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Dion Erechtheus

The embodiment of trouble, a joker first class with a tendency of digging his own graves.

0 · 622 views · located in Anthiro

a character in “The Heritage of Cy'Rell”, as played by CausaMortis

Description

Image
Age:
16

Gender:
Male

Sexual Orientation:
Straight

Race:
Human

Description:
short brown curls drape his head, which makes his piercing dark green eyes stand out.
He is of semi-average height for his age. With a 5'9", his body tone is athletic but thin.
Normally goes dressed with whatever rags he finds suiting that day. Has a favorite necklace though, of a flying nightingale.

Companions:
He knows everyone in the village, just as everyone knows his tricks and practical jokes.
Many have been his victims for a crude laugh, few care to pursue him when doing so however.
Being an orphan he was raised by the community and he regularly helps out by performing "magic tricks",
which are often nothing much more then sleight of hand here and there, at the Rough Traveler Inn.

He is mostly befriended with some local kids and he gets along great with the inn-keepers wife Allina.
Who regularly slips him something extra, if not a fresh onion or a warm pie, without her husband noticing.

Personality:
Very enthusiastic and passionate about anything he does. Very cheerful in general,
sarcastic remarks are however not unprecedented; It's rather one of his favorite pastimes.
He is keen on going on the defensive with sarcastic remarks or jokes when feeling confronted.

Greatest Desire:
A safe place to call home, his own home.

Greatest Fear:
Being alone, ending up alone.

Powers/Abilities:
Dion always has been a hyper active kid who climbed every tree, house and shed he could lay his eyes on.
Consistently running after fooling someone has made him lean and fast for someone his age.
His greatest skill and secret however is his talent, his talent to copy anything he sees, to the detail.

So begins...

