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Stephanos did not ignore any of the gods. It was madness to do so, though it was true that he prayed to the god of the underworld less than the rest of the pantheon. That was likely a mistake, he reflected, as he walked through the echoing stone interior of the mountain. It was said that this was the first place that the ancients had built. Carving into the rock to build temples in service to the gods. It was also said that this was the gate to the underworld, or at least, close enough. He could well believe it too. The floor had a constant downward slope into what would have been utter blackness if not for the flickering torches that were always kept lit. The devout needed to know the way to their gods.
Stephanos rubbed his arms as he walked. The chill of the mountain was only kept at bay when he stepped close to the torches and his pace increased until he was walking faster and faster, nearly running. Someone stepped out in front of him, seeming to materialize from the shadows. He skidded to a halt, barely missing the priest of Hades.
“Where is your sacrifice?” the man asked. Perhaps it was Stephanos’s imagination but the man’s smooth, deep voice had an other wordly quality to it and did not echo off the walls.
“Coins,” Stephanos said in a hollow voice.
“This way,” the priest said and led the way through the dark doorway. There were only enough torches here to make it possible to see. The whole of the temple was awash in shadows and even the priests, who moved quietly through the halls, were dressed in black. Stephanos, in similar manner, had dressed in a dark chiton. It was believed that the god of the underworld did not listen to prayers or praise, but Stephanos would offer a prayer anyway.
He was partially here for Hades, and partially here to send a message to his father and brother. The afterlife was a mysterious thing and it was unclear if the dead knew what was happening in the land of the living, or if they were as careless as their god. Whatever was the case, it didn’t hurt for him to try and communicate.
The priest led him into the very center of the temple where a huge statue of Hades glared down at them. Stephanos gazed at the statue and then at the dias upon which the statue stood. There was a curved bowl there with slots, meant for blood sacrifices.
Incense burned in his nose and brain as it curled through the air. There was so much of it that the room was in a haze. Unlike what he might have done for Zeus, tilting his face up to the sky, Stephanos instead sank to his knees and pressed his forehead against the stone ground. For that was where Hades’s domain lay.
He pushed the coins onto the dias and prayed to Hades. He thanked Hades for allowing his father into the underworld and prayed for leniency for his brother. The coins were partially for Zacharias to cross the river Styx. They had not been able to find his body. The Creed had spirited it away after gutting him and drenching the cloak in blood. There had been no body to prepare.
“I failed,” he said against the stone floor of the temple. Entirely alone in this room now that the priests had left, he did not care about speaking aloud. “Father I failed. Your murderer sits on your throne and there is nothing I can do about it. I need help. I need a plan. I swear I will not see you again until I have avenged myself upon your brother,” he turned his face and stared into the shadows. Far away flame glittered against the blue of his eye.
How long he lay on the freezing stone floor, he didn’t know. This was as close to his father as he could possibly be and he didn’t want to leave. Somewhere above him, his wife was cursing his name. Somewhere beyond this cavern, his uncle paraded around Taengea in victory. If not for the vow he’d just made, he’d have ended it all. He was comfortable with the idea of death on his own terms. He just simply could not while Irakles lived.
“I will be a better man,” he promised, though he wasn’t sure who was listening or who cared. “I will try. I have learned my lesson.” For a while longer, he lay there, wishing as powerfully as he could do that his father would appear from the shadows and tell him to stand, that this was unbecoming. But he’d never hear his father’s voice again. Despite the despair he was in, he did not cry. He simply stood and dusted off the front of his clothes, bowed again to Hades, thanked the god for putting up with him, and left the temple, intent on making good on this vow.
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Check out their information page here.
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Stephanos did not ignore any of the gods. It was madness to do so, though it was true that he prayed to the god of the underworld less than the rest of the pantheon. That was likely a mistake, he reflected, as he walked through the echoing stone interior of the mountain. It was said that this was the first place that the ancients had built. Carving into the rock to build temples in service to the gods. It was also said that this was the gate to the underworld, or at least, close enough. He could well believe it too. The floor had a constant downward slope into what would have been utter blackness if not for the flickering torches that were always kept lit. The devout needed to know the way to their gods.
Stephanos rubbed his arms as he walked. The chill of the mountain was only kept at bay when he stepped close to the torches and his pace increased until he was walking faster and faster, nearly running. Someone stepped out in front of him, seeming to materialize from the shadows. He skidded to a halt, barely missing the priest of Hades.
“Where is your sacrifice?” the man asked. Perhaps it was Stephanos’s imagination but the man’s smooth, deep voice had an other wordly quality to it and did not echo off the walls.
“Coins,” Stephanos said in a hollow voice.
“This way,” the priest said and led the way through the dark doorway. There were only enough torches here to make it possible to see. The whole of the temple was awash in shadows and even the priests, who moved quietly through the halls, were dressed in black. Stephanos, in similar manner, had dressed in a dark chiton. It was believed that the god of the underworld did not listen to prayers or praise, but Stephanos would offer a prayer anyway.
He was partially here for Hades, and partially here to send a message to his father and brother. The afterlife was a mysterious thing and it was unclear if the dead knew what was happening in the land of the living, or if they were as careless as their god. Whatever was the case, it didn’t hurt for him to try and communicate.
The priest led him into the very center of the temple where a huge statue of Hades glared down at them. Stephanos gazed at the statue and then at the dias upon which the statue stood. There was a curved bowl there with slots, meant for blood sacrifices.
