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"Hold steady," Zaharin grunts, giving nods of encouragement to his comrades as the effort to force open the door renews from the other side. Another bump almost sends her arse to floor, her sandalled feet struggling to find purchase against the blood-slick wooden floor. "Xenophon's dick-" she swears, arms flayling, but a soldier beside her grasps her shoulder, putting her back to rights. "Thanks. Scrivener, administer the final rites to Euvius. He's lost too much blood. He is not going to make it."

Like the rest of us.

"Yes, lochagos," Scrivener rushes to the dying Greek, slapping his face to get him conscious. "Euvius, Euvius - do you hear me? Do you see?"

"I see," the dying soldier replies. "I hear. Is it time, doctor?"

"It is time," Scrivener replies gently, "though I am no doctor. Never passed the exams. Here - I have my writing tools ready."

"Ah, how it hurts -! It hurts, Veich. My legs feel cold. I cannot move my toes. But they hurt all the same."

"I know, I know. Only a minute more, friend." Veich lies. Veich did not know how it felt to die - what living man could? Even though he'd seen death a thousand times thousand times, he knew that it was nothing compared to actually experiencing it. The duty of the Scrivener was to write deaths, not experience it. "The Annals, Euvius. Do you have anything you wish left behind?"

"I wish..." the man says, his sun-browned face growing paler by the moment. Veich feels his knees grow wet and warm with the life-essence of this man, a man who had seen and done so much... now reduced to this. "...I wish that the Lady had not abandoned us."

"Now, don't you be saying that," Veich chides.

"You felt it. We all have." A sliver of strength returns in Euvius' voice, insistent. "The meteor that fell on Ypra... it was as if a link connecting all of us was suddenly cut off. Will you write that, Scrivener? That our own captain, our Tagmatarchos Cabaleiro ensorcelled our souls?"

"I write everything," Scrivener says firmly. "The good with the bad, the new and the old."

"That is good," Euvius smiles. "It is good. Truth should live on, even as captains change."

"It should," Scrivener agrees. "...thank you. You would not be in this mess if it weren't for me."

"And the Annals," Euvius says blithely.
>>
>>3347264

"And the Annals." This was a tradition that began with Xenophon of Sparta - the first Strategos of the oi Myroi (Ten Thousand), and the first Scrivener. After Xenophon retired, his adjutant took over the role of writing on the deeds and individuals of the Ten Thousand, then his adjutant after that, and so on and so forth until the semi-official rank of Scrivener became a hallowed shrine of memories even as their numbers dwindled to the now Five Hundred. An unbroken line of tradition going all the way back to the Age of Heroes, it was something no captain-elect had the authority nor audacity to interfere with.

Until yesterday.

Scrivener ran. He gathered all the documents, the loose-leafed pages, the bound tomes and door-stoppers that collectively denoted "The Annals", and ran to find the deepest, darkest depth of the ship, looking for a place to preserve the documents away from Cabaleiro's censorious hands. It was coincidence that he encountered the lochagos Zaharin and twenty of her men on the way - a coincidence that led to the now.

The lochagos, after hearing out Scrivener's panicked babblings, resolved to defend him and the venerable documents that he carried. They were found. An alarm sounded, and now, after sleepless hours fending off search parties and reinforcements from Cabaleiro's lackeys (brothers once, all of them), they were stuck in a dead-end storage room for buckets.

An entire storage space dedicated to buckets, of all things. This ship really is too large to be called a ship. Scrivener wonders about omitting the detail about the last Scrivener dying in a room full of chamberpots and dung-bowls. It just didn't seem like the kind of thing one would add in an account of final stands.

A hand tugs at Veicht's shortcloak, dragging his attention back to the present world. "Veicht," Euvius says seriously, "don't you dare blame yourself for this."

Veicht blinks. "What?"

"This. All of the- Threepenny, Reinhardt, Boeia, Carver, the dead guys. They knew what they signed up for when they joined the Five Hundred." He coughs, dry-heaving as his deoxygenated lungs begin failing. "It ain't the Five Hundred... without the Annals."

"I know, but-"

"Found one last thing to say." Euvius says. His voice is barely a tremble. "Scratch the part 'bout me wishin' the Lady were here, Veich. I... I am glad I defended the last Scrivener. And I will be waiting to hear all about how many of Cabaleiro's boy-whores you guys killed."

"You know I don't do redactions. That remark on the Lady is still going in."

Euvius smiles. "Fuck you. Doctor."

"Goodbye, Euvius. And I'm no doctor."
>>
>>3347267

"Real fucking gloomy there, Scrivener," wild-haired Imran shouts as he - or she, Scrivener never did find out what kind of person lay under all those bandages - struggles to keep the door closed. "If you're done with having anal sex with the dead guy, mind coming over and giving us your pretty writing hands?"

"Ignore the bandage-mummy, Scrivener," Zaharin, the leader of the once-twenty men (now three), says. "Look, we're all going to die once this door opens and Cabaleiro's whoresons spill in. Mind taking in our last words?"

"You're not dead yet," Veicht says, crossing his arms.

"We're about to be."

Veicht shakes his head. "That won't cut it, and you know it."

"You and your traditional outlook," Zaharin grimaces. "This is why you never had a lasting relationship."

I'll thank you not to comment about my private life, Veicht thinks, but before he can return something witty to the she-commander, the regular thump against the door stops.

"Here we go!" Imran whoops in joy. "Their final push! About fucking time."

Then the door - a sturdy, hardwood thing like everything else in this accursed ship - flies crashing to the opposite wall, tangling Zaharin and Imran together in its inexorable journey to meet the rows of buckets.

"So," a tall-standing youth who Veicht has never seen before steps in, taking in the carnage of Storeroom 27 with a single sweeping look. "Where is this Scrivener I have heard so much about?"
>>
>>3347272

---

The Five Hundred had a most peculiar tradition, purportedly descending from the days when Xenophon led the company out of danger. In these documents called the Annals of the Company, or simply the Annals, a man of letters (who was given a life-time appointment as Scrivener) wrote and recorded all that happened to the Company. Just as important to the morale of the troops was his role as the collector of their final words, as well as the writing of the names during their induction into the Company. It was this guarantee of quasi-immortality, in both fame and infamy, that formed a cornerstone of a Five Hundred infantryman's motivation to do well. The sacrosanct nature of the Annals meant that it was not open for revision by the captains, for while captains came and went, the Scrivener was for life.