Dion Erechtheus's Story

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Anthiro's Children

ImageCenturies come and go. Cultures rise and fall. Events, forgotten and lost. Everything begins where others things end. It is the unending line of fate that tumbles and falls, to rise and cheer again. Our story began where those of others have ended, bringing a new change upon us. The tale began in a village with an insidious incident; one that will reveal the fate of a mischievous village boy and those close to him.
ImageA roar echoed in The Dirty Fox, a small inn in a small village named Anthiro. It was immediately followed by the roaring sound of protest. "Ya little rascal, I’ll teach ya!" shouted the mighty giant of a man at the pernicious brat that dangled in his grip.
Image"What did I do wrong, sir?" said the rascal with a sly grin, which did not really endorse his words of innocence. "I've been sitting here the whole time." he added in another feeble attempt to sound virtuous.
Image"I know it be you. You peppered me clothes! Ya bloody Imp!" bellowed the giant.
Image"Mr Veron, I would never insult such an upstanding gentleman as you.” the boy said with a grin that spoke volumes. “It surely isn’t my fault when you threw your own merchandise among your clothes."
ImageVeron’s face turned a hard shade of red. "Ya little rat! Me own pepper, I’ll show ya a good lesson. Time to color those stones with some of ya Shar's blood."
ImageThe mischievous boy realized he might have gotten himself in a real danger now and stuttered apologies while attempting to struggle out of Veron’s iron grip. The owner of the inn tried to stop Veron, but she could not do much to halt the bull of a man. Helpless, she prayed a short prayer for her poor Dion. Veron burst out the inn with a yelling Dion in his hands and just moments before smashing the poor boy headfirst into the cold tiles of the street, a strong hand stayed Veron’s arm.
Image"I’d let him go." spoke a deep voice. Veron looked down upon a middle aged man with silver white hair and defined muscles which showed through finely made clothes.
Image"Why would I? What do ya care about this small devilchild?" Veron replied contemptuously. Dion stared puzzled at the stranger who dared to argue the giant of a man. Much better.
Image"Because I’ll cover the expenses for any inconvenience that this boy has created. The why is my own concern. His blood on the tiles will not return you your pepper."
ImageVeron seemed stunned, but his eyes immediately had that greedy inquisitive twinkle, one that had brought many men to poverty. "Had these special peppers imported from the Malania Isles. The boy’s mischief cost me easily ten gold crowns, which me thinks ya couldn’t afford, stranger."
ImageAs an answer the stranger placed ten gold crowns in the free hand of Veron, who stared bewildered at the money, after which the stranger placed another gold coin on top of the rest. "For washing the clothes."
ImageVeron let Dion fall carelessly, his eyes focused only on the gold. "Thank ya kind sir, the boy is yours." With one last glare at Dion he stepped back into the inn. The boy stood on the cold stones and rubbed his bruised rear, pleased he escaped the bulky man with just slight inconvenience instead of paying a higher price. He looked up at the stranger who was much bigger than him, at least a head or more, and realised that despite the silver hair his face had was not that old. He actually looked quite handsome, Dion estimating him around fifty-five years old.
Image"Veron ripped you off. That pepper was hardly a crown’s worth." Dion said to the man and continued with a lopsided grin when he recalled the moment when Veron had discovered the pepper. "Though that ogre’s expression was worth the eleven crowns."
ImageThe stranger stared with his pale blue eyes into Dion wearily. "But it almost got you killed."
ImageDion's grin distorted into a pained expression. "And I thank you wholeheartedly for your saving me, though I don’t understand why’d you spend so much gold on a stranger. That money could have bought you most of this village."
ImageThe stranger smiled. "Better a life than wealth. I can spare the coins."
ImageDion thought that would be doubtful, considering the clothes the man wore. Then his eyes fell on the man’s sword. The handle had no impractical inscriptions but it did have decorations of rings in gold and silver, whereas the sheath was fully adorned with oak leaves made of gold on silver. Dion reached out his hand. "I'm Dion."
ImageThe man answered the greeting by shaking hands and spoke in a deep voice. "And I'm Eothin, nice to meet you." Dion nodded kindly. "Shouldn’t you go home? Your parents will be worried if you’re out at this late hour." said Eothin with a friendly smile.
ImageIt faded quickly due to Dion's pained expression and his words."I have no parents, nor a real home to go back to. I sleep in the stables of The Dirty Fox and it is the innkeeper's wife Cera who has been such a sweet person to me, giving me food and a bed for the little work I do. Even though I always pull these pranks she never gets mad. Wouldn’t know where I would be without her. " Dion's thoughts lingered on where fate had brought him. He quickly recovered and his eyes regained a curious twinkle as he asked what Eothin was visiting Anthiro for.
Image"On passage to Deria." The stranger was clearly amused by the boy’s interest. "I'm by foot and this sleepy village seemed to offer a nice place to stay and a warm meal." As if responding to Eothin’s words Dion’s stomach rumbled. the stranger laughed loudly. "Come on little buddy I’ll buy you a meal. I’m hungry as well, but promise me that you will leave the big guy alone or I will kick your ass myself."
ImageDion grimaced when he thought of the pain his bruised back had endured. "That I'd rather spare myself from. My butt has had enough to endure."
ImageEothin burst out in loud laughter. "Come let's go in.” And pushed the door open to the inn. The Dirty Fox was a pleasant inn, not overly decorated but had a noticeable feminine touch. A large fireplace kept the room warm and the smell of good food floated from the kitchen, prevailing over the smell of beer. Several tables were occupied by rising merchants and locals who liked chit chatting with strangers. Of course there were tables used for playing dice, one of Dion's favorite pastimes when he had some money left. Gambling was something he was miraculously good at at times, but he lost often enough to avoid suspicion. Dion did not really care for wins or losses; he just enjoyed the thrill of luck which was always worth a coin. Tonight he would not play because Veron sat at the table. Instead Eothin chose the table furthest away from Veron and called a maid to order. When she arrived Dion had his mischievous grin on his face.
Image"Hi Jenny, you are such a sunshine every time I see you. Are you sure you're not going to go with me at the old oak tree for the midsummer dance?" The old oak tree was famous for young couples hooking up during the midsummer festivals.
ImageThe maid blushed, focusing on Eothin rather than responding. "What would you like?"
ImageDion grinned triumphantly, knowing that his question had achieved his goal.
ImageThe stranger smiled as he replied friendly. "A good meal with meat for both me and this little lad here. Some beer as well." The maid took off to the kitchen after a brief glance over her shoulder to Dion, and returned a bit later with a fragrant meal with a good piece of pork. the boy was not one to wait and attacked the meal.
ImageSatisfied, they both leant back in their seats enjoying their beer. Dion sat engrossed by Eothin’s company, who had started telling stories of distant places, like the Tulbanians and the Malania islands and their strange cultures. He was not sure he really should believe that there were birds and lizards big enough to carry people on their backs and that Tulbanian women were also warriors, but he was charmed by the stories either way. Eothin’s stories were interrupted just like all other conversations when a girl’s crystal clear voice filled the room. A elegant slightly noble looking girl named Philomela sat on the stool on stage. Soon everyone clapped and sang along, for Ciryll’s Virtue was a well-known tune in the kingdom. It was about the first king of the empire and his cordial good earnings. After they had finished singing along, she received cheers and kind words of the guests, then proceeded with an equally well-known song. This one was much more raunchy, and about the wife of a farmer who complained about how he could not be like her lovers by emphasizing on her husband’s shortcomings, which often evoked laughter from the guests in the inn, especially due to the lines the girl had added herself.
ImagePeople cheered loud when the song finished and several coins were thrown at the feet of Philomela, and she picked them up, giving the men time to order some drinks before she went with a ballad about lost loved ones. By the end of the show both Eothin and Dion were heavily intoxicated, and were about to retreat when suddenly Veron stood in their way.
Image"M’lord, was wonderin’ if ya sell that fine sword ya carryin’? am willin’ to pay a great amount." Veron said eagerly. "Have never seen such a b’utiful sword, and me would like to purchase it at any cost."
ImageEothin's good mood vanished like snow in the sun. "No, I would never part with it, regardless the amount offered." His voice was icecold.
ImageVeron raised an eyebrow but did not relent."Not even fo’ fifty Nippolian crowns?" Dion was shocked by the absurd amount of money offered. It was enough to buy a small mansion with some land.
ImageEothin did not waver. "It is not for sale." he said in a voice that did not invite contradiction, walking right past Veron up the stairs to his room.
ImageVeron spoke at Dion. "Keep ya head down next time me see ya imp, ‘cause he be certain unable to save ya skin then." And with those scornful words he turned and left the inn. Dion felt that there was more meaning in Veron’s words than was apparent but could not place it. His drunken state probably was not helping, therefore he decided to just go to sleep, proceeding to the stables to lay in his straw bed while a lovely voice carried in the air.

