort of hue that brought to mind the peoples of North Africa, whence her ancestors of old had originated. Her eyes were darkest brown, large, and filled with a certain sparkle to them that in her former professions men found alluring to look upon. Her hair was cut short in a style oft favored by men or boys, and she had it dyed a deep blood red color. She kept it thus, for to her it was a symbol of her newfound calling... a fierce calling founded on blood and blade. Today was a warm day, in the early spring of the year, and she was dressed appropriately for the Mediterranean weather of that season. She wore clothing that was probably more common in the lands to the east, having spent some years there as a sword for hire before deciding to embark upon this adventure. A knee-length tunic, crimson in hue, with gold trim at the bottom of its' skirts and sleeves, beneath which she wore a pair of baggy trousers that were tied at the waist and ankles with drawstring. The trousers had a draped style to them and were of an elegant design, fit for eastern nobility... a gift to her from a grateful princess whose honor she had defended, the only payment she accepted for the deeds she performed in that great lady's name. Upon her head she wore a gilded circlet that had in its' front center a fiery looking ruby gemstone. A pair of boots, of the old Roman design, were upon her feet... and in her ears she wore a pair of small gold loop earrings, to match the gold nose ring that she also now favored. She also had upon her wrists a pair of leather wristbands with metal studs, gold in color, decorating them. Lastly did she wear a necklace of black pearls around her neck, and a wide sash belt was about her waist... with a fiery looking print that resembled orange flames upon its' fabric. She carried in a sheathe upon her back a curved saber of the variety favored by eastern warriors of the desert lands, and all who looked upon her took her to be of the nobility of that part of the world. Though her reputation preceded her in many places she visited, and it was a reputation that commanded either fear or respect from others. She had decided never to be a victim again, not ever again! And by her blade, those deserving of death became the victims instead. She was a mercenary, an avenger, and to some a holy terror. That is why they called her the Red Fury.
“Madam, are you really sure you wish to disembark here, today?” asked the pilot of the ship that had brought her to Delos. She answered, her sultry voice in stark contrast to her sometimes brutish manner, yet showing a slight bit of irritation at a question she thought was ridiculous: “By every hell! Of course I wish to disembark here... I've paid you well enough in coin to take me hither. And why not today? Ere we departed, you said nothing to indicate that there was any sort of a problem with this.” To which the man, who looked very much like the typical seaman of those times, said with a bit of a nervous tinge to his speaking: “To be honest with you, I had forgotten what day it was. Normally, there is no problem with bringing people to this isle, and many are drawn to it because of its' history. But, on one certain day, a specific day out of the year... they say that unquiet spirits, and possibly demons from the ancient days stalk the ruins that can be found in various places on the island. I think today... might be that day.” to which the Red Fury asked, her exasperation showing visibly: “How, would you even know what day today is? I mean, it is not as if you have some device or chart, or other means of keeping track of the days upon either your person or this rather small boat of yours. I've seen your cabin, or what passes for one, and you've barely anything of worth or real use to anyone there... believe me, I had considered stealing my money back from you when you started singing annoying sailor's songs halfway through the voyage. I'd think you the worst sailor ever, but at least you got us here in one piece! But seriously, what makes you think today of all days, is this frightful day you speak of?” and then the sailor pointed off in the direction of a rocky stretch to the west of the beach. Hermesia followed with her eyes the direction the man indicated and saw there a robed figure that was almost ghostly in the early morning light. They had made it to Delos at the very break of dawn, on whatever day it was when they made landfall there, and somehow the rising sun was making that whole rocky area appear slightly strange with a rosy hue that made the robed individual seem practically ethereal. “Do you think it could be a ghost?” asked the warrior woman, to which the sailor made a sign with his hands to ward off evil and admitted: “I must confess, that I do my lady! I honestly do.” To which the woman laughed dismissively and strode off in the direction of the supposed ghost. As she did so, the sailor called out, his voice almost quivering with fear: “Do not say I did not try to warn you, my lady! I will be in my cabin, praying well for your safety.”
