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By his own admission, worship dedicated towards the divine Goddess that was Aphrodite was one of the least common forms of devotion that the renowned militant offered to the Olympian. It wasn't that he thought little of the Goddess, for there was nothing to scoff at when one concerned themselves with the affairs of the Divine Ones, but he had rarely allowed matters of the heart to cloud his own logic and reason. To put it bluntly, love and passion was not something he engaged upon freely and with just about anyone. They were tools to wield, of course, weapons to harness and make manifest against those foolish enough to fall victim to the Colchian militant's captivating magnetism. Yet, as he had borne witness to the ills of passion, and used the thralls of attraction to satisfy his own ends, Damocles was more than a little skeptical about dealing with the Goddess whose realm involved this most usable of tools.
Still, one had to provide patronage and worship to all of the Divine Ones, and to admit otherwise would be both blasphemous and foolish. From high and mighty Zeus to the lord of the underworld himself, Hades, one must make way for the ways of the sacral. He was skeptical, yes, but that did not cloud his belief in the Olympians, and though he had made a habit of interfering and tampering with the affairs of mortals before, never had the Silver-Eyed man debased himself in his devotion. Granted, though he had found most alignment with the Lord of the Underworld, and by his profession he made frequent and recurrent prayers to both Athena and Ares, he still felt oddly out of his comfort zone when it came to Aphrodite. Had the Goddess been mortal there would be no doubt that she would have been someone he would have seduced and manipulated, someone he had captivated through calculated efforts and careful whispers of intoxicating wantoness, as he had done before against anyone who remotely intrigued him, and so that was perhaps the reason he did not admit to being as invested in the Love Goddess's sphere of influence. Alas, he would not be so bold as to assume that he could have a night with Aphrodite freely and unmovingly. Besides, there were easier, more approachable mortals that were far more likely to fall victim to his efforts.
Thus, though his steps towards the Aprhodisias were confident and gallantly proud, as they usually were, there was a hint of uncomfortableness in the way he moved. Perhaps he should have offered more than twelve garlands of roses and the typical sacrificial doves that he was told were favored by the Goddess. He had, after all, been less-than-frequent in his daily commitment to the Lady of Love. Yet, perhaps there were other, more pleasurable ways to make up for his lack of devotion to the Goddess.
Damocles oftentimes favored the company of hetairai whenever he felt the need for a bit of indulgence and satisfied his sinful desires with those expensive, but still well-worth courtesans. Monetarily, the company of these highly-educated, albeit temporary lovers was something that wounded his personal budget, but he would rather spend greater coin in the confidence of safety than in the precocious situation that lesser men who favored inferior stock often faced. He could count on their diligence and industry, on their meticulous disposition of their duties, and, most importantly, on the good-riddance of any unwanted bastards that he had neither the patience nor the time for. Nevertheless, if word on the street was true, as it often was, the Temple of Love had done well on its name and reputation and become less of a place of worship and more of a place of lustful ardor, a sacral brothel if you would. He supposed one should not have been so free to cast such harsh judgement on that home of prayers, for the prostitutes of that grand institution was none other than an Olympian herself. Besides, what better way to discover the truth behind these suspicions than by exploring their salinity?
Aware of the suspicions that he had heard beforehand, Damocles both harbored the coins he wagered were to be spent on the temple and kept himself in a state of suitable presentability. He cared very little about the state of affairs of his clothes. If the rumors were true he wouldn't be wearing much anyways in his visit to the Aphrodisias. Yet, he kept true to his appearance, and trimmed his beard so as to avoid any resemblance to one of the savages from the north. In typical fashion, the devastatingly handsome man sported the usual ebony locks of hair that he pushed backwards and styled in place, and kept his signature, rare silver eyes shining bright, but fiercely. He appeared every bit a warrior, strong, powerful and muscled like a girl's fantasy, complete with wide, broad shoulders, brawny arms and a shredded chest that seemed harder than any breastplate. It was almost as if he was the manifestation arrogant debauchery itself, with his sinful gaze rarely making way for any of the inner uncomfortableness he harbored before that wanton center of selfish attention. But, he was not here for himself, but rather his own-perceived concessions that had to be made out of necessity to remain in the good-graces of the Lady of Love.
