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The colossus offered no mercy. Its huge stone legs showed no mercy to the ant-like people who routed in their wake. Iron arms swept through formations, towns and heretic temples to heretic Gods, and left only chaos and fire below the rubble. It stood at four hundred feet high in all its might, and its sight on the horizon was enough for the Egyptians to flee into the desert – best consumed by sand and heat than the envoy of Zeus himself. Its rider, chosen by the Gods to be its driver, was just as cold.
“Attack!”
And with a mighty roar, it did. It roared up to the heavens, banishing silence forever as the thunder in its voice reached mount Olympus. Then, it bent down, this giant of bronze, stone and iron, and once again swept through the ant-hill cities of Greece’s enemies. No man would ever dare stand before it. The rider cackled, overtaken by the bloodlust of battle – of annihilation – driven almost to the point of insanity as its giant bent here and there, swept its arms and stomped a puny earth that could do nothing but to shake in protest.
“Fools! You cannot defeat me and my colossus. Charge, destroy the heretics!” And she laughed and laughed.
Mikolas swung here and there, taking impossible angles that threatened to throw his daughter off his shoulders but never quite getting to it. He jumped here and there as well, then crouched and awkwardly crawled before rising to his feet again. All this he did whilst adding dramatic sound effects. She seemed to like new, unexpected combinations, and her laughter – whether intense or not – was his only guide. When he felt he reached the peak of his performance, the soldier harshly leaned forth and made his daughter fall over forwards, then captured her by the ribs as she vaulted down. She greeted him with a wide grin and a slight blush. She was young and beautiful and perfect, and she was the love of his life.
“C’mon, tim’ t’ eat som’thin’ ‘fore goin’.”
It was a sunny day dotted by silky white clouds so puffy they seemed drawn. It wasn’t warm, but neither was it too cold to avoid the outdoors. Like him, many had thought it a good day to visit the Halls, and there was a slow procession of people moving up and down the path. It was busy but not crowded. Perhaps the path revealed no truth as to the situation inside, and so Mikolas refused to hope for too much privacy when asking the Gods’ blessings. The Halls were important to him, especially him – or so he felt. His life had always been ruled by Ares, Hades, and Aphrodite, and with the coming war, he felt it needed to pay his respects.
Sitting down atop a lonesome boulder, he sat Dido on his lap and dug into her backpack, producing an apple so red it must’ve been kissed by a courtesan. With a knife from his belt, he began to peel it.
As red as it was, Mikolas couldn’t quite escape his own dislike about it. He didn’t like the peel either but he ate it anyway. After a portion of the apple was exposed, he cut a slice and gave it to his seven-year old, who ate gladly.
While they ate, Mikolas looked over at the coming and goings of the devout. Men and women of all classes came and went, some stinking of riches and others – like him – stunk of hardship. The soldier had tried his best to be as presentable as ever: he donned his whitest chiton and had his sandals repaired, he had marinated in the baths until he was as clean as a newborn, and had even bought Ditto a tunic just for the occasion. In the course of their play, however, he had managed to work up a sweat and got some grass-stains on his clothing. His offerings paled in comparison to the goats and sheep some were taking up to the Halls. It made him feel ashamed, but he was still a very happy man to be here. He only wished he could’ve brought more of his family along.
“Ma teachin’ yu’s good a’ hom’?” “Ye’, Pa. I’ve been learnin’ t’ read an’ write.” “’nd wha’ can yu’s t’ spellin’?” “I can spell m’ name, Pa. It b’ D-I-D-O, and you b’ M-I-K-O-L-A-S.” Mikolas scoffed. “Yu’s gon’ b’ b’comin’ smart’r th’n yu’s fath’r soon, aye?” “Ain’t no person smart’r than you, Pa,” she told him, turning around and showing her widest grin. She was as much a charmer as her mother. “Tha’ b’ th’ truth,” he told her, self-enamored. “’ere, I’s c’n b’ makin’ yu’s smart’r ‘f yu’s b’ wantin’.” He leaned forward, closed his eyes shut, then rubbed his beard on the side of Dido’s face. She buckled, trying to escape him while she laughed. “Stop, Pa! Your beard tickl’s!”