Hermesia licked her full lips and squinted a bit as she tried to make out better the figure that she was approaching. She called out to it: “You there! Shrouded one... who are you, and why do you watch us as we make landfall on this isle? If you mean us harm, you will find my blade thirsty for your blood!” To which the spectral figure called out, its' voice that of a young woman: “I know who you are, you are the one they call Alecto, the Red Fury! You cut a rather distinct figure, if I may say so... one that is a lot more impressive than the tales told of you make out.” Hermesia was not a tall woman by any means at all, but she was physically powerful and it was said she could crush a man's skull between her palms if she so desired to. She could not, but she liked that people believed she could! She smiled, allowing her pride in her reputation to show just a little as she said to the hooded and cloaked young woman: “You are no ghost, girl! Despite what that foolish sailor may have thought. So, you have the advantage of me in this case... tell me, what do you wish of me, for no one who awaits my coming does so unless they have a proposition to make. Or a challenge! And you appear somewhat slender under those garments, at least as I get closer to see you better... so I doubt you seek to meet my blade. Thus, I can only assume it is myself that you wish to meet instead. What may I do for you, if anything?” To which the girl said to the Red Fury: “I wish to help you understand better the power that our sacred scroll has granted you.” and there was no way anyone could have known the purpose of Hermesia's quest. Only the old eunuch, along with several other trustworthy members of the cult of Cybele that had become her family, knew of her desire to journey to Delos, and why she desired to do so at all. Hermesia therefore said unto the girl: “Are you from the cult of Cybele, by any chance? If so, it would seem you got here before I did!”
But the girl, who still had her features and form mostly hidden, explained: “No, I am not from your cult, my lady... rather, there are those of your cult who serve other masters and mistresses here on the island of Delos. And there are messenger birds who can travel far indeed, when the need is pressing. I received word of your journey and the reason for it, and you may trust that I do not mean you harm or ill will at all... rather, as I stated, I wish only to help you to learn all that you seek of your time here.” And the girl pulled her hood back, revealing a young woman of thin, aquiline features who had a totally shaved head and the absolutely palest green eyes that Hermesia had ever seen in her entire life. This girl's face was painted with strange markings that looked almost diabolical in their design, like certain symbols used in various infernal sects who worshiped demons and devils. The girl's cloak was of palest white coloration, but her skin was somehow even paler, almost the color and hue of chalk but with a kind of luminosity to it that made it seem unnaturally so. And, she was every bit as skinny as Hermesia had suspected her of being. Perhaps too skinny to be healthy! The girl was much younger than her tone of voice would indicate, likely twelve or thirteen years old given her short height and very youthful, but sickly, appearance. Yet, she had an imperious sort of tone to her voice, and a rather specific accent as well. One that the warrior did recognize from meeting travelers from far away lands. Hermesia asked the girl about it: “You are from distant Britannia, are you not?” to which the girl corrected her, thence explaining: “The regions north of Hadrian's Wall, actually... a land of shadows and gloom compared to these warmer climes, where in some locations the old ways are still honored. I am a disciple of the old ways, and those I serve here on Delos have taught me even older ways still. Whilst yes, the cult that you serve had a presence here once in the distant past, there are no longer any on Delos who serve Cybele... nor are there any remaining of the cult of Apollo that once was most dominant of all upon this island.” To which the warrior woman inquired wonderingly: “Then who does call this place home, if you don't mind telling me?” but the strange, pale girl only said: “Those I serve now, who like me so await you.” And she beckoned for Hermesia to follow her, which the warrior woman did... though cautiously. She had seen witches like this girl before, and some were good whilst others were evil. The markings this girl bore on her flesh were not those of the good, light variety. Whoever she was, this child was very much a disciple of darkness. And that meant, that the scroll Hermesia had studied... though it once did originate with the cult of Cybele... it had at one point been in the hands of those who revered demons. And perhaps they had tainted it somehow, if it did contain any real magic! This was a thought that was terrifying to Hermesia, for whilst she had no fear of any flesh and blood foe... demons and witches had subtler means of fighting, and against spells, curses, and poisons even the mightiest warrior might fall. The Red Fury was not known to be superstitious... but she was rightfully cautious, about certain things.