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Character Portrait: Dion Erechtheus Character Portrait: Philomela Flos Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait:
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An enchanting voice would reach Dion even in the stables, it was the fluttering sweet soprano of Philomela. She had been paid to sing in the Inn that night, and while strumming her lyre tunefully, she had begun almost as soon as he’d left, it didn’t matter that it was so late at night, this was when her performance shift started, the innkeeper thought that she had better sing when the couples starting coming in, to “ get a romantic mood going and all ‘at”, he’d said and so Philomela had sung a love song. Doing her slow and rich finger work on her Lyre to accompany the beautiful voice she had lifted to sing. Philomela’s music flowed from her lips steadily and sweetly, it might have been heard all across the village, the melody carried so well.

“Come again sweet love thy doth now invite, thy graces that refrain, to do me due delight..” The tempo quickened and the emotion of the lyrics more impassioned
“To see, To touch, To hear, To kiss, To die…With thee again, in sweetest sympathy…” The young singers voice was a graceful, bright, classical soprano with a lyrical style. Plucking each string on her lyre to accompany her melodious voice, it looked as if her fingers were dancing across the instrument.
“Come again, so I might cease to mourn, through thy unkind disdain, for now left and forlorn” Philomela seemed to be putting her soul into the words, it might have seemed as if her heavenly sound was spinning and pirouetting about the room and she hit the highest notes with ease and utter perfection. “I sit, I sigh, I weep, I faint, I die…” And she held the note on the last word for quite some time before finishing “In deadly pain, and endless misery…” She went on like this for quite some time, each refrain of the song being slightly different in emotion than the first before finally finishing and letting the very last notes ring out clear as bells and sweeter than a chorus of nightingales, an an applause she began another song.

Philomela, the singer, had noticed Dion when coming in, as she had entered almost as soon as he’d left, but hadn’t said a thing in greeting. The other kids in Anthiro didn’t like her, she could tell, they always thought she was a snob for going up every day to her Maestro Ampelius’s elegant villa to see him and his wife for Voice and Lyre lessons, they had made their fortune by being court musicians in their day and that’s what Philomela wished she could do, but she knew that was impossible, she wasn’t even of slightly noble birth, as far as she knew. Philomela was a bastard after all, so she couldn’t be sure, although, being a bastard child of a nobleman was quite a bit worse than being the legitimate daughter of a peasant. It was as if she was untouchable, especially when it came to marriage, she might have already been married off , but anyone who wed her would only go lower in the social order.