When it was found that Cabaleiro had ordered the rewriting of the Annals to omit the details of his treachery and dishonourable conduct, the Scrivener had fled, and found refuge in a detatchment of soldiers, who, being more faithful than most of their comrades to the ideals of their predecessors, gave succor to the man. It was a relief to the soldiers under Caesar that he found the Scrivener alive and well, urinating in surprise at his sudden salvation in the midst of buckets in Storeroom 27 of the Soldier's Deck.

---

"I can't believe you're writing the part I pissed my robes," Veicht grumbles, looking over your shoulder. You give him a theatric shrug.

"You are the one who told me to write the truth, and nothing but the truth."

"And a fine job I've been doing," Veicht scoffs. "Caesar? Your name is Alexandros - IF you really are the suddenly-grown child I saw running down the decks two weeks back. And what is with you and writing in the third person?"

"Caesar was of the opinion that it added a touch of authentic impartiality in his writings-"

"Oh, please don't go around speaking like that, reading it is bad enough," Veicht groans.

"Do you want to know what happened afterwards, or not?" you ask him, a touch exasperated. There was nothing wrong with your writing style! "After you pissed then fainted in the room of buckets-"

"Never, ever say the b-word around me. Ever again."

"...storeroom 27, you missed out on the rest of the events."

Veicht massages his brows. I am thrice cursed by the gods. "Fine, tell me what you did next. But can we please keep the self-aggrandisement to a minimum?"

>"No."

>"Sure."

>"Sure." [Lie]

>Suggestion

Yes, it was YOU writing them all along! I thought it would have been caught early on, with Caesar's famous thirdpersonisms present even in Asterix comics.
>>
[Welcome to the sixth chapter of the Commentarii. Yes, we're still not in China. I'm starting to wonder if this story will be a story about your journey TO China, not conquering it. Egads! And yes, I just noticed a small typo. Zaharin is a SHE, it's just that the previous iteration of the writing had Her as a He. I missed out on one of the pronouns. mb

You can read the previous archives here:

http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?searchall=Commentarii

And now, on with the quest.]
>>
>>3347275
>>"Sure." [Lie]
Ever the politician
>>
>>3347275
>"Sure." [Lie]
It's the fun option, really.
>>
>>3347275
>>"Sure." [Lie]
>>
>>3347275
>Suggestion
>No, and because you asked I'm going to exaggerate. [Possible Lie]
>>
>>3347275
>>"Sure." [Lie]
>>
>>3347275
>"Sure." [Lie]

Caesar never self-aggrandize. Except when he does. Which is often.
>>
>>3347635

"I am beginning to entertain the notion that you think me a braggart," you chuckle. Your voice sounds like a stranger's to your own ears. Too young compared to the man you grew up to be, but far older than you were only a week ago. It seemed like just a month ago you were toddling around your father's estate in Numante... well, it was. That is beside the point.

Veicht sighs. "It's just too much to take in at once. First the... Cabaleiro business, and then your sudden reappearance - SUPPOSED reappearance, I am still not convinced the real Alexandros is dead, and you coincidentally came out to take things over. And now you are... a god." He squints up, studying your features. "Though I admit, you do look a tad like your father. Ah." He hastily backs up. "...you don't have to write it now if you do not want to, Alexandros," he says gently. And mentally bops his head. Stupid. Stupid. I wasn't the only one who lost comrades yesterday.

"No." You take up the salt-coarse sheet of vellum once more. "It has to be written while the events are still fresh in the mind. That is how it is done." That was how it was always done. Whether defeat or victory, you took the time to write down the sequence of events, as much for yourself as for the political tool such writings represented.

The Annals of the Company had the right idea, after all. You gave the soldiers under you immortality of a sort, long after Caesar the statesman died. Crastinus, Pullo, Vorenus... all such brave, hard-working men. Probably dead by now, after Brutus cocked up any chance of a smooth and peaceful transition of power.

Does it hurt, O Caesar, that your men died fighting against themselves, your veteran legions of old torn in twain by two of your closest associates? Who would you have cheered for, we wonder - Marcus Antonius, your old second in command, who took your lover after you died? Or the so-called Augustus, adopted son, murderer of little Caesarion?

Did your immortal heart still for a beat when you finally found your father?
>>
>>3348113

---

The majority of the mutineers having been accounted for, dead or living, Caesar turned his attention to the other decks.There was little to fear now in regards to any significant opposition. The enemies had diverted much of their secondary numbers hunting the Scrivener and what few allies he had scrounged together, and were in the process of making a sport of breaking down Storeroom 27, when Caesar's men (newly re-converted) stormed into the corridor.

When the news of Cabaleiro's death and the return of Alexandros spread throughout the ship, some of the trecherous soldiers lept out into the open sea, too fearful to be men enough to receive justice with clear eyes and unbowed heads. Others, who were instruments of the Spaniard only reluctantly or in name, surrendered whenever Caesar's men were found, who could be recognised by their reddened capes, the originally white capes dyed red and brown from their battle against the Procabaleiroi.

Through the Prison Deck he swept, freeing Galen and the Jews; the stable-bound Gauls and Germans were liberated - it turned out that Hermann was no turn-cloak in the end.

And by the entrance to the second uppermost deck where the privileged lived, Caesar found Venicius, his old tutor.


---
>>
>>3348114

"You're late, boy." Venicius says sternly. "If you were back in Numante, I would have you running up and down from the port and the villa. A pox on your father - he hasn't scattered pebbles and sand in the training deck, like I asked him to. Bare feet against sun-burned beachstones... now that is proper punishment."

Despite the near bisection between the torso and the legs, the ex-gladiator manages to maintain a level voice. The damage around the doorway is extensive, the decorated wooden panels damaged with roughly-hewn sword cuts and other debris of battle. There are no bodies save the Roman's to show just how violent an encounter was had here, but you do not need to see the corpses of the Five Hundred infantrymen to know how your teacher fared. The blood, too much for it to have come from just one man, is proof enough.

Veicht, who was accompanying you all throughout the ship to help out with announcing Cabaleiro's death, looks decidedly sick, and he turns around.

"My eyes are up here, boy."

You tear your gaze away from the jutting spine. "So they are."

"Ahh, I've grown too old for my own good. Xanthippus - best damned swordsman I've ever seen - could beat up fourty men at once, while here is little old me, barely able to handle twenty," Venicius says. "I'm not too proud to say it, I was too wary of the Jews. Didn't think enough about a what-if scenario of the Five Hundred revolting, too busy keeping an eye out for their sneaky little hands and their sneaky little daggers. Alexandros, I fucked up."