It was good that Hermesia had eaten well the previous night before making landfall, because ere long the young witch had led her through various winding paths all across the island so that it was nigh unto midday before they got to their destination. By then, a storm had blown in, and the sky was so dark that it may as well have been dusk. Here, there was a group of ancient Greek ruins from a time long before even the empire of Rome had been thought of... broken columns, shattered walls, and pieces of rubble that once had been a magnificent temple in all likelihood. It was a very remote place, compared to the location of the beach where the sailor's ship remained behind... a gloomy and grim looking place that was made even more so by the ominous turning of the weather. The witch looked about and then, at the last, seemed to indicate that she found what she was seeking. There, on one of the few walls that were remaining intact, the girl pushed a certain stone inward, which caused a loud grating sound of stone on stone to resound from the ground. A section of what had once been the temple's stone floor slid down and inward in such a way that there a deep passage underground was revealed, with ancient steps that ran deep into utter darkness. From out of the opened passage, a great number of locusts then flew forth.
Spiders had their webs in the shadowed corners of those steps, and there were human bones on either side of the dark passageway. This had been either a crypt or a catacomb to house the dead, it seemed to Hermesia, who asked her youthful guide: “So, we are to visit a tomb then?” to which the girl replied in a mock-helpful tone: “Why, yes! In a manner of speaking, it is a tomb.... but, why not wait and let the surprise wash over you?” to which the warrior explained sternly: “I do not like surprises, child.” and it was then that the girl's tone suddenly changed to a more menacing one when she said to Hermesia: “Oh really! Well, I for one do not like being called a child. So we are even, then.” And the girl reached into the dark space and withdrew from it a torch, which she proceeded to ignite using what appeared to be a magic trick, one that Hermesia had oft seen done by street magicians in her home city. “Am I supposed to be impressed?” the warrior woman remarked, deliberately baiting the girl whom she was growing to dislike a great deal. The girl answered in a venomous tone: “Of course not! All I know of you, it would take a dragon to impress you. And perhaps not even that.” and the girl went down into the underground passage, indicating that Hermesia should follow her therein, which she did. The way was dark, and the only light was that of the witch's torch. On both sides of the passage were slots in the wall that held in them the bones of the ancient dead, and piles of skulls and bones were heaped about the floor in places. The way downward was gradual, the steps descending reasonably. The air was humid, and it grew a lot more so the deeper the passage went... until finally they reached as low as the steps went. It was not any hotter at least, at this depth, where the air was still fortunately breathable if filled with the smell of soil and earth, and a tad bit on the dusty side. “Do not tell me you actually live down here!” said the Fury, to which the witch replied outright angrily this time: “Look! I know you do not like me... and I despise all warriors, women or otherwise, given their penchant for killing and rape. So just do us both a favor, dear lady, and stop trying to bait me into an argument... you may excel at swordplay, but you would fail in an intellectual duel with me. Believe me! Others have. Instead, have you anything meaningful to say?” to which Hermesia honestly declared: “No, not really! Maybe just... nice place you have here. Is that better?” and the witch sighed, casting her gaze upon the floor. She had nothing more to say, and got to work at the task before her. This was a half-circular chamber and at its' far end there was a stone door covered with ancient runes from the young girl's homeland... she had carved them herself, and for very good reason. This chamber was as filled with the dead as all else was down here, but there were also a few broken statues and a series of six pillars with three to one side of the door and three to the other. A series of four thrones were present, one between each pillar with two on the left and two on the right... and in each one was the skeleton of a king or queen of old. “Who were they?” asked the Fury, and that at least seemed to interest the young witch, who answered: “They were my parents and grandparents... I brought them hither from my homeland, and decided they should be enshrined in this place, where of old they learned the craft that they would one day teach me. Their spirits counsel me still!” and that was all the confirmation Hermesia needed to know that this child was not just a witch but a necromancer as well. Being a rational woman, for the most part, the Fury did not like necromancers... witches were one thing, but those who communed with the dead were a strange lot at best. And outright evil, at worst! It was too early to know which was the case with this peculiar girl. “I may kill, but I despise rapists.” said Hermsia in answer to the comment the young girl had made earlier about her reasons for hating any and all warriors. The girl responded to that with: “I know... I have been made fully aware of your history in the messages I received. But where was one such as you, when barbarians pillaged my homeland when I was still little and had their way with me? I was far, far too young, and was injured physically by what they did. My parents were not warriors, not of any sort, and the pigs did with my mother as they did to me, forcing my father to watch what they did to both of us. That, was the reason why my parents later chose to send me away to here, where I would be safe from any such further raids. Safe from all wars and those who choose to make war.” And Hermesia realized, just why this child had become so bitter.