Her going up to the glittering and vast estate of Gaius Lucilius a nobleman who lived nearby, to sing for the crowds whenever he threw a party or had company only made things worse, especially since he’d given her nicer clothing, a pure white Chiton gown with gold fabric to secure it in its position draped about her willowy frame, the girls in her village had laughed and called her the pet of wealthy men and that she was like one of the animals in his menagerie, a living decoration.

Most of the women in Anthiro thought she was his new mistress, this was, surprisingly, not the case, as he had a habit of choosing ladies who were very young in comparison to himself. Philomela didn’t know why he hadn't make an advance towards her in that way, although, it did not change the fact that she appreciated that very much, and never wanted to be anyone’s concubine. Philomela had seen how well that had gone with her own mother.


Sleeping on straw beds alone, when she used to lie under silk covers in the beds of kings, this was not the life she wanted. Philomela had to make her own way, and not as someone’s property or rather someone's property for only a night. However, She supposed it had to be better than being a wife, after thinking on it a moment. At least ladies of the evening had some choice in the matter, they could refuse men if they wanted, and got paid a great deal for only one night of feigning love. Philomela did not want to sell herself, but perhaps she could someday if it meant getting to Omperus. What was so bad about lying in sin with a senator for the night, if you were to breakfast with utensils of gold the morning after?


Stepping from the Tavern after performing about six songs, each greeted with a roaring applause, Philomela leaned against it's outer walls and pondered her life in the village for a moment. Despite most of the patrons being drunken they actually seemed to break from their bawdy chatter and become silent when the young Hellenian sang. Philomela could not help but beam when this happened and In spite of anything the locals may have thought about her, they'd always recognized that she had a truly celestial voice. For this Philomela would not have changed a thing, better to have a talent, she thought, than friends or suitors.

((So I’m not plagiarizing his lyrics, The song was "Come again sweet love doth invite" by The 16th century composer John Dowland))

The setting changes from Anthiro to Cy'Rell

Setting

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Character Portrait: Dion Erechtheus Character Portrait: Philomela Flos Character Portrait: Larloch des Tam Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait:
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Philomela stood in the moonlight that cast shadows all around her, holding her Lyre with its shining strings, and having a few quiet moments of thought. This tranquil period was abruptly interrupted by an odd looking stranger, he didn't seem to be from Anthiro or even Hellenia. The winsome singer wasn't sure about this newcomer, he was pale like her,and his looks were very much unlike the other villagers. Philomela saw him before he spoke, walking towards the tavern in these peculiar flowing robes. He looked like some sort of alchemist. However, she'd only read about them in books and never seen one in person and couldn't be sure.

His stature and manner of dress reminded her of a misty specter or whirling fog, the way his robes seemed to sway in the light breezes that graced the village. This caused her to recall the ghost stories she had heard as a child. Of course those weren't anything founded in reality, they were simply to keep her running out into the fields at nighttime, which could be dangerous in the small village that became so dark at sundown.

Why was he speaking to her? Did he think she was some sort of tavern wench or barmaid? If not he must have been up to something sinister, men who came so late into the village could be dangerous for young women like Philomela. Although, she knew the stables where Dion slept were nearby and if that scoundrel had even a pinch of honor he'd come running if she screamed. Still, she wouldn't make that assumption before attempting conversation.

Philomela curtsied demurely before lifting her voice, which was almost as musical as her song, the words softly spoken "Good evening sir, It is a rather late hour for one to be traveling alone in a strange land, is it not?" She had let him know that she was privy to the fact he was obviously not from Anthiro. She answered his question politely, but still was unsure of the man. Her name was one that rolled off the tongue with ease, perfect for a performer. "I am Called Philomela Flos, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, good sir." Philomela was trying not to be abrupt with him, but she knew not of his purpose there and was unsure of his presence, it made her somewhat uneasy.