He scoffed, then kept on feeding himself peels while she fed Dido the juicy apple.
“Ma told me comin’ ‘ere was important to you, Pa. Why?” “’Cause I’s must b’ thankin’ th’ Gods f’r yu’s, ‘nd yu’s moth’r ‘nd yu’s broth’rs ‘nd sist’rs. We’s gon’ b’ makin’ ‘n off’rin’. “How?” “Rememb’r th’ n’cklac’s I’s shown yu’s? We’s gon’ b’ givin’ tha’ t’ th’ Gods ‘nd pray f’r th’ fam’ly.” “And th’ Gods will listen?” “Aye, they’s gon’ t’ listen.” Pause. “Have you ev’r seen a God, Pa?” Dido pressed, turning in his lap to look him in the eyes. “Nay, bu’ I’s seen th’ir workin’.” “Like how?” “Like wh’n I’s b’ lookin’ ‘t yu’s, g’rl. Ain’t nay g’rl ‘s beautyf’l s’ yu’s.” He leaned forward and dropped his voice into a whisper. “N’t ev’n yu’s Ma.”
She blushed and giggled, but her eyes remained stuck on him. Mikolas was no charlatan, and his children had quickly learned that what he said could only be true. For him it was, but even beyond subjectivity, Dido was beautiful. Her skin was soft as milk, her hair was darker than night and her eyes shone in a chestnut hue that even he found overwhelming. She was smart, agile, and strong for her age, and yet she seemed so fragile. She was a porcelain doll whereas her father was chipped rock. All his children were blessed to one degree or the other, but it was Dido who made him want to bow before Aphrodite.
With the apple eaten and the core gulped down by the warrior, he stood them up and, once again, placed Dido atop his shoulders. She carried the offerings and he carried her, so it was fair. It may not have been the most presentable way to enter a temple, but Mikolas felt the Goddess would understand.
“I’s b’ wantin’ yu’s t’ b’ payin’ clos’ ‘ttention ‘n ther’, ‘kay? Th’s ‘ere b’ v’ry ‘mport’nt f’r us.” He told her. “B’ yu’s havin’ ‘ny questionin ‘fore we’s t’ g’ in?” “Ye’, Pa. How do y’ spell Aphrodite?”
Shit, good question. “Tha’ b’ easy. It b’ A-F-R-O … ugh… T-I-T-T-Y.”
Dido squealed and pat the top of his head in approval as they went in, proud of her knowledgeable father. in, proud of her knowledgeable father.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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The colossus offered no mercy. Its huge stone legs showed no mercy to the ant-like people who routed in their wake. Iron arms swept through formations, towns and heretic temples to heretic Gods, and left only chaos and fire below the rubble. It stood at four hundred feet high in all its might, and its sight on the horizon was enough for the Egyptians to flee into the desert – best consumed by sand and heat than the envoy of Zeus himself. Its rider, chosen by the Gods to be its driver, was just as cold.
“Attack!”
And with a mighty roar, it did. It roared up to the heavens, banishing silence forever as the thunder in its voice reached mount Olympus. Then, it bent down, this giant of bronze, stone and iron, and once again swept through the ant-hill cities of Greece’s enemies. No man would ever dare stand before it. The rider cackled, overtaken by the bloodlust of battle – of annihilation – driven almost to the point of insanity as its giant bent here and there, swept its arms and stomped a puny earth that could do nothing but to shake in protest.
“Fools! You cannot defeat me and my colossus. Charge, destroy the heretics!” And she laughed and laughed.