“I know what it is to suffer as you did, but cannot imagine at that age what it must have been like. No child should be forced to endure such torments!” remarked the Red Fury, who despite her reputation for ruthlessness had a soft spot for children deep down in her heart. “If you know their names, I could slay the lot of them for you.” she offered, to which the child replied in a monotone: “No need. I have already slain them all, and with means other than by the sword. Where their bones lay, none shall ever find the resting place thereof.” and Hermesia gulped audibly, shaken to her core by the realization that this child before her might possess such power despite being so skinny and frail of body. An awkward silence had fallen upon the chamber then, and the witch returned to her work, moving her hands over the surface of the rune-carved door, satisfied at last when she found what she seeking. She pushed inward on certain runes, spelling some sort of password in the language of the runes... each rune she pressed went into the rock of the door, and then when she had finished there was an audible click and the door slid down into the floor, with much dust blown upward from the recesses into which it slid. A panel slid shut over that recess, and thus the door was now fully opened and safe to pass through. The pair entered the chamber, the child witch first with the warrior woman following where she led. They passed through a series of maze-like chambers and storage areas that would have rivaled the ancient palace of Knossos on the isle of Crete. There were living chambers there too, and other children along with several men and women were dwelling in those spaces. They all had shaved heads, all wore white robes, and were it seemed all from many distant lands, with only a few seeming to have hailed from Britannia and the places that lay to the north of Hadrian's Wall. Many were praying in foreign tongues, some chanting in an old arcane speech that outsiders would never comprehend, and a few were cutting themselves and using the blood they spilled from the wounds in various rites and rituals. This was indeed black magic at work, and into Hermesia's mind there came the ghost of a realization... this was their weapon against war, their way of seeking vengeance against their enemies. These were all outcasts seeking a fresh start, and in that they were little different from the Red Fury herself... all that differed, was the methods they employed and the gods they revered. If gods they revered at all, and not demons as many such as they were known to worship. Even so, the warrior woman was cautious since those who have been hurt in the past are likely to be highly mistrustful of outsiders. Indeed, many of these people seemed to glare almost hatefully at Hermesia the moment they noticed she was carrying a sword. Soon, the young witch brought the Fury to a temple-like chamber wherein at the center was a mighty sarcophagus that appeared massive in its' proportions. A large individual indeed must lay within it, Hermesia imagined... and the room had upon each of its' walls murals depicting scenes from some ancient myth or legend that the warrior was just not familiar with in the least. The chamber was octagonal in shape, and against the far wall beyond the sarcophagus there loomed a great throne that was set up upon a low dais. The throne was made totally of bones, at least five sets of bones in total. Five skulls were mounted atop it, and a black cloth was so draped over the seat and back of the throne, with cushions set upon the seat for comfort. This was all maintained in a way that made it look like the throne was still in use. But whoever could desire to sit upon such a grim seat, was someone Hermesia was in no hurry to meet with. The sarcophagus was also very strange, for into it was carved countless demonic looking faces and skull-like countenances, and the marble and stone of the sarcophagus was jet black in coloration. This was an unholy resting place, consecrated seemingly to death itself. The witch walked over to the sarcophagus, kissed its' lid, and did then seat herself upon the throne, whereon she asked Hermesia: “So, warrior... are you ready, to learn the darkest secrets of life and of death, and to meet with one who knows the full power of the scroll you studied?” to which the Fury was unsure how to reply, choosing only to say: “I would indeed meet with whomever it is that serves as the caretaker of this place! But whatever secrets the scroll holds, I am a bit uncertain as to whether or not your people know the right of it.” and the girl shook her head in a way that appeared disapproving, before stating: “In any case... let us proceed, with what needs to be done.”