The girl looked almost like a snow drop on tree bark, leaning there against the worn and dark wood that made up the taverns walls, she wore a light toga-like dress draped about her slender figure, hugging her waist with a bunch of ribbony golden fabric wound about the middle. Her attire, to say the least, was very different from Larloch's. She was curious to know, if he were some sort of mage from Omperus. Perhaps the man was simply passing through Anthiro, in that case she'd try to help him "Could it be that you have lost your way? Or perhaps you seek a bed for the night?" Philomela was sure he saw that they stood outside an Inn so she made no mention of it. If he had coin enough she was sure he'd stay at The Dirty Fox, if not maybe they'd allow him to sleep in the stables with Dion, Philomela wondered if he could hear their conversation from where he slept.

The setting changes from Cy'Rell to Anthiro

Setting

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Character Portrait: Damon Aeacus Character Portrait: Dion Erechtheus Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait:
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Heat crashed against the apron in waves, while cinder and sparks filled the air as each hit ignited the steel’s yellow-orange glow. Clang. The air was heavy with heat and the scent of burning charcoal. The smithy’s furnace had been glowing all day, the repetitive clashing of hammer on steel echoing throughout the room. The young apprentice was a man who rarely knew rest, only relaxing while forging iron and steel. Clang. His red eyes glowed like the ember he worked with; like a kiss of fire it caressed those he looked upon. Damon Aeacus was no hard man, but he was no simpleton either. Cinder and smoke, fire and steel; they filled his soul with a passion beyond any he had known. Clang.

He had been working all day, supporting his father’s detailed work with a sledge hammer. At night it was his turn, creating intricate work on his own. Clang. Years he had worked with his father, day and night, and finally the apprentice’s detailed work was slowly surpassing his teacher‘s. Most of it was useless though; beautifully adorned helmets, armor, and swords brought little coin in a small village like Anthiro, but one day he would travel and find a master smith. Clang. The fuller, a tool for lengthening steel, was drawing down the metal Damon was working on. It was close to being finished. Oh, the very idea of improving his skill further and learning new skills appealed to him above other things. Clang.

The work on this particular tool had been prepared days ahead, and he had even taken the time to find out what amount of alloy would forge the strongest steel. Clang. Sweat was dripping from his brow. Working in the fire had earned him quite a toned skin and some small charred wounds. Clang. Corners of the metal were knocked off, finishing the shape in a strong block with an hole the size of an egg. Clang. “That was the last hit, now time to finish it up.”

‘Finishing up’ had taken most of the night. Grinding away, fitting in the handle, and creating the detailed decorations on the head. Then as a finishing touch he inscribed his initials. He had finished his work, on his lap lay the newly forged hammer specifically made for forging blades. Whilst Damon had fallen asleep in his working chair, the smithy rested with an uncommon silence.

Setting

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Character Portrait: Dion Erechtheus Character Portrait: Philomela Flos Character Portrait: Argenta Arhanrod Character Portrait: Larloch des Tam Character Portrait: Character Portrait:
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Involuntarily, Philomela's eyebrows rose, had the mage just simply sat upon the ground before her? With his legs folded over one another in such a strange fashion, sitting upon the grassy path that led away from the tavern that flanked her. With her standing up and Larloch posturing himself the way he did, it would have certainly been a sight to see, a bemused singer clutching a Lyre with a grauenlandian sitting at her feet. What was this man trying to do?

Philomela thanked the gods that Argenta had gone, what would be said if she was seen? That she was a lady of the evening ready to be claimed by whomever deigned to visit Anthiro? As standing outside a tavern full of drunkards, in almost pitch darkness, with an unknown man about her age, did not look virtuous at all. And anything involving Philomela tended to become exaggerated beyond measure.


He was now informing her that as an artist, she was an expert on dreams, and yet he did not even know what it was she did. Did he? Philomela hadn't mentioned it but perhaps he'd heard her singing, as her voice had a way of carrying through the village.

It was true that dreams gave purpose, but they never brought her comfort, for hers was a grand dream that few other girls from inconsequential farming villages possessed. Larloch was then explaining to her that, in his opinion, the best way to truly know someone was through knowledge of their dreams, their desires. Perhaps it was, that's what her courtesan mother had always said, albeit, she had used the word desires in place of dreams and was usually speaking of men.

Now the mage told her that Omperus was not all she might have hoped, but Philomela seemed to tune this little dash of information out. As she'd have to see for herself before tossing away her pretty expectations for the city. And Philomela certainly hoped that she would someday, at least once, see for herself what Omperus was really like.