With his wicked smile never fading, the towering militant walked the steep steps of the building complex and noticed the rushed walks of shames of some familiar faces that he had recognized before in the armies of different officers, causing him to smirk in delicious devilishness. Oh, would these sights not get tongues rolling. Perhaps he aught to pay a visit to one of the Court's gossip mongers, and provide a well-documented report about the lieutenants and captains he recognized but did not greet. Of course, he could not tell with whom exactly these brigands had lain with, but just the sight alone made his mind churn out a few ideas to reserve for the future. Still, this was not the time and place for such conspiracies. Thus, after providing tribute to one of the wayward priests that dotted the stony interior, Damocles turned to a seemingly unassuming woman and inquired about the additional services provided by the temple. She was small, barely reaching past his hip, and with a heavy outfit that made him believe she was not one of the nefarious prostitutes of this sordidly sybatical place. She was perhaps no older than sixteen summers, and was probably one of the many followers of Aphrodite who had embarked on a journey to become a priestess. Without speaking much to her, he followed the diminutive girl through the cavernous building until he was directed to one of the inner chambers, left alone by himself and with nothing but a nod of confirmation that signalled to him that he would have his inquiry answered soon.
"Wait here...soon someone shall attend you." said the hooded girl as she disappeared into the background and Damocles alone and by himself.
So far, there seemed to be much ado about nothing. This was not what he was expecting of the temple and its burgeouning reputation. Perhaps, this truly was a mistake, a false suspicion that only confirmed his skepticism. It was fitting he though, that the deceptions of the Goddess of Love were implemented by her most devout followers. Love was a fool's idea, and something he never pursued in his daily affairs. There were more important things to deal with than the onerous rumors of some shoddy temple. Yet, he kept patient and still, crossing his pronounced arms over his chest as he waited and stared at the walls of the place, noticing their depictions of scandalous positions he had practiced before with others in the past. A snicker escaped him when he recognized some of the more exciting positions depicted by the frescoes, bringing back a few memories to some of his more adventurous and daring bedside partners. Were some of the patrons of this establishment so unoriginal that they needed a visual guide in the sexual arts? He figured that some Greeks were on the prudish side. After all, not all of his past lovers had shared in his enthusiasm, but the image of an innocent trying any of those more tiresome positions caused him to find some modicum of amusement as he waited for whatever it was that this temple had built upon as truth.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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By his own admission, worship dedicated towards the divine Goddess that was Aphrodite was one of the least common forms of devotion that the renowned militant offered to the Olympian. It wasn't that he thought little of the Goddess, for there was nothing to scoff at when one concerned themselves with the affairs of the Divine Ones, but he had rarely allowed matters of the heart to cloud his own logic and reason. To put it bluntly, love and passion was not something he engaged upon freely and with just about anyone. They were tools to wield, of course, weapons to harness and make manifest against those foolish enough to fall victim to the Colchian militant's captivating magnetism. Yet, as he had borne witness to the ills of passion, and used the thralls of attraction to satisfy his own ends, Damocles was more than a little skeptical about dealing with the Goddess whose realm involved this most usable of tools.
Still, one had to provide patronage and worship to all of the Divine Ones, and to admit otherwise would be both blasphemous and foolish. From high and mighty Zeus to the lord of the underworld himself, Hades, one must make way for the ways of the sacral. He was skeptical, yes, but that did not cloud his belief in the Olympians, and though he had made a habit of interfering and tampering with the affairs of mortals before, never had the Silver-Eyed man debased himself in his devotion. Granted, though he had found most alignment with the Lord of the Underworld, and by his profession he made frequent and recurrent prayers to both Athena and Ares, he still felt oddly out of his comfort zone when it came to Aphrodite. Had the Goddess been mortal there would be no doubt that she would have been someone he would have seduced and manipulated, someone he had captivated through calculated efforts and careful whispers of intoxicating wantoness, as he had done before against anyone who remotely intrigued him, and so that was perhaps the reason he did not admit to being as invested in the Love Goddess's sphere of influence. Alas, he would not be so bold as to assume that he could have a night with Aphrodite freely and unmovingly. Besides, there were easier, more approachable mortals that were far more likely to fall victim to his efforts.
Thus, though his steps towards the Aprhodisias were confident and gallantly proud, as they usually were, there was a hint of uncomfortableness in the way he moved. Perhaps he should have offered more than twelve garlands of roses and the typical sacrificial doves that he was told were favored by the Goddess. He had, after all, been less-than-frequent in his daily commitment to the Lady of Love. Yet, perhaps there were other, more pleasurable ways to make up for his lack of devotion to the Goddess.