After which a group of the dark acolytes gathered into the chamber, and formed a ring around the evil looking sarcophagus. They chanted, their voices using low and guttural sounds in a speech that had not been uttered upon this world in thousands upon thousands of years even during that bygone era. Then, as they moved towards the sarcophagus Hermesia stepped back instinctively to give them room. They cast the lid of the great container aside, and beckoned for the Fury to come forward and gaze within it. Inside the sarcophagus' interior lay the skeleton of a man whose bones were decorated in black armor that was of a kind that Hermesia did not recognize. The man's skull had upon it a gray iron crown into which was set a single emerald-colored jewel. And buried with him was a black wooden staff that was long, straight and had on the top of it a round cap decorated with an eye-shaped ruby. A spike rose up from the top of that, so that the staff could also have once been used for a spear, and two much smaller curved blades went up from the sides of that round cap like the horns of the crescent moon. The skull had over the face a mask that was featureless except for slits for the eyes and a slit for the mouth, with air holes bored into it to make breathing possible. Black robes were covering the armor, and whoever this man had been, he wore no attire that was common to the present era of history, or any of a past that the warrior woman had studied. And she had studied a great deal! “Who was he?” she asked, and that is when one of the acolytes began to lead a chant, chanting: “The Living God! The Living God! Father of the Five, and Lord of the Dark!” And as they chanted this, the young witch who sat upon the throne of bones stood up upon the throne in order to reach the five skulls, which she kissed. Each skull in turn, she kissed upon the forehead once. Those must have been the five from the chant, whomever they had likewise been. The child witch then walked over to the sarcophagus and had to be held up by some of the other acolytes so that she could access the body that lay within it. She placed her hands upon the mask, palms caressing its' surface as she closed her eyes tightly. The chanting regressed back into that strange, guttural language from before, and ere long the child was given a black-bladed dagger that she used to cut her palms with... carving into each an inverted pentagram. It had to have hurt a great deal to inflict such a thing upon herself, but if it did she showed no sign of the pain registering. “The Five! The Five! The Five Children of the One!” the acolytes chanted then, and the child was brought back to the throne, where she painted in her own blood upon each of the five skulls a particularly unusual series of runes in a script much different from those that were etched into the stone door. The whole ceremony was unnerving to witness, and Hermesia wondered at what point the person she was told she must meet with would arrive. She kept silent though, for in some black magic sects it was death or worse to speak aloud during the rites and rituals, unless one was called upon to speak. The child seated herself again on the throne, and stared out towards the sarcophagus blankly, as if her mind was now a great distance off and away, or in another realm of existence entirely. Then, after an interminable amount of time seemed to have passed, her eyes darted all about, before setting their gaze firmly upon Hermesia herself. This was not the gaze of the young girl from moments before... those eyes now had a different intelligence behind them, and one that seemed fixated on the warrior woman and nothing else. The young witch did then speak, but her voice was that of someone else... and whether the tone was male or female it was a bit hard to say because there was a bit of both to it. And this was what that voice said: “Long has it thus been since the days of Atlantis, and even longer since I called this isle my home! Many islands, have I so known as my dwelling places, some which are now beneath the waters of many seas and oceans. Of old I had five children whose mother was the goddess you know as Lilith... and, when they perished, I did create this throne from their bones so that I might be with them still whenever I sat upon it. When it was my time to die, for I was mortal when I lived here, my followers buried me within that coffin made from stone and marble, black as a starless void. And into it my bones were laid to rest... though through the arts of necromancy it is yet possible to call me from my present incarnation elsewhere, for in those hours in which I am dreaming it is possible to summon me if a sorcerer or sorceress has the power to.”