Wait a moment…The mage spoke of being driven out of Omperus? What had he done? Was this spell weaver some sort of criminal? Perhaps he had performed some forbidden form of magic, stolen from a merchants stall, Or…Gods forbid he had committed a murder or abduction?! Philomela was somewhat frightened by this new information, granted she had a tendency to over think things, still he must have been a lawbreaker of some manner? Philomela's stomach turned at these imaginings.

She attempted to banish these thoughts when he quite boldly asked her what her own dream was, but they continued to nip at the corners of her mind and the flush of pink had abandoned her cheeks leaving them the same ivory color as the rest of her visage. "Ah..My dream ..I--"

Luckily, she was cut off by Argenta who had been walking with her silver merchant father. Philomela had often seen the raven haired and ice eyed Argenta in the market with the man, it had caused her on occasion to wonder just what it was like to have a father. Philomela had her uncle, but he had born his own children and paid her little heed. This was not a bother of course, as he'd had the grace and charity to take her disgraced mother in and keep the concubine's daughter as if she were his own. Still, the girl had never met the man who'd given her snowy skin, pale blonde hair and sky blue eyes, or so she thought.

What was this? Argenta who'd never breathed a word to the musician in her life was now asking Philomela to accompany her to the stables? Perhaps Argenta had chosen a suitor and needed a songstress to perform at the wedding? The heavily cloaked girl had never struck her as one to settle for life as a farmers wife, but possibly that had changed?

However, there was a slim chance that Argenta had actually saw the somewhat desperate situation Philomela found herself in and decided to help the much whispered about young lady out. Which would have astonishing as most village females, maidens, wenches, and matrons alike, tended to avoid Philomela as if she were the plague. It was all to due with the rumors about her, but even more so because it was generally thought that by striving for higher company and a life as a performer outside of Anthiro, she was spitting upon the simple lifestyle lived by those in the farming village.

If she was indeed trying to be of assistance, Philomela would have been extremely grateful,For she did not know what Larloch's crime had been. He could have been holding a knife behind his back, for pities sake!

Somehow feeling she was taking a gamble, the singer turned to Larloch and gave an apologetic curtsey and cooed a lie, for she had never once even chatted with Argenta in her lifetime. "My sincerest apologies, it seems my dear friend Argenta is in a state of emergency, please do excuse me, Sir."

Philomela then took Argenta's arm and put on a smile oft reserved for gentry or those she was familiar with.

When they had walked far enough away, Philomela leaned ever so slightly nearer to Argenta and whispered, her voice sounding unsteady for the first time that night"Gods bless you, That man seems to have been an exile from Omperus, I feared he was a criminal of some sort." She paused and cast her gaze downwards, hoping she was not incorrect in her assumptions. "That is why you beckoned me, is it not?"

By this time, they'd surely have reached the stables, and their speech would have almost undoubtedly woken the sleeping Dion.

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ImageDion had been dreaming of giants smashing trees and kids and shining knights killing giants when a good shake and yelling woke him from his drunken slumber.
Image“C’mon Dion, my father is waiting.” he heard a familiar voice say.
Image“I’mma commin’, I’mma commin.” he replied sluggishly with a drunken man’s tongue before letting himself drop down at the door. He had to attempt several times before he succeeded at unlocking it for the guests waiting outside. The wooden door opened up slowly; Dion showing his sleepy face to those who had woken him up. Philomela and Argenta stood there arm in arm, and Dion suddenly thought he was still dreaming. No girl gets along with Philomela. What is this witchery? The drunk boy became wary, stepping aside before speaking. “Here you are -hick- ma’ams.” Waving his hand as if he was addressing royalty before he stumbled backward falling on his rear. “Woops -hick-.”

The setting changes from Anthiro to Cy'Rell

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Damon Aeacus Character Portrait: Dion Erechtheus Character Portrait: Philomela Flos Character Portrait: Larloch des Tam Character Portrait: Character Portrait:
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The setting changes from Cy'Rell to Anthiro

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Damon Aeacus Character Portrait: Dion Erechtheus Character Portrait: Philomela Flos Character Portrait: Argenta Arhanrod Character Portrait: Larloch des Tam Character Portrait:
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Philomela heard very little of Larloch's explanation and she did not quite understand what the imposing foreigner was speaking of, in fact it sounded like the ravings of a mad man. She was glad to have left with Argenta, and to know that however much the silver merchants daughter might have been poisoned against ever speaking to Philomela, she had the honor and kindness to rescue her from someone who must have been certifiably insane.