You stoop beside him, one knee on the floor. For him.

>"No, you didn't." You gently place his empty scabbard back on his lifeless hands. "No one expected it. It wasn't just you taken unawares, it was all of us." [CONSTANTIA]

>"And you paid your price. You always said that the consequence of not being suspicious was death, right?" You lay your palm against his chest, feeling the irregular beat. "You don't owe us anything, Venicius. It's all right." [FIRMITAS]

>" 'Quis, pater, ille, virum qui sic comitatur euntem? Filius, anne aliquis magna de stirpe nepotum? Quis strepitus circa comitum! Quantum instar in ipso! Sed nox atra caput tristi circumvolat umbra.' ” [AUCTORITAS] [ANTIPIETAS]

>"The ways of the gods are ever hidden." You place your forehead against his, feeling his salt-of-sweat irritate against yours - the surest proof of labours taken until now. "The gods give us life, and they just as easily take away. How can you fight against Fate, Venicius? You did what you could." [PIETAS]

>Suggestion
>>
>>3348176
>"The ways of the gods are ever hidden." You place your forehead against his, feeling his salt-of-sweat irritate against yours - the surest proof of labours taken until now. "The gods give us life, and they just as easily take away. How can you fight against Fate, Venicius? You did what you could."
>>
>>3348176
>"The ways of the gods are ever hidden." You place your forehead against his, feeling his salt-of-sweat irritate against yours - the surest proof of labours taken until now. "The gods give us life, and they just as easily take away. How can you fight against Fate, Venicius? You did what you could." [PIETAS]

If anyone has a vested interest in piety, it's a demigod.
>>
>>3348190
I would say PIETAS is the demand for human obedience to preexisting god-cults. Whether that benefits you or doesn't, I leave it up to the individual player to interpret. I do wonder, however, whether you want to continue being "merely" a Demigod of Conquest, or something more.
>>
Also if anyone is interested in the source for the Latin quotation, it's from the Aeneid, Book 6, line 863. Anachronistic, I know, but it was so deliciously appropriate.
>>
>>3348202
I'd say the overall goal is to become a full-on god, personally. Preferably god of the sun. They always seem to do well.
>>
>>3348251
What, something like an Unconquered Sun?
>>
>>3348254
Bingo! For Alexandros, the Conquering Sun might be a more appropriate appellation, though.
>>
>>3348176
>" 'Quis, pater, ille, virum qui sic comitatur euntem? Filius, anne aliquis magna de stirpe nepotum? Quis strepitus circa comitum! Quantum instar in ipso! Sed nox atra caput tristi circumvolat umbra.' ” [AUCTORITAS] [ANTIPIETAS]
I just read the translation of the wider passage that was taken from. If I'm reading this right, it's roughly about the melancholy of losing a Roman son who's like will never be seen again?
>>
>>3348176
>>"And you paid your price. You always said that the consequence of not being suspicious was death, right?" You lay your palm against his chest, feeling the irregular beat. "You don't owe us anything, Venicius. It's all right." [FIRMITAS]
>>
>>3348264
>I read the translation
All according to keikaku
And some invectives to the gods for taking him away so soon, yeah.

'He saw, and, wond'ring, ask'd his airy guide,
What and of whence was he, who press'd the hero's side:
“His son, or one of his illustrious name?
How like the former, and almost the same!
Observe the crowds that compass him around;
All gaze, and all admire, and raise a shouting sound:
But hov'ring mists around his brows are spread,
And night, with sable shades, involves his head.”'

(John Dryden translation)

The "accompanying person" is either Death or Fortuna taking away Marcus (the person being mourned). So basically, death.


Completely unrelated, I need a sounding board - does the idea of becoming a "champion of humanity god" appeal to you, or do you prefer the more traditional divine domains, such as >>3348263 Conquering Suns and Trees and Oceans and Rocks and so on?
>>
>>3348283
Obviously I've already thrown my opinion out there, but the idea of a god as champion of humanity doesn't quite sit right with me, particularly in the context of Greco-Roman mythology.
IMO, the gods see humans as playthings, or in the case where they use faith as power, they see them as a food source. Useful to raise properly, like cattle, but not something to be championed.
Sure, you've got Prometheus, but IIRC he created humans, right? So, I'd read that story as him trying to empower his own creations in competition with the other creators.

Now, with this worldview, I'd see the character arc of Alexandros ascending to divinity as a gradual casting off of his attachment to humanity, seeing the other gods as his new peers.
>>
>>3348283
The patron God of ROMANITAS
>>
>>3348296
I suppose it is a question of Caesar vs Alexandros, as well.

Alexandros firmly believed (or so they say) that he was legitimately a god. Meanwhile, Caesar was something of a populist, working to earn the goodwill of the people and all that. There is also a certain reverence given to humanity, I think, in contemporary Roman thought. Certainly we see already the idea of a "natural right for humans" espoused by Cicero, who was himself an optimates, which later gets picked up by later people of the Renaissance to arguably form the bedrock of our perception of human value today.

I agree that Alexandros Basileus would have ditched his humanity without a thought, and ruled among the gods. But would Caesar?
>>
>>3348309
I guess we'll have to see where the quest goes from here to shape that outcome. I'll be continuing to push for the Alexandros characterization as much as I can, though.

I also think it's worth considering that we're headed to China, with the presumable end-goal of conquering that region. As we see with the Mongol conquerors (both Yuan and Qing empires), those who seize the middle kingdom tend to inherit aspects of its culture, and China has historically leaned pretty hard into the 'divine monarch, nearer heaven than earth' angle.
>>
>>3348318
I guess so, and we'll have to see if players choose to syncretise (or not) with the local faiths as well. I have some stuff planned for China, since that was supposed to be the main storyline until we turned up in eastern Parthian.

Hehe.