Mikolas swung here and there, taking impossible angles that threatened to throw his daughter off his shoulders but never quite getting to it. He jumped here and there as well, then crouched and awkwardly crawled before rising to his feet again. All this he did whilst adding dramatic sound effects. She seemed to like new, unexpected combinations, and her laughter – whether intense or not – was his only guide. When he felt he reached the peak of his performance, the soldier harshly leaned forth and made his daughter fall over forwards, then captured her by the ribs as she vaulted down. She greeted him with a wide grin and a slight blush. She was young and beautiful and perfect, and she was the love of his life.
“C’mon, tim’ t’ eat som’thin’ ‘fore goin’.”
It was a sunny day dotted by silky white clouds so puffy they seemed drawn. It wasn’t warm, but neither was it too cold to avoid the outdoors. Like him, many had thought it a good day to visit the Halls, and there was a slow procession of people moving up and down the path. It was busy but not crowded. Perhaps the path revealed no truth as to the situation inside, and so Mikolas refused to hope for too much privacy when asking the Gods’ blessings. The Halls were important to him, especially him – or so he felt. His life had always been ruled by Ares, Hades, and Aphrodite, and with the coming war, he felt it needed to pay his respects.
Sitting down atop a lonesome boulder, he sat Dido on his lap and dug into her backpack, producing an apple so red it must’ve been kissed by a courtesan. With a knife from his belt, he began to peel it.
As red as it was, Mikolas couldn’t quite escape his own dislike about it. He didn’t like the peel either but he ate it anyway. After a portion of the apple was exposed, he cut a slice and gave it to his seven-year old, who ate gladly.
While they ate, Mikolas looked over at the coming and goings of the devout. Men and women of all classes came and went, some stinking of riches and others – like him – stunk of hardship. The soldier had tried his best to be as presentable as ever: he donned his whitest chiton and had his sandals repaired, he had marinated in the baths until he was as clean as a newborn, and had even bought Ditto a tunic just for the occasion. In the course of their play, however, he had managed to work up a sweat and got some grass-stains on his clothing. His offerings paled in comparison to the goats and sheep some were taking up to the Halls. It made him feel ashamed, but he was still a very happy man to be here. He only wished he could’ve brought more of his family along.
“Ma teachin’ yu’s good a’ hom’?” “Ye’, Pa. I’ve been learnin’ t’ read an’ write.” “’nd wha’ can yu’s t’ spellin’?” “I can spell m’ name, Pa. It b’ D-I-D-O, and you b’ M-I-K-O-L-A-S.” Mikolas scoffed. “Yu’s gon’ b’ b’comin’ smart’r th’n yu’s fath’r soon, aye?” “Ain’t no person smart’r than you, Pa,” she told him, turning around and showing her widest grin. She was as much a charmer as her mother. “Tha’ b’ th’ truth,” he told her, self-enamored. “’ere, I’s c’n b’ makin’ yu’s smart’r ‘f yu’s b’ wantin’.” He leaned forward, closed his eyes shut, then rubbed his beard on the side of Dido’s face. She buckled, trying to escape him while she laughed. “Stop, Pa! Your beard tickl’s!”
He scoffed, then kept on feeding himself peels while she fed Dido the juicy apple.
“Ma told me comin’ ‘ere was important to you, Pa. Why?” “’Cause I’s must b’ thankin’ th’ Gods f’r yu’s, ‘nd yu’s moth’r ‘nd yu’s broth’rs ‘nd sist’rs. We’s gon’ b’ makin’ ‘n off’rin’. “How?” “Rememb’r th’ n’cklac’s I’s shown yu’s? We’s gon’ b’ givin’ tha’ t’ th’ Gods ‘nd pray f’r th’ fam’ly.” “And th’ Gods will listen?” “Aye, they’s gon’ t’ listen.” Pause. “Have you ev’r seen a God, Pa?” Dido pressed, turning in his lap to look him in the eyes. “Nay, bu’ I’s seen th’ir workin’.” “Like how?” “Like wh’n I’s b’ lookin’ ‘t yu’s, g’rl. Ain’t nay g’rl ‘s beautyf’l s’ yu’s.” He leaned forward and dropped his voice into a whisper. “N’t ev’n yu’s Ma.”