The lily of a girl stood outside the stables a moment before seeing Dion appear and noticing the surprise on his face. It was then she remembered herself, her place among the village women. Her pale face flushed a moment and she unhooked her arm from Argenta's with an apologetic look and curtsey. Breathing a formal goodbye that was softer than silk "I beg your pardon and I thank you, Good Maiden Arhanrod." before scurrying off, as quickly as she could without appearing ungraceful. Even in her hurry, she still seemed to flutter on the air when walking, fabric from her white chiton gown billowing out behind her like thin foggy clouds as she made her way on foot, across the moonlit path leading away from the stables.

Philomela felt a bit as if she had been intruding on Argenta and her father at that time, and imagined herself a bit silly for going all that way when she could have slipped away when they'd gotten far enough from Larloch. She had to suppose it was due to having forgotten for a few split seconds that she was indeed not a friend to Argenta, nor was she a friend to any of the women in Anthiro, unless her Maestro's wife counted but they didn't actually live within the village.

The singer narrowed her crystal blue eyes when standing in the middle of the dirt road, making sure she was taking the right turn to get back to her uncle's menial lemon farm, she stood near Damon's shop then and almost considered peeking in to ask if she might borrow a lantern. Men tended to treat her with more kindness as they were the ones often present at her musical performances in Anthiro's tavern,as wives and maidens did not often grace the building. This did not change the fact that she would be ignored if one's wife or sweet heart were present.

She decided to step up to the blacksmith's storefront, and peer in to see if anyone was awake, wondering if Damon would still be working at such an hour.

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Character Portrait: Dion Erechtheus Character Portrait: Philomela Flos Character Portrait: Argenta Arhanrod Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait:
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“Really, Dion. You, too?” Argenta said with a shake of her head, when the drunken boy answered the door.

Argenta felt the smooth arm of her new companion slip out from hers suddenly. Philomela said a quick thank and pardoned herself before Argenta could say a word to her. She watched Philomela until she was out of sight, frowning longingly. Perhaps she had been too forward with someone who was not of her social standing; but why could she not talk to anyone she wanted to? Be friends with whom she wanted? In her heart, she knew that social ranking did not determine the quality of one’s character.

She sighed in frustration and turned back to Dion still on his butt struggling to get up.

“Thank you for answering my call. I think I’ll get the horse myself though, it seems you are in no state to be helping anyone.” She told him, hoisting him up by the arm effortlessly with a well-toned arm from plowing in her own garden.

She left him to wobble in place as she went further into the stables to search for her father’s horse. Her mind changed back to another subject: The “wizard man”. He was an exile; that meant he was possibly dangerous to people. She was one of the only two people in the village who knew about him currently, and she felt responsible for the safety of others.

“Dion, there was a stranger outside the Tavern who was harassing Philomela.” she said seriously, stopping in front of the stall where the horse was being held, “He said he was a wizard and an exile from Omperus. I think the people in the village need to be aware of him he sticks around.”

She turned her head, flipping her rebellious hair out of her eyes and peered piercingly into Dion's dark green eyes, wondering if he caught anything of what she said. Or if he took it seriously at all, because he was a very absurd boy. Then again, it seemed very absurd that an exiled wizard would come to Anthiro, and she did not realize how ridiculous it sounded.

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Character Portrait: Dion Erechtheus Character Portrait: Argenta Arhanrod Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait:
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ImageDion wasn’t sure if it was him being drunk or if Argetha suddenly had decided to play tricks on him, either way he found what he heard ridiculous. Mages and wizards would never visit a silly small town like Anthiro. Nothing to get here, no one to meet, and much too far from the main roads to be considered a nice stop to stay. The inn really just thrived from soldiers, merchants and farmers who would take the offside roads to reach the Anthohill Fort and watchtowers stationed in the neighborhood; the fort were good to buy great amounts of products from merchants and farmers.
Image “A wiz-urd –hick-? Are you trying to –hick- play me a fool?” Dion was still sitting on his rear with straw mixed in his hair and a slightly red blush warming his cheeks. “No wiz-urd would visit Anthiro, there is nothing here.” The last bit was said with a clear sense of frustration in the boy’s voice.