Incense burned in his nose and brain as it curled through the air. There was so much of it that the room was in a haze. Unlike what he might have done for Zeus, tilting his face up to the sky, Stephanos instead sank to his knees and pressed his forehead against the stone ground. For that was where Hades’s domain lay.
He pushed the coins onto the dias and prayed to Hades. He thanked Hades for allowing his father into the underworld and prayed for leniency for his brother. The coins were partially for Zacharias to cross the river Styx. They had not been able to find his body. The Creed had spirited it away after gutting him and drenching the cloak in blood. There had been no body to prepare.
“I failed,” he said against the stone floor of the temple. Entirely alone in this room now that the priests had left, he did not care about speaking aloud. “Father I failed. Your murderer sits on your throne and there is nothing I can do about it. I need help. I need a plan. I swear I will not see you again until I have avenged myself upon your brother,” he turned his face and stared into the shadows. Far away flame glittered against the blue of his eye.
How long he lay on the freezing stone floor, he didn’t know. This was as close to his father as he could possibly be and he didn’t want to leave. Somewhere above him, his wife was cursing his name. Somewhere beyond this cavern, his uncle paraded around Taengea in victory. If not for the vow he’d just made, he’d have ended it all. He was comfortable with the idea of death on his own terms. He just simply could not while Irakles lived.
“I will be a better man,” he promised, though he wasn’t sure who was listening or who cared. “I will try. I have learned my lesson.” For a while longer, he lay there, wishing as powerfully as he could do that his father would appear from the shadows and tell him to stand, that this was unbecoming. But he’d never hear his father’s voice again. Despite the despair he was in, he did not cry. He simply stood and dusted off the front of his clothes, bowed again to Hades, thanked the god for putting up with him, and left the temple, intent on making good on this vow.
Stephanos did not ignore any of the gods. It was madness to do so, though it was true that he prayed to the god of the underworld less than the rest of the pantheon. That was likely a mistake, he reflected, as he walked through the echoing stone interior of the mountain. It was said that this was the first place that the ancients had built. Carving into the rock to build temples in service to the gods. It was also said that this was the gate to the underworld, or at least, close enough. He could well believe it too. The floor had a constant downward slope into what would have been utter blackness if not for the flickering torches that were always kept lit. The devout needed to know the way to their gods.
Stephanos rubbed his arms as he walked. The chill of the mountain was only kept at bay when he stepped close to the torches and his pace increased until he was walking faster and faster, nearly running. Someone stepped out in front of him, seeming to materialize from the shadows. He skidded to a halt, barely missing the priest of Hades.
“Where is your sacrifice?” the man asked. Perhaps it was Stephanos’s imagination but the man’s smooth, deep voice had an other wordly quality to it and did not echo off the walls.
“Coins,” Stephanos said in a hollow voice.
“This way,” the priest said and led the way through the dark doorway. There were only enough torches here to make it possible to see. The whole of the temple was awash in shadows and even the priests, who moved quietly through the halls, were dressed in black. Stephanos, in similar manner, had dressed in a dark chiton. It was believed that the god of the underworld did not listen to prayers or praise, but Stephanos would offer a prayer anyway.
He was partially here for Hades, and partially here to send a message to his father and brother. The afterlife was a mysterious thing and it was unclear if the dead knew what was happening in the land of the living, or if they were as careless as their god. Whatever was the case, it didn’t hurt for him to try and communicate.
The priest led him into the very center of the temple where a huge statue of Hades glared down at them. Stephanos gazed at the statue and then at the dias upon which the statue stood. There was a curved bowl there with slots, meant for blood sacrifices.
Incense burned in his nose and brain as it curled through the air. There was so much of it that the room was in a haze. Unlike what he might have done for Zeus, tilting his face up to the sky, Stephanos instead sank to his knees and pressed his forehead against the stone ground. For that was where Hades’s domain lay.
He pushed the coins onto the dias and prayed to Hades. He thanked Hades for allowing his father into the underworld and prayed for leniency for his brother. The coins were partially for Zacharias to cross the river Styx. They had not been able to find his body. The Creed had spirited it away after gutting him and drenching the cloak in blood. There had been no body to prepare.
“I failed,” he said against the stone floor of the temple. Entirely alone in this room now that the priests had left, he did not care about speaking aloud. “Father I failed. Your murderer sits on your throne and there is nothing I can do about it. I need help. I need a plan. I swear I will not see you again until I have avenged myself upon your brother,” he turned his face and stared into the shadows. Far away flame glittered against the blue of his eye.
How long he lay on the freezing stone floor, he didn’t know. This was as close to his father as he could possibly be and he didn’t want to leave. Somewhere above him, his wife was cursing his name. Somewhere beyond this cavern, his uncle paraded around Taengea in victory. If not for the vow he’d just made, he’d have ended it all. He was comfortable with the idea of death on his own terms. He just simply could not while Irakles lived.
“I will be a better man,” he promised, though he wasn’t sure who was listening or who cared. “I will try. I have learned my lesson.” For a while longer, he lay there, wishing as powerfully as he could do that his father would appear from the shadows and tell him to stand, that this was unbecoming. But he’d never hear his father’s voice again. Despite the despair he was in, he did not cry. He simply stood and dusted off the front of his clothes, bowed again to Hades, thanked the god for putting up with him, and left the temple, intent on making good on this vow.