She blushed and giggled, but her eyes remained stuck on him. Mikolas was no charlatan, and his children had quickly learned that what he said could only be true. For him it was, but even beyond subjectivity, Dido was beautiful. Her skin was soft as milk, her hair was darker than night and her eyes shone in a chestnut hue that even he found overwhelming. She was smart, agile, and strong for her age, and yet she seemed so fragile. She was a porcelain doll whereas her father was chipped rock. All his children were blessed to one degree or the other, but it was Dido who made him want to bow before Aphrodite.
With the apple eaten and the core gulped down by the warrior, he stood them up and, once again, placed Dido atop his shoulders. She carried the offerings and he carried her, so it was fair. It may not have been the most presentable way to enter a temple, but Mikolas felt the Goddess would understand.
“I’s b’ wantin’ yu’s t’ b’ payin’ clos’ ‘ttention ‘n ther’, ‘kay? Th’s ‘ere b’ v’ry ‘mport’nt f’r us.” He told her. “B’ yu’s havin’ ‘ny questionin ‘fore we’s t’ g’ in?” “Ye’, Pa. How do y’ spell Aphrodite?”
Shit, good question. “Tha’ b’ easy. It b’ A-F-R-O … ugh… T-I-T-T-Y.”
Dido squealed and pat the top of his head in approval as they went in, proud of her knowledgeable father. in, proud of her knowledgeable father.
The colossus offered no mercy. Its huge stone legs showed no mercy to the ant-like people who routed in their wake. Iron arms swept through formations, towns and heretic temples to heretic Gods, and left only chaos and fire below the rubble. It stood at four hundred feet high in all its might, and its sight on the horizon was enough for the Egyptians to flee into the desert – best consumed by sand and heat than the envoy of Zeus himself. Its rider, chosen by the Gods to be its driver, was just as cold.
“Attack!”
And with a mighty roar, it did. It roared up to the heavens, banishing silence forever as the thunder in its voice reached mount Olympus. Then, it bent down, this giant of bronze, stone and iron, and once again swept through the ant-hill cities of Greece’s enemies. No man would ever dare stand before it. The rider cackled, overtaken by the bloodlust of battle – of annihilation – driven almost to the point of insanity as its giant bent here and there, swept its arms and stomped a puny earth that could do nothing but to shake in protest.
“Fools! You cannot defeat me and my colossus. Charge, destroy the heretics!” And she laughed and laughed.
Mikolas swung here and there, taking impossible angles that threatened to throw his daughter off his shoulders but never quite getting to it. He jumped here and there as well, then crouched and awkwardly crawled before rising to his feet again. All this he did whilst adding dramatic sound effects. She seemed to like new, unexpected combinations, and her laughter – whether intense or not – was his only guide. When he felt he reached the peak of his performance, the soldier harshly leaned forth and made his daughter fall over forwards, then captured her by the ribs as she vaulted down. She greeted him with a wide grin and a slight blush. She was young and beautiful and perfect, and she was the love of his life.
“C’mon, tim’ t’ eat som’thin’ ‘fore goin’.”
It was a sunny day dotted by silky white clouds so puffy they seemed drawn. It wasn’t warm, but neither was it too cold to avoid the outdoors. Like him, many had thought it a good day to visit the Halls, and there was a slow procession of people moving up and down the path. It was busy but not crowded. Perhaps the path revealed no truth as to the situation inside, and so Mikolas refused to hope for too much privacy when asking the Gods’ blessings. The Halls were important to him, especially him – or so he felt. His life had always been ruled by Ares, Hades, and Aphrodite, and with the coming war, he felt it needed to pay his respects.
Sitting down atop a lonesome boulder, he sat Dido on his lap and dug into her backpack, producing an apple so red it must’ve been kissed by a courtesan. With a knife from his belt, he began to peel it.