The acolytes all cried out at once: “The Living God speaks!” and then they all fell to the floor and did bow with their faces to the ground and their hands covering their heads seemingly in fear. The god who spoke through the child witch's body then stated: “Hermesia, they say your name is... and some call you Alecto the Red Fury... do you not recognize my voice? We knew each other well, once.” And the voice fell silent, so that Hermesia could answer. She was honest, and said: “If we knew each other of old... it was in another life long before this one, because in this present existence of mine I am sad to say I have never heard your voice or any like unto it before.” to which the god replied: “Ah, that is sad indeed, but I must resign myself to it for not all are made to remember each and every life the way that I am cursed and blessed to remember! But we have little time, for when I awaken from my dreams I will be back in the body of my present incarnation, which is elsewhere, and it could be long indeed before my acolytes can muster the power needed to call me hither once more. Thus, I must say unto you the following. The scroll that you studied, did not originate with the cult of Cybele as your order imagines! Rather, it was of the days before the downfall of Atlantis, and was of that race of peoples who had come down unto this world from the heavens and who had become as gods to the humans of this world. We who taught humanity countless arts and secrets, and sciences and technologies that you would call magic. But the greed of man for more is what caused the doom of Atlantis, and for my part in it I was blamed though the last king of Atlantis gave me little choice but to teach him all I knew. Naught could save him from his appointed doom, however, and the doom of his decadent nation! Many of the empires of the world as it is today are likewise decadent, and many will fall in their turn as well. The scroll's truest power is that through its' teachings one may overcome all their limitations and become stronger, wiser, smarter and better than they were before. It will not grant you power that you do not already possess, and it is not able to gift enlightenment... but through it, one can be set upon the path to illumination. And thus, Hermesia, your own path is set in stone... stronger even than the stone of these chambers, wed with the very earth all around as that stone may be. And even I cannot say where that path shall lead you! I bid you farewell now, and leave my followers here to their rites and rituals. This night's dream is a brief one, and from it I now must awaken!” and following that, the young witch closed her eyes and seemed to fall into a deep slumber, awakening from it with a nervous expression upon her face. “The Living God is gone now, and my heart is heavy. I must join him, wherever he may be!” she intoned, and then to her side came several attendants who disrobed the girl totally. A jug filled with some kind of nectar was brought over to her, for her to drink out of, which she did. “Do you fell any pain whatsoever?” one of the attendants asked her, and she said unto the servant: “None, I am quite numb now all over save for my face and neck.” and she was given yet another drink from a different jug, this one sending her into a deep dreamless sleep that resembled some form of catatonia. She was taken off from the throne and laid upon the floor in front of it, where those acolytes who were in charge of this ritual stood in firm watch over her. One of them told Hermesia: “She is in the dream quest state now, and in it she will so journey forth to the place where the Living God dwells at present. There, she will find a body to inhabit and aid him in any way that he might require. When she returns from her dream quest, she will then tell us of her adventures at the Living God's side, and will shall record all of them on more murals like the ones you see in this chamber. In that way, we will add to our god's legend and continue to preserve his will.” and following that, the Red Fury was told that there was nothing more to teach her. She made ready to go, but before she was out of the chamber she saw a strange sight... four acolytes over in a corner of the chamber were engaged in a ghastly ritual. Two of them, who had ritually scarred faces with the scars in patterns that made them look almost reptilian, were cutting the still-beating hearts out of the other two who were with them after administering to them some drug that made them pass out. They carried the hearts over unto the sarcophagus and squeezed them so that the blood would anoint the lid of it like the surface of some profanely diabolical altar. Samael... Hermesia knew... was another name, for the Devil.