Ehehehehehehehehehe.
>>
>>3348321
Just think of the journey to China as your own little Odyssey. Full of strange adventures and wacky episodes; it may take nine years, but it'll make the arrival all the more sweet when we do get there!
>>
>>3348283
Something like Talos from the Elder Scrolls?
Also, I was hoping that someone else would have pointed this out, but apparently we've told everyone about our divine nature as Caesar. It was gonna come sooner or later, what with our miraculously accelerated growth, on top of our already odd level of knowledge. And something has happened to Landros? A part of me regrets not looking for our family first, but the more reasonable part of me knows that if we hadn't saved Scrivener when we did, we would have had a much tougher time reclaiming the ship without his support.
>>
>>3347264
This is some professional tier writing.
>>
>>3348321
Are we going to meet Hou Yi?
>>
>>3350626
Thanks! Vote is still open - I like to have a decent-sized sample size before committing to a vote outcome for nontrivial options - if you want to go for it. Sorry if the chatter obscured the voting bits!

>>3350639
We aren't even in China right now! Maybe by the time the next ASOIAF book comes out from the looks of my slow pacing and writing.
>>
>>3349113
Forgot to reply to this one - no, you haven't told -everyone- about your Caesarian origins. It's only Scrivener who knows due to [thing I am writing up]. I tried out a slight chronological shift to give some variation in the writing flow.

Telling Hermann that you were Roman, for example, would be catastrophic if you want his loyalty.

> A part of me regrets not looking for our family first
Alack and alas...

>but the more reasonable part of me knows that if we hadn't saved Scrivener when we did, we would have had a much tougher time reclaiming the ship without his support
You pretty much have it on the nail. Or nailed on the head. However that English expression goes.

So something I consider very important when DMing (and QMing) is the idea of Consequence. The existence of drawbacks of different flavours according to one's choices. Does life has a "True Good" path? Maybe, but we don't know. Not while living, at least. The same goes for Caesar. You don't really know what these branching paths will offer, but you can guess - and with those educated guesses based on the information you have, you have to make a choice.

Consolidate the floor with the professional soldiers, or storm into different decks without safeguarding your back? Or even from all the way in the beginning, when you could have gone for your parents alone instead of converting the soldiers to your cause (again)?

Ultimately I think it is best not to regret the decisions taken that already happened, but try to salvage pieces of precognitive (educating) factlettes that will help you judge things better the next time around. How much do you value your family? Your men? Your own life? If push comes to shove, would you sacrifice one for the other? Why?

Of course, I am nowhere near a good enough QM to actually put into pen these high-fallutin' concepts and ideas, but the Muses know I try. And like everything in life, trying is the most you can do, because we don't have cheatcodes and bullshit regeneration like Not!Caesar.
>>
>PIETAS

"The ways of the gods are ever hidden." You place your forehead against his, feeling his salt-of-sweat irritate against yours - the surest proof of labours taken until now. "The gods give us life, and they just as easily take away. How can you fight against Fate, Venicius? You did what you could."

"Hah, you've grown fucking soft," Venicius cough/laughs, spraying browning blood on your chest. "I should have given you a puppy to kill, or something daft like that." His breath is laboured. If he stopped talking, maybe he could live for a second more... but that's not how your mentor lived. Even as his lungs collapse from the lack of blood, he stubbornly chatters on. "You know, back when I was a gladiator, this one insane slave owner..."

"Yes?" you whisper softly. "This one insane slave owner. What did he do?"

Dead men do not talk. Not even one as bull-headed as Venicius.

"I'm sorry, lad," Ambiorix says. "He was... Roman, but I guess he wasn't too bad a person." The haggard Gaul is exhausted from sleepless nights in the too-crowded pens and not a few number of beatings, and smells it. But he insisted in coming around and clearing out the "rest of the rats with little Alexandros", as he put it, limping around with the help of Aisling's shoulder. She has a particularly dour face on. "My own teacher died before I was a man. Died to a javelin that pierced his throats when we were fighting against Caesar and his murderous bastards," her father continues. "Know this, little Alexandros, the greatest gift for a teacher is a student that surpasses him. You did that, AND he lived to see it. So be proud of yourself!"

Hermann shakes his head. "The dead are dead. We linger overmuch around cooling bodies," Ever the responsible chieftain - after he saw Ambiorix coming despite his condition, the German wordlessly came along as well. He is not as beaten up as the Gaul. "I do not draw attention from my captors," he had commented when you noticed that detail, back in the Prison Deck. "Slinging insults to those who have one's life in their hands does not do much good, after all."

Aisling stands between the two of them, keeping them apart, thus her bug-chewing expression. If she could say something to you without being overheard by her father and her suitor, it would be something like "Save me."

"Have some heart," the Gaulish chieftain grumbles, gesticulating his bruised arms wildly. "He should have some time to mourn. You never grieved for anyone, German?"

"I save my strength for those who are still alive. This... Roman is dead," the German says, tasting the word "Roman" with mild contempt. "He is one of many who died this week. If we stopped every time we saw a corpse, they would rot and we would catch the pox ere we are done. Death is the gods' crime, my energetic friend - let they sort the dead, while we care for the living."
>>
>>3350777

"Maybe you shouldn't do this now, Alexandros," Aisling says, bobbing up to block the two chieftains' glares toward each other with her head. "We have a lot of civilians who can take care of carrying out bodies and cleaning the ship. And besides..." she fidgets uncomfortably, "...your parents are in there."

"The girl has a point." Both you and Ambiorix look shocked as Hermann nods. "We shouldn't walk around aimlessly, wading among the bodies. That is a job for the grunts. Times like these are when leaders are needed in their stations, more than over, organising and directing the rebuilding from the center. Close your mouth, Ambiorix, before a fly enters that cavernous entrance of yours."

"You just agreed with a Gaul," Ambiorix states, his mouth still agape.

"This Gaul happened to have some sense," Hermann says matter-of-factly.

Before the two go at each other again (thankfully they were in different cells during their imprisonment...), you cough to get a word in.

>"After I see my parents with my own two eyes, Hermann. I need to know. What kind of son abandons his parents' bodies to be buried in the sea without at least seeing them for the last time?" [PIETAS - Ambiorix Approval]

>"There is some value in demonstrating a commonality with the pleb- I mean, the hoi polloi. Remember, Hermann, that there is more to being a leader than calculating for the most efficient decisions." [PRUDENTIA - Hermann Approval]

>"I know my parents are dead, Aisling. Don't worry, I am not going to fall into pieces. Not now. Too many things require my attention. But... I need a little time to process this." [Aisling Approval]

>Suggestions/write-ins
>>
>>3350767
Just in case you're curious, the expressions you're looking for are
>nailed it
>on the nose
or
>hit the nail on the head
>>
>>3350783
>"There is some value in demonstrating a commonality with the pleb- I mean, the hoi polloi. Remember, Hermann, that there is more to being a leader than calculating for the most efficient decisions." [PRUDENTIA - Hermann Approval]
>>
If [AUCTORITAS] won, Caesar would have quoted the poem in Latin, making Venicius realise that you are way too good at speaking the Roman language for a five-year-old. He would have also responded with the rest of the segment, quoting the part where Anchises replies, warning Aeneas of gods' envy of Roman might - that same wariness toward the mortals that will cause much strife and mischief in the burgeoning Roman Empire.