As red as it was, Mikolas couldn’t quite escape his own dislike about it. He didn’t like the peel either but he ate it anyway. After a portion of the apple was exposed, he cut a slice and gave it to his seven-year old, who ate gladly.
While they ate, Mikolas looked over at the coming and goings of the devout. Men and women of all classes came and went, some stinking of riches and others – like him – stunk of hardship. The soldier had tried his best to be as presentable as ever: he donned his whitest chiton and had his sandals repaired, he had marinated in the baths until he was as clean as a newborn, and had even bought Ditto a tunic just for the occasion. In the course of their play, however, he had managed to work up a sweat and got some grass-stains on his clothing. His offerings paled in comparison to the goats and sheep some were taking up to the Halls. It made him feel ashamed, but he was still a very happy man to be here. He only wished he could’ve brought more of his family along.
“Ma teachin’ yu’s good a’ hom’?” “Ye’, Pa. I’ve been learnin’ t’ read an’ write.” “’nd wha’ can yu’s t’ spellin’?” “I can spell m’ name, Pa. It b’ D-I-D-O, and you b’ M-I-K-O-L-A-S.” Mikolas scoffed. “Yu’s gon’ b’ b’comin’ smart’r th’n yu’s fath’r soon, aye?” “Ain’t no person smart’r than you, Pa,” she told him, turning around and showing her widest grin. She was as much a charmer as her mother. “Tha’ b’ th’ truth,” he told her, self-enamored. “’ere, I’s c’n b’ makin’ yu’s smart’r ‘f yu’s b’ wantin’.” He leaned forward, closed his eyes shut, then rubbed his beard on the side of Dido’s face. She buckled, trying to escape him while she laughed. “Stop, Pa! Your beard tickl’s!”
He scoffed, then kept on feeding himself peels while she fed Dido the juicy apple.
“Ma told me comin’ ‘ere was important to you, Pa. Why?” “’Cause I’s must b’ thankin’ th’ Gods f’r yu’s, ‘nd yu’s moth’r ‘nd yu’s broth’rs ‘nd sist’rs. We’s gon’ b’ makin’ ‘n off’rin’. “How?” “Rememb’r th’ n’cklac’s I’s shown yu’s? We’s gon’ b’ givin’ tha’ t’ th’ Gods ‘nd pray f’r th’ fam’ly.” “And th’ Gods will listen?” “Aye, they’s gon’ t’ listen.” Pause. “Have you ev’r seen a God, Pa?” Dido pressed, turning in his lap to look him in the eyes. “Nay, bu’ I’s seen th’ir workin’.” “Like how?” “Like wh’n I’s b’ lookin’ ‘t yu’s, g’rl. Ain’t nay g’rl ‘s beautyf’l s’ yu’s.” He leaned forward and dropped his voice into a whisper. “N’t ev’n yu’s Ma.”
She blushed and giggled, but her eyes remained stuck on him. Mikolas was no charlatan, and his children had quickly learned that what he said could only be true. For him it was, but even beyond subjectivity, Dido was beautiful. Her skin was soft as milk, her hair was darker than night and her eyes shone in a chestnut hue that even he found overwhelming. She was smart, agile, and strong for her age, and yet she seemed so fragile. She was a porcelain doll whereas her father was chipped rock. All his children were blessed to one degree or the other, but it was Dido who made him want to bow before Aphrodite.
With the apple eaten and the core gulped down by the warrior, he stood them up and, once again, placed Dido atop his shoulders. She carried the offerings and he carried her, so it was fair. It may not have been the most presentable way to enter a temple, but Mikolas felt the Goddess would understand.
“I’s b’ wantin’ yu’s t’ b’ payin’ clos’ ‘ttention ‘n ther’, ‘kay? Th’s ‘ere b’ v’ry ‘mport’nt f’r us.” He told her. “B’ yu’s havin’ ‘ny questionin ‘fore we’s t’ g’ in?” “Ye’, Pa. How do y’ spell Aphrodite?”