The implements used in this ritual were sharp and lethal looking, and soon after this there thus came several more people who were brought into the chamber and about to be likewise sacrificed. But these were not willing, unlike those others! These were in tears as they faced their potentially gruesome ends, begging to be spared and not offered up in this way as sacrifices to the dark god that these people did so grimly serve. The victims were bound with thick ropes and carried like sacks of meat ready for the cruel slaughter that awaited them. “What was their crime?” Hermesia asked before she went to depart from the chamber, to which the scarred ones who were performing the sacrifices answered saying: “They did commit none, it is simply their time to be offered up! They lost the lottery which decides who is chosen and so they are to journey unto the void between the worlds, which is a great honor.” The Fury asked of the sacrificial priests next: “Did your god command that these sacrifices be performed?” and the priests told her: “No... no, it is our own tradition that we instituted following the Living God's death. We have long believed that he needs souls to grant him power in the next life, and so we offer up various souls unto him in his name, so that he will never need fear being powerless. Thus, these victims are chosen to aid the god we serve, which is why it is such a great honor. They go unto the void, and thence unto him so that he can partake of their energy when he slumbers and dreams.” And the warrior woman asked the victims, who were still screaming and crying, and sobbing near unto being witless from terror: “Would you like to be set free this day, and to have these sacrifices ended?” to which they all answered as if in unison that they did indeed wish to be freed and see an end to this barbaric tradition. The Red Fury then unsheathed her sword and commanded the scarred ones to cease the sacrifices forever more, or face her wrath. They were not in the least bit afraid of her, so overzealous were they in their blind devotion unto their beliefs... and they tried to strike Hermesia down using their sharp cutting tools as weapons. Only to be cut down bloodily before they could cross the distance to reach her, for her sword was long and her motions swift as lightning. The others all fell upon her suddenly, some with weapons and tools like unto those used in the sacrifices, other with rocks and bones and even their bare hands. The warrior did her best to keep them at bay, easing her way towards the exit from that chamber. Once she got to it, she spun around and ran as fast as she could for the exit, saying to herself aloud as she ran: “Stupid! Stupid of me to do that! Now, they'll all want me dead, and they'll probably just end up killing those people in any case. I've gained nothing by this! Stupid, stupid, stupid!” And as she ran, she saw that the members of this group who were in the areas before her as of yet knew nothing about what had transpired and why it was that the ones in pursuit of her were trying to chase her down. “Outsider! You will pay for this act of blasphemy!” screamed one of them, with another crying out: “Blasphemer! Defiler of all that is sacred! We trusted you... is this how you repay us? You will die for this!” and she knew that if they caught her, her death would be a long and probably gruesome one. But even if she could escape... this particular cult's reach was likely even longer than the cult of Cybele's was, especially if they had people even in the lands of distant Britannia, and beyond. She had to think of a way to put an end of the whole sect, before they could put an end to her... and as she reached the passageway that so led back up to the surface she saw that the whole passage narrowed at one particular point. She decided to turn and make her stand there, for like Thermopylae it would be possible for few or in this case one.. that one being her... to hold off many and possibly emerge victorious from the battle to come. And so she stood just on the other side of that narrowest point, and waited sword in hand for what was likely the entire dark sect to come storming forth to meet her blade. She waited, and they came... and she fought them with all her fury, all her might, hacking and slashing and causing her enemies' limbs to fly and blood to squirt and to splash in all directions. They wanted sacrifices, did they not? She would give their god sacrifices, so sending the lot of them to their precious void to meet him! Heads were severed, men and women did scream, and before long there were piles of bodies, entrails, and puddles upon puddles of blood that did cover the passageway floor. She stopped seeing them as people after a time, and her eyes saw only red.