I will admit I was rather biased toward that option. In many of these choices, there are some that I am particularly fond of, and despite the necessary impartiality required for the QM, I can't help but wish for it to be picked! Hopefully it's not so obvious to the readers most of the time. I try to spend extra time writing extra lines for choices I am not too fond of.


>>3350784
Lovely, I always get some of these things not-quite-right. The difficulties of being ESL...
>>
>>3350791
For what it's worth, that's the first time I've had any indication of your having difficulty with English. Colloquialisms are always the most difficult part of a foreign language, of course.

I can only speak for myself, but I passed over the AUCTORITAS option due to the ANTIPIETAS add-on.
>>
>>3350802
Fair enough! I don't mean to make people second-guess their decisions, just wanted to share something I had planned to write and not end up doing. The poem was actually going to be part of the response regardless of the choice, but then I thought that slightly rebellious stance against the current pantheon and their disregard for the well-being of humanity made it deserve its own choice!

Also I did mention I was ESL in one of the firsts few threads. Gods, we're in thread 6 now. I really did not expect this quest to come such a long way. My previous attempt at a Bronze Age Sumerian quest few years back garnered zero attention.

I'll be intermittently checking the thread for the next two hours (yay weekend) so if you have stuff you want to talk about, questions, suggestions, or maybe even image dumps for our characters (I suck at google-fu) feel free to post 'em!
>>
>>3350820
>Bronze Age Sumerian quest few years back garnered zero attention
How did I miss this? I've been wanting fiction set in ancient Mesopotamia for ever!

To clarify, I meant that your being ESL hasn't come out in the writing prior to this; you've definitely talked about it, but you write well enough that I couldn't tell otherwise.
>>
>>3350783
>"After I see my parents with my own two eyes, Hermann. I need to know. What kind of son abandons his parents' bodies to be buried in the sea without at least seeing them for the last time?" [PIETAS - Ambiorix Approval]
>>3350791
Auctoritas just seemed to really fit the situation more than the other responses.
I certainly saw that you seemed to favor that response, what with it seeming to have had a bit more thought put into it than the other options. Not the other options were bad, of course, but the times you've have quotes in Latin made it seem as if you've wanted us to dig a little deeper when compared to the English options.
>>
>>3350828
Heh, thanks! Dialogues and scene descriptions are the bits I struggle with the most.

...So basically the whole writing bit, I guess, when it comes to quests. I'm very influenced by whataever I happened to read or hear or see the day I make the update - for example, I just finished the Unsounded comic few days ago, which is why we have a quote from that comic here.

>>3350829
Man, was it that obvious? I need to work on being more subtle. Ultimately the choices people choose are the choices made, and I must write without any attachments. But the "Julius KHAN" anon back in thread 1, when we were chargenning, made me really think.

And think.

Mmmmm.
>>
>>3350791
>He would have also responded with the rest of the segment, quoting the part where Anchises replies, warning Aeneas of gods' envy of Roman might
I just realized that the Aeneid was written between 10 and 20 years after Caesar's death. Definitely glad we didn't go for this option now.
>>
>>3350853
To be fair, it's already been 10 years since he died.
>>
>>3350857
To clarify, his new life up to now (5 or 6 years) plus however many he spent among the gods. Notice that he's already mentioned Caesarion's death at Octavian's hands, despite that happening a good decade and a half after his death.
>>
>>3350857
And of course the timeline is different here from that IRL, as we saw with Qin Er Shi; maybe in this timeline Vergil was patronized by an official in Caesar's administration, rather than Augustus'.
>>
>>3350783
>"After I see my parents with my own two eyes, Hermann. I need to know. What kind of son abandons his parents' bodies to be buried in the sea without at least seeing them for the last time?" [PIETAS - Ambiorix Approval]
Filial Piety always and forever
>>
>>3350783
>>"I know my parents are dead, Aisling. Don't worry, I am not going to fall into pieces. Not now. Too many things require my attention. But... I need a little time to process this." [Aisling Approval]
>>
>>3350783
>"There is some value in demonstrating a commonality with the pleb- I mean, the hoi polloi. Remember, Hermann, that there is more to being a leader than calculating for the most efficient decisions." [PRUDENTIA - Hermann Approval]
>>
>>3350790
>>3351089
Prudes

>>3351076
Girl

>>3350978
>>3350829
Petes

This isn't a Star Wars quest, there shouldn't be these many TIEs here! I'll give it until the evening for consensus to be attained, then start writing.
>>
>>3350783
>>"I know my parents are dead, Aisling. Don't worry, I am not going to fall into pieces. Not now. Too many things require my attention. But... I need a little time to process this." [Aisling Approval]
Did someone say tie?
>>
>>3352974
For the sake of breaking the tie, I'll shift to PIETAS.
>>
>>3350783
>I know my parents are dead, Aisling. Don't worry, I am not going to fall into pieces. Not now. Too many things require my attention. But... I need a little time to process this." [Aisling Approval]
>>
>>3352974
>"After I see my parents with my own two eyes, Hermann. I need to know. What kind of son abandons his parents' bodies to be buried in the sea without at least seeing them for the last time?" [PIETAS - Ambiorix Approval]
I'll take any option that isn't chasing after Hermann's fiancee.
>>
Writing - almost slept without making an update.
>>
>PIETAS

"After I see my parents with my own two eyes, Hermann. I need to know. What kind of son abandons his parents' bodies to be buried in the sea without at least seeing them for the last time?"

"A responsible leader-," Hermann begins, but Ambiorix finally lands that armlock on him, muffling his mouth.

"Go on, Alexandros!" The Gaul gives you a tired thumbs-up, while he uses his weight to push both himself and the German onto the ground. "I'm going to have a word with this callous sack of skin and bones with nary a bit of human soul in it. Take as long as you need!" At a loss of what to do with her temporarily invalid father laying on the floor against the protesting German chieftain, Aisling decides to sit on them, pinning them against the floor.