Shit, good question. “Tha’ b’ easy. It b’ A-F-R-O … ugh… T-I-T-T-Y.”
Dido squealed and pat the top of his head in approval as they went in, proud of her knowledgeable father. in, proud of her knowledgeable father.
A mild injury to her hip had relieved Euterpe of her normal duties for the week, and so the priestess wandered the temple proper instead. Even if she wasn’t tangled in the sheets in service of her goddess, that did not mean she would simply sit idle, not when there were other things to do. This was more than just a job for the devout priestess. Her dedication to Aphrodite was her calling, an all-consuming passion that did not halt simply because she couldn’t attend to her typical responsibilities.
An almost sheer chiton of pure white silk encased the courtesan’s shapely form, the airy fabric billowing gently around her as she walked. Barefoot with a delicate gold anklet resting on the top of her foot, her tread was quiet and measured across the marble floor. There was a slight hitch to her step when she walked, favoring the hip that got her in trouble. While some might think her job was easy, pleasuring patrons day in and day out, it came with its own risks and downfalls. Her joint issues developed not long after her twenty first birthday and continued to plague her to this day. At least she had the skill to brew her own painkillers; wincing slightly as she walked, she thought it might be about time to take more.
Pushing the tumble of red curls back from her face, Euterpe listened to the muted cacophony of voices around her as she walked, supplicants come to make their offerings and raise their prayers to the goddess of love. There was the usual bemoaning of unreturned affection, the worry of outgrowing one’s youth before they found their match. The priestess gently laid her hand on one such worshipper’s shoulder, offering a smile with her silent benediction. One hand reached to cover Euterpe’s in brief thanks, the priestess letting her fingertips stroke gently across the woman’s face before walking away. Sometimes, silence was all that needed to be said.
Her steps brought her close to a father and daughter, the latter resting atop the former’s shoulders as she asked the great bear of a man how to spell the goddess’s name. An indulgent grin stretched Euterpe’s lips and dimpled her cheek as the father responded with a dreadfully wrong answer, though the priestess was hardly one to correct him. With her own predilection for switching letters, she doubted she could spell it correctly either. At least the intent was there; even just glancing at the pair showed clearly the care they held for each other, and when it came down to it, that was all that really mattered.
Stepping closer to them, her smile deepened as she inclined her head in greeting. “Welcome to the Aphrodisias, sir. Little miss.” The priestess’s smile widened even further as she looked at the child, sparkling hazel eyes crinkling at the corners. She eyed the objects contained within tiny hands and glanced back at the father. “Have you come with offerings for the goddess, then? Perhaps I might be of some help to you.” Gesturing for them to follow her, she led them further inside to approach one of the altars. “Do you come today with a particular wish or desire? Or simply to show Aphrodite thanks?”
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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A mild injury to her hip had relieved Euterpe of her normal duties for the week, and so the priestess wandered the temple proper instead. Even if she wasn’t tangled in the sheets in service of her goddess, that did not mean she would simply sit idle, not when there were other things to do. This was more than just a job for the devout priestess. Her dedication to Aphrodite was her calling, an all-consuming passion that did not halt simply because she couldn’t attend to her typical responsibilities.
An almost sheer chiton of pure white silk encased the courtesan’s shapely form, the airy fabric billowing gently around her as she walked. Barefoot with a delicate gold anklet resting on the top of her foot, her tread was quiet and measured across the marble floor. There was a slight hitch to her step when she walked, favoring the hip that got her in trouble. While some might think her job was easy, pleasuring patrons day in and day out, it came with its own risks and downfalls. Her joint issues developed not long after her twenty first birthday and continued to plague her to this day. At least she had the skill to brew her own painkillers; wincing slightly as she walked, she thought it might be about time to take more.