As the battle... more like a slaughter... continued relentlessly, the young girl who was the head of this entire sect did make her way down the passageway, hoping to reach the site of the carnage in time. She had awakened from her dream quest, and was told by her attendants of the actions that led to Hermesia being declared an enemy of their dark order. But the child sorceress insisted they stop, and that they so instead bring the Red Fury back so she could speak with her. The Living God had warned his youthful high priestess that she would be needed back on the isle of Delos, and that a great tragedy was swiftly coming upon the whole of their sect there. She had not expected to see anything this terrible though! As she came upon the scene of the battle, she nearly slipped in the blood and viscera that was covering so much of the floor all over the place. The walls were likewise covered in bloodstains, and the screams of her people as they met the sword of the Red Fury were terrible to hear. She cried out: “Stop! Everyone, stop this right now! You too, Hermesia! Stop the killing... all of it.” and everyone froze where they did stand, the ones in the process of dying slumping to the floor to bleed out and breathe their last. As one, every member of the dark order dropped whatever they were using for weapons, although Hermesia did keep her curved saber firmly in her hands, which had wielded it with all of the skill and art of a butcher carving slabs of meat. The warrior woman was covered in blood and gore, and only some of the blood was her own. She looked upon the child sorceress, the high priestess of these twisted fanatics, and she said to her: “Oh, by Cybele's breasts and Attis' severed balls! Girl, why... why, do you let these people murder innocent victims? I tried to stop the sacrifices, the cut out hearts, but I fear that by now I've sent more of your people to meet your terrible god than any who might have been offered up had I left all as it was and did not intervene. Now, you all hate me and want me dead... which is fine, fine with me! I have lived a long enough life anyway, and killed more than my fair share. Send me to Hell if that is as you wish it to be! But know that I will not go there quietly.” The child then slowly walked over and put her calm hands, still bloodily marked as they were with the pentagrams she had cut so neatly into her palms before, upon Hermesia's hands and said to her calmly and in a peaceful and serene tone of voice: “Please, Hermesia, put your sword down... I will put a stop to the sacrifices myself this very hour. And no one of my sect shall ever offer up such victims to our god again. Samael does not wish for such, and never did, despite that we knew this not until this very day! But he had brought you hither, I believe, to show us why it was wrong to do as we have been doing... to give us the courage to stop it. This awful, horrific slaughter all about us, this is the price we pay this day for the blood we have split over the years that we have followed so terrible a tradition. You are truly, I now honestly believe, Alecto herself! One of the three terrible Furies who are sent to punish the wicked, the sinful, and the unjust. Put down your sword, my friend... for as such I regard you, if not kindred in spirit, and let us end this peacefully and part as friends should.” The warrior woman gazed deep into the child's eyes, which were the eyes of the young priestess just as she was before the god had possessed her temporarily. Although harsh words did pass between them previously, the Fury saw in that girl something of herself. Only their methods, were different. “Very well.” Hermesia agreed, and sheathed her blade right after cleaning it off using a piece of cloth cut from from one of the dead acolytes' robes. “We part friends.” and they hugged warmly, as sisters might. “So, how is your god doing?” asked the Red Fury before walking away, to which the girl priestess revealed: “He is well, but quite busy in his new life... I'll wager he will have little time for us back here on Delos, especially in the future. In any case, I wish you well Hermesia... and if ever you do find yourself back in these waters, know that you are welcome in our sanctum.” And the warrior lady so bid a fond farewell to the youthful high priestess of that dark and terrible order of mystics. She strode up the steps and when she got to the top found that the entrance was open for her already. “Thank you, girl.” she muttered under her breath before emerging into the air of the island's surface. It was already nightfall, and late in the night hours at that. The pilot of the boat would owe her a drink when they got back to port, in the next friendly city they could put into. She had quite the interesting tale, to tell him.
Published 8th Oct 2022
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