You step into the corridor.

Every step is muffled, like stepping onto real ground. No flimsy wooden planks here that creaks with every step, not on this deck. This was the living space for royalty.

For all their Oriental depravity, the Carthaginians were master seafarers. Perhaps the best, though your father would have vehemently denied that. There was something of a rivalry between the Phoenicians and the Hellenes, the former enjoying lucrative trade outposts in the Levant and African coasts, while the latter preferred to establish colonies of polis and actually settle civilians that would grow to be city states of their own.

The difference between the two people was that while the Greeks squabbled among themselves and fought polis against polis, Phoenicians built a maritime empire with Carthago as its centre around Mare Nostrum and even beyond.

While the Greeks played, the Carthaginians dreamed.

Ultramarinus.

Such was their ambition, their love for the sea that at one point that they built this monstrosity of a ship. A city upon itself, complete with different decks for the different social strata of Carthaginian society - an idol to the heights of human aspiration. Vanity? Perhaps. The gods saw to it that Carthago never ventured beyond the sea, sealing that particular venture with the threefold wars against Rome. It seems a common motif with the gods. Their envy against the growth of humankind prompts them to endow particularly brilliant individuals with tragic ends. Was it merely envy, you wonder, or fear?

...no. Such thoughts lead to impiety, to atheism. Rome was founded on piety to the gods despite the near-destruction of Troy by their hands, for a sin that could be traced to a single, envious goddess. Pius Aeneas - how he persevered though the gods sought the destruction of all he knew.
>>
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>>3354732

The Rhea was used as a heavy cargo ship by your father with great profit. Every available room, every inch of space crammed full of cedars of Lebanon and shipments of Syrian frankincense, gold from the corvee-mined Egyptian hills and even that most wondrous of steels, said to come from India and tempered in Damascus.

But even during that time, this particular section of the ship was never opened up to be sullied by such mundane items, kept closed from being used as mere storage space. Something about this place made the cargo-loaders (a superstitious bunch in the best of times) too uneasy to enter, even if they were ordered in.

You take another step.
>>
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>>3354745

The ostentatious ornamentations of silver filigrees depicting pelagic beasts frolicking amidst nightmarish human/Other chimaeras like aquatic satyrs upon panels of beaten bronze noblest of metals - that layer the walls and ceilings make their one and only intended use very clear to any intruder. Beware, mortal, the eyes warn, aloof and proud, products of the fertile imaginations of Phoenician artisans. The fantastic creatures and antedilluvian gods, despite being frozen mid-motion, seem to turn their heads whenever you pass them by. Here you tread in the abodes of the suffets and lord-captains of the greatest maritime empire ever known, they seem to chant. This place was meant for those of great blood and lineage. It is not meant for you.

"I am a god," you answer quietly against these unheard challenges. The bas-reliefs - contorting, shifting - do not answer, save for their mocking, knowing smiles.

Your hands are against the chamber-door, the blood and spinal fluid splattered against the face of the downward-staring Phoenician Poseidon inlaid upon hardwood gate like some sort of sick libative offering to the stern-faced god, making him seem more imposing than ever before. The door resists your strength. You feel the weight of those bronze-and-silver gazes from behind you.
>>
>>3354761

>"O, dead gods! You of the dead nation of Carthago, whose doom was spelled the moment it opposed Rome! Do not impede my progress, lest I, a Roman, disturb your peaceful rest amidst the walls and ceilings of my ship, as my kinsmen did against that forgotten nation. Your temple-fires have turned to ash, and converted to the dwelling-place of harlots and tax-collectors. None remember your names or make burnt offerings to give you pleasure. Cease your meddling, or know the consequence of blocking the way of Caesar." [AUCTORITAS]

>There is not even a question of responding to these hallucinations, these mirages of gods long past. They are less than wraiths, undeserving of being dignified by responses from your lips. You ignore them and push the door again. [DIGNITAS]

>"Foreign Poseidon!" You address the bas-relief before you, the one that seems to guard against your ingress into your mother's chamber. "Father of Horses, you Neptune of the thrice-accursed Carthaginians! Intercede on my behalf to your comrades, these nameless gods of the deep sea, whose exotic visages leer over my shoulders. Hear me, and know that what I say is true: I am Alexandros, son of Landros, son of Nicius. My father and his father before him are sailors and captains true, and you, Poseidon Earth-shaker, know of their piety - of the offerings, burnt and living, whenever they voyaged under your watchful gaze, and the care they took not to offend the gods. Were there gifts to you so displeasing that it makes you deter my progress? I have done nothing to earn your wrath; if I have, speak, Ocean-Lord, and make your grievance known." [PIETAS]
>>
>>3354772

>Custom [write-in]

---

O Muse! the causes and the crimes relate;
What goddess was provok'd, and whence her hate;
For what offense the Queen of Heav'n began
To persecute so brave, so just a man;
Involv'd his anxious life in endless cares,
Expos'd to wants, and hurried into wars!
Can heav'nly minds such high resentment show,
Or exercise their spite in human woe?