Pushing the tumble of red curls back from her face, Euterpe listened to the muted cacophony of voices around her as she walked, supplicants come to make their offerings and raise their prayers to the goddess of love. There was the usual bemoaning of unreturned affection, the worry of outgrowing one’s youth before they found their match. The priestess gently laid her hand on one such worshipper’s shoulder, offering a smile with her silent benediction. One hand reached to cover Euterpe’s in brief thanks, the priestess letting her fingertips stroke gently across the woman’s face before walking away. Sometimes, silence was all that needed to be said.
Her steps brought her close to a father and daughter, the latter resting atop the former’s shoulders as she asked the great bear of a man how to spell the goddess’s name. An indulgent grin stretched Euterpe’s lips and dimpled her cheek as the father responded with a dreadfully wrong answer, though the priestess was hardly one to correct him. With her own predilection for switching letters, she doubted she could spell it correctly either. At least the intent was there; even just glancing at the pair showed clearly the care they held for each other, and when it came down to it, that was all that really mattered.
Stepping closer to them, her smile deepened as she inclined her head in greeting. “Welcome to the Aphrodisias, sir. Little miss.” The priestess’s smile widened even further as she looked at the child, sparkling hazel eyes crinkling at the corners. She eyed the objects contained within tiny hands and glanced back at the father. “Have you come with offerings for the goddess, then? Perhaps I might be of some help to you.” Gesturing for them to follow her, she led them further inside to approach one of the altars. “Do you come today with a particular wish or desire? Or simply to show Aphrodite thanks?”
A mild injury to her hip had relieved Euterpe of her normal duties for the week, and so the priestess wandered the temple proper instead. Even if she wasn’t tangled in the sheets in service of her goddess, that did not mean she would simply sit idle, not when there were other things to do. This was more than just a job for the devout priestess. Her dedication to Aphrodite was her calling, an all-consuming passion that did not halt simply because she couldn’t attend to her typical responsibilities.
An almost sheer chiton of pure white silk encased the courtesan’s shapely form, the airy fabric billowing gently around her as she walked. Barefoot with a delicate gold anklet resting on the top of her foot, her tread was quiet and measured across the marble floor. There was a slight hitch to her step when she walked, favoring the hip that got her in trouble. While some might think her job was easy, pleasuring patrons day in and day out, it came with its own risks and downfalls. Her joint issues developed not long after her twenty first birthday and continued to plague her to this day. At least she had the skill to brew her own painkillers; wincing slightly as she walked, she thought it might be about time to take more.
Pushing the tumble of red curls back from her face, Euterpe listened to the muted cacophony of voices around her as she walked, supplicants come to make their offerings and raise their prayers to the goddess of love. There was the usual bemoaning of unreturned affection, the worry of outgrowing one’s youth before they found their match. The priestess gently laid her hand on one such worshipper’s shoulder, offering a smile with her silent benediction. One hand reached to cover Euterpe’s in brief thanks, the priestess letting her fingertips stroke gently across the woman’s face before walking away. Sometimes, silence was all that needed to be said.
Her steps brought her close to a father and daughter, the latter resting atop the former’s shoulders as she asked the great bear of a man how to spell the goddess’s name. An indulgent grin stretched Euterpe’s lips and dimpled her cheek as the father responded with a dreadfully wrong answer, though the priestess was hardly one to correct him. With her own predilection for switching letters, she doubted she could spell it correctly either. At least the intent was there; even just glancing at the pair showed clearly the care they held for each other, and when it came down to it, that was all that really mattered.
Stepping closer to them, her smile deepened as she inclined her head in greeting. “Welcome to the Aphrodisias, sir. Little miss.” The priestess’s smile widened even further as she looked at the child, sparkling hazel eyes crinkling at the corners. She eyed the objects contained within tiny hands and glanced back at the father. “Have you come with offerings for the goddess, then? Perhaps I might be of some help to you.” Gesturing for them to follow her, she led them further inside to approach one of the altars. “Do you come today with a particular wish or desire? Or simply to show Aphrodite thanks?”