-Vergil, Aeneid 1.8.
>>
>>3354785
>There is not even a question of responding to these hallucinations, these mirages of gods long past. They are less than wraiths, undeserving of being dignified by responses from your lips. You ignore them and push the door again. [DIGNITAS]
>>
P.S. "panels of beaten bronze noblest of metals" is supposed to be "panels of beaten bronze - noblest of metals". Shame you can't edit on 4chan.
>>
>>3354772
>There is not even a question of responding to these hallucinations, these mirages of gods long past. They are less than wraiths, undeserving of being dignified by responses from your lips. You ignore them and push the door again. [DIGNITAS]
>>
>>3354772
>"Foreign Poseidon!" You address the bas-relief before you, the one that seems to guard against your ingress into your mother's chamber. "Father of Horses, you Neptune of the thrice-accursed Carthaginians! Intercede on my behalf to your comrades, these nameless gods of the deep sea, whose exotic visages leer over my shoulders. Hear me, and know that what I say is true: I am Alexandros, son of Landros, son of Nicius. My father and his father before him are sailors and captains true, and you, Poseidon Earth-shaker, know of their piety - of the offerings, burnt and living, whenever they voyaged under your watchful gaze, and the care they took not to offend the gods. Were there gifts to you so displeasing that it makes you deter my progress? I have done nothing to earn your wrath; if I have, speak, Ocean-Lord, and make your grievance known." [PIETAS]
>>
>>3354772
>"O, dead gods! You of the dead nation of Carthago, whose doom was spelled the moment it opposed Rome! Do not impede my progress, lest I, a Roman, disturb your peaceful rest amidst the walls and ceilings of my ship, as my kinsmen did against that forgotten nation. Your temple-fires have turned to ash, and converted to the dwelling-place of harlots and tax-collectors. None remember your names or make burnt offerings to give you pleasure. Cease your meddling, or know the consequence of blocking the way of Caesar." [AUCTORITAS]
There’s something so appealing about stepping to these dead gods
>>
>>3354772
>"Foreign Poseidon!" You address the bas-relief before you, the one that seems to guard against your ingress into your mother's chamber. "Father of Horses, you Neptune of the thrice-accursed Carthaginians! Intercede on my behalf to your comrades, these nameless gods of the deep sea, whose exotic visages leer over my shoulders. Hear me, and know that what I say is true: I am Alexandros, son of Landros, son of Nicius. My father and his father before him are sailors and captains true, and you, Poseidon Earth-shaker, know of their piety - of the offerings, burnt and living, whenever they voyaged under your watchful gaze, and the care they took not to offend the gods. Were there gifts to you so displeasing that it makes you deter my progress? I have done nothing to earn your wrath; if I have, speak, Ocean-Lord, and make your grievance known." [PIETAS]
Always respect gods, except for Inanna
>>
>>3354772
>>There is not even a question of responding to these hallucinations, these mirages of gods long past. They are less than wraiths, undeserving of being dignified by responses from your lips. You ignore them and push the door again. [DIGNITAS]
>>
>>3354772
>[AUCTORITAS]
>>
>>3354772
>>"O, dead gods! You of the dead nation of Carthago, whose doom was spelled the moment it opposed Rome! Do not impede my progress, lest I, a Roman, disturb your peaceful rest amidst the walls and ceilings of my ship, as my kinsmen did against that forgotten nation. Your temple-fires have turned to ash, and converted to the dwelling-place of harlots and tax-collectors. None remember your names or make burnt offerings to give you pleasure. Cease your meddling, or know the consequence of blocking the way of Caesar." [AUCTORITAS]
>>
>>3354801
>>3354834
>>3356268
DIGNITAS

>>3354955
>>3356231
PIETAS

>>3356607
>>3356509
>>3355193
AVCTORITAS

I suppose it is a good sign that the options are of even appearance when almost every single decisions are contested with ties. Will check up in a bit for a tie-breaker, then start writing.
>>
>>3356827
>DIGNITAS
>>
>>3354772
>"Foreign Poseidon!" You address the bas-relief before you, the one that seems to guard against your ingress into your mother's chamber. "Father of Horses, you Neptune of the thrice-accursed Carthaginians! Intercede on my behalf to your comrades, these nameless gods of the deep sea, whose exotic visages leer over my shoulders. Hear me, and know that what I say is true: I am Alexandros, son of Landros, son of Nicius. My father and his father before him are sailors and captains true, and you, Poseidon Earth-shaker, know of their piety - of the offerings, burnt and living, whenever they voyaged under your watchful gaze, and the care they took not to offend the gods. Were there gifts to you so displeasing that it makes you deter my progress? I have done nothing to earn your wrath; if I have, speak, Ocean-Lord, and make your grievance known." [PIETAS]

Something tells me that we're a small fish to them for now.
>>
>DIGNITAS

There is not even a question of responding to these hallucinations, these mirages of gods long past. They are less than wraiths, undeserving of being dignified by responses from your lips. You ignore them and push the door again.

The heavy-set burnished bronze feels cold to your touch, and unnaturally heavy. They do not budge.

"Try pushing harder," a voice speaks behind you helpfully, and you half-jump around, ready to defend yourself. Thankfully, it isn't a Cabaleiro loyalist who somehow managed to sneak past your underlings outside, only the archivist calling himself Veicht, carrying his writing implements as always. "Watch the decoration, though! I imagine it cost a fortune to build this thing. If you have the time, I would love to know the story behind your father's acquisition of this ship."

You thought you were alone. The almost-heard whispers put you on edge and made you inattentive. "One would think that a learned man such as you would know better than to intrude on a grieving son," you sigh, experimentally feeling for locks. If there are any, they're cleverly hidden indeed.

"It is not every day I get to see a living, breathing god in the flesh," Veicht says nonchalantly. "Every hero needs an advocate, someone to write down his deeds and feats. Besides, I'm supposed to record everything to do with the Company. You just happen to be very relevant indeed. Now, tell me -- is it true that the blood of the gods are dangerous to mortals and mundane items alike?"

"Find a better time, Scrivener. Or a different god." Not even a hint of secreted apertures that might lead to a lever mechanism to get this thing open. Blast.

"Hah! As if that were possible. The Age of Heroes is over." The mercenary-scribe shakes his head morosely. "The oldest archives in the Annals speak of demigods and dragons and giants, but I never thought they were real. Exaggerations, maybe, of particularly powerful champions... and exotic war-beasts. But demigods... we know those are real. There are occasional ripples in the affairs of man - one of which is your namesake. I wonder, are you that Macedonian reborn? Or someone new?"
>>
>>3358432

>"He is certainly a role-model to aspire to. The young king brought to heel much of the known world in his lamentably short lifespan with unrivaled speed and tactical acumen. I consider his unification of Greece to be as great a feat as his subjugation of the Persians - when was the last time the Greeks could be content to be unified on anything? He was truly on top of the world, if only for a short time. Ah, it is a magnificent thing, to be King. I would rather be first in a little Iberian village than second in R- Ctesiphon."

>"I am almost insulted you compare me with that idiot-savant. The boy practically received a fully-fitted out army from his father and went on a conquering spree, heedless of the political fallout back in his own country. Almost everything he accomplished was built off the work of others: the political system of Persian dynasties past that he adopted as his own, the indefatigable phalangites trained and brought to veterancy by his father... no, Scrivener. I am not Alexandros Basileus."

>Ignore the prattling Scrivener and continue to search for a way to open this damned door. You only had to push to get it open the last time you visited your mother - this is highly unusual.

>Your blood - it is anathema to things that are of mortal origin. Perhaps, if you were to shed your ichor on this door, it might be destroyed and the way opened...

>Suggestion
>>
>>3358435
>"He is certainly a role-model to aspire to. The young king brought to heel much of the known world in his lamentably short lifespan with unrivaled speed and tactical acumen. I consider his unification of Greece to be as great a feat as his subjugation of the Persians - when was the last time the Greeks could be content to be unified on anything? He was truly on top of the world, if only for a short time. Ah, it is a magnificent thing, to be King. I would rather be first in a little Iberian village than second in R- Ctesiphon."
>>
>>3358435
>>Ignore the prattling Scrivener and continue to search for a way to open this damned door. You only had to push to get it open the last time you visited your mother - this is highly unusual.
>>
>>3358435
>"He is certainly a role-model to aspire to. The young king brought to heel much of the known world in his lamentably short lifespan with unrivaled speed and tactical acumen. I consider his unification of Greece to be as great a feat as his subjugation of the Persians - when was the last time the Greeks could be content to be unified on anything? He was truly on top of the world, if only for a short time. Ah, it is a magnificent thing, to be King. I would rather be first in a little Iberian village than second in R- Ctesiphon."
>>
>>3358435
>"I am almost insulted you compare me with that idiot-savant. The boy practically received a fully-fitted out army from his father and went on a conquering spree, heedless of the political fallout back in his own country. Almost everything he accomplished was built off the work of others: the political system of Persian dynasties past that he adopted as his own, the indefatigable phalangites trained and brought to veterancy by his father... no, Scrivener. I am not Alexandros Basileus."
>>
>>3358435
>"He is certainly a role-model to aspire to. The young king brought to heel much of the known world in his lamentably short lifespan with unrivaled speed and tactical acumen. I consider his unification of Greece to be as great a feat as his subjugation of the Persians - when was the last time the Greeks could be content to be unified on anything? He was truly on top of the world, if only for a short time. Ah, it is a magnificent thing, to be King. I would rather be first in a little Iberian village than second in R- Ctesiphon."
>>
>>3358435
>Ignore the prattling Scrivener and continue to search for a way to open this damned door. You only had to push to get it open the last time you visited your mother - this is highly unusual.
>>
>>3358435
>Ignore the prattling Scrivener and continue to search for a way to open this damned door. You only had to push to get it open the last time you visited your mother - this is highly unusual.
>>
>>3358435
>"He is certainly a role-model to aspire to. The young king brought to heel much of the known world in his lamentably short lifespan with unrivaled speed and tactical acumen. I consider his unification of Greece to be as great a feat as his subjugation of the Persians - when was the last time the Greeks could be content to be unified on anything? He was truly on top of the world, if only for a short time. Ah, it is a magnificent thing, to be King. I would rather be first in a little Iberian village than second in R- Ctesiphon."
>>"I am almost insulted you compare me with that idiot-savant. The boy practically received a fully-fitted out army from his father and went on a conquering spree, heedless of the political fallout back in his own country. Almost everything he accomplished was built off the work of others: the political system of Persian dynasties past that he adopted as his own, the indefatigable phalangites trained and brought to veterancy by his father... no, Scrivener. I am not Alexandros Basileus."
>>
>>3359758
Whoops, that didn't come out quite right. I meant the first.
>>
>>3358461
>>3358552
>>3359433
>>3359758
Role Model

>>3359740
>>3359466
>>3358489
Please stop talking

>>3359405
Rude desu

Writing
>>
"It is a great thing, to be king," you say, focused on trying to budge the stubborn Poseidon-faced door open, "and even better to be the king of the world. But Alexandros was not merely great. He was magnificent."

"That flimsy "country" he built collapsed the moment he died," Veicht opines.

You shake your head. "You see a ruined nation, partitioned to tatters by his lieutenants, and you think that his Hellenic Dream came to an end. But that was not Alexandros' dream, Scrivener. He did not build a kingdom because he was preoccupied with unifying the world with his culture. Empires fall and cities come to ruin, but the language and spirit of the people, as long as it is convenient, will continue to be used by the common people. Your Five Hundred is just one such example. The unifying tongue among your wildly international men is the language of my people, is it not?"

Veicht nods thoughtfully. "It is certainly true that Greek, in one form or another, is spoken throughout much of the known world. I hear that even in the west, where proud Romans spread their legions, Greek is a household language."

"Then he built something no emperor could have done in his own lifetime," you smile to yourself despite the bubbling frustration toward the recalcitrant passage. "He built a culture to conquer all cultures, and in doing so, invaded and settled within all of us. This is why he is the great Basileus."

"But not so great that he could realise what he sought was in front of him, all along." The voice is neither yours nor Veicht's. You both turn in unison to the door, where the strange Carthaginian Poseidon leers down from its two-dimensional perch. "Oceanos!" It sneers. "Father of Waters! You Hellenoi are all the same - too puffed up for your own good. Why, I was here all along, lapping against the shores of Ithaca. He needn't have gone all the way to Sinae to see me!"

The mask-like face of Carthaginian Poseidon or its equivalent rattles in a most disconcerting fashion, shifting as it moves like liquid beneath the bronze-surface. "Leave me be, mortals! I feast for the first time in centuries - the life-blood behind me is most nourishing. It was not often I had such delectable victuals when my temples still stood. Whoever lived within had a most scrumptious vital energy.

You find me in a good mood - I shall let you leave with your limbs intact, if you run along now."
>>
>>3360715

The entire corridor seems to close in on you. Sibilant whispers that had egged you on as you proceeded through the corridor become verbalised heckling as the faces - so many faces! - crowd against each other, man and monster, fish and Other-things straining to the utmost limit against the bronze-surfaced panels that imprison them, licking their chops and grasping against their artisan prison.

You remember belatedly that Canaanites - of whom Carthaginians originated - were a people that delighted in the sacrifice of human lives. There is power in burnt offerings of animal. How much more, then, from the lives of living, thinking men? Just how empowered were these grotesque icons that they felt confident enough to show so blatantly their near-lifeness to their non-Carthaginian owners?

>Write-in response, the final product will be distilled from the most favoured of your responses. It need not be a reply, you could opt to run, if you so choose...
>>
>>3360717
"Silence!" Alexandros thunders, driving a booted heel into the dead god's brow with the full force of vital, living dignity. "You feast upon the corpses of those who brought into this world a true, incarnate god! I am no carrion-eating shade of doomed cults and dead cities, slowly fading with the years, but a rising force of the empire still to come! Do not test me further, moldering idols, lest I strike you from these walls and cast you into the sea you love so well!"
>>
>>3360800
Nice, stick it to him



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