Damocles oftentimes favored the company of hetairai whenever he felt the need for a bit of indulgence and satisfied his sinful desires with those expensive, but still well-worth courtesans. Monetarily, the company of these highly-educated, albeit temporary lovers was something that wounded his personal budget, but he would rather spend greater coin in the confidence of safety than in the precocious situation that lesser men who favored inferior stock often faced. He could count on their diligence and industry, on their meticulous disposition of their duties, and, most importantly, on the good-riddance of any unwanted bastards that he had neither the patience nor the time for. Nevertheless, if word on the street was true, as it often was, the Temple of Love had done well on its name and reputation and become less of a place of worship and more of a place of lustful ardor, a sacral brothel if you would. He supposed one should not have been so free to cast such harsh judgement on that home of prayers, for the prostitutes of that grand institution was none other than an Olympian herself. Besides, what better way to discover the truth behind these suspicions than by exploring their salinity?
Aware of the suspicions that he had heard beforehand, Damocles both harbored the coins he wagered were to be spent on the temple and kept himself in a state of suitable presentability. He cared very little about the state of affairs of his clothes. If the rumors were true he wouldn't be wearing much anyways in his visit to the Aphrodisias. Yet, he kept true to his appearance, and trimmed his beard so as to avoid any resemblance to one of the savages from the north. In typical fashion, the devastatingly handsome man sported the usual ebony locks of hair that he pushed backwards and styled in place, and kept his signature, rare silver eyes shining bright, but fiercely. He appeared every bit a warrior, strong, powerful and muscled like a girl's fantasy, complete with wide, broad shoulders, brawny arms and a shredded chest that seemed harder than any breastplate. It was almost as if he was the manifestation arrogant debauchery itself, with his sinful gaze rarely making way for any of the inner uncomfortableness he harbored before that wanton center of selfish attention. But, he was not here for himself, but rather his own-perceived concessions that had to be made out of necessity to remain in the good-graces of the Lady of Love.
With his wicked smile never fading, the towering militant walked the steep steps of the building complex and noticed the rushed walks of shames of some familiar faces that he had recognized before in the armies of different officers, causing him to smirk in delicious devilishness. Oh, would these sights not get tongues rolling. Perhaps he aught to pay a visit to one of the Court's gossip mongers, and provide a well-documented report about the lieutenants and captains he recognized but did not greet. Of course, he could not tell with whom exactly these brigands had lain with, but just the sight alone made his mind churn out a few ideas to reserve for the future. Still, this was not the time and place for such conspiracies. Thus, after providing tribute to one of the wayward priests that dotted the stony interior, Damocles turned to a seemingly unassuming woman and inquired about the additional services provided by the temple. She was small, barely reaching past his hip, and with a heavy outfit that made him believe she was not one of the nefarious prostitutes of this sordidly sybatical place. She was perhaps no older than sixteen summers, and was probably one of the many followers of Aphrodite who had embarked on a journey to become a priestess. Without speaking much to her, he followed the diminutive girl through the cavernous building until he was directed to one of the inner chambers, left alone by himself and with nothing but a nod of confirmation that signalled to him that he would have his inquiry answered soon.
"Wait here...soon someone shall attend you." said the hooded girl as she disappeared into the background and Damocles alone and by himself.
So far, there seemed to be much ado about nothing. This was not what he was expecting of the temple and its burgeouning reputation. Perhaps, this truly was a mistake, a false suspicion that only confirmed his skepticism. It was fitting he though, that the deceptions of the Goddess of Love were implemented by her most devout followers. Love was a fool's idea, and something he never pursued in his daily affairs. There were more important things to deal with than the onerous rumors of some shoddy temple. Yet, he kept patient and still, crossing his pronounced arms over his chest as he waited and stared at the walls of the place, noticing their depictions of scandalous positions he had practiced before with others in the past. A snicker escaped him when he recognized some of the more exciting positions depicted by the frescoes, bringing back a few memories to some of his more adventurous and daring bedside partners. Were some of the patrons of this establishment so unoriginal that they needed a visual guide in the sexual arts? He figured that some Greeks were on the prudish side. After all, not all of his past lovers had shared in his enthusiasm, but the image of an innocent trying any of those more tiresome positions caused him to find some modicum of amusement as he waited for whatever it was that this temple had built upon as truth.
By his own admission, worship dedicated towards the divine Goddess that was Aphrodite was one of the least common forms of devotion that the renowned militant offered to the Olympian. It wasn't that he thought little of the Goddess, for there was nothing to scoff at when one concerned themselves with the affairs of the Divine Ones, but he had rarely allowed matters of the heart to cloud his own logic and reason. To put it bluntly, love and passion was not something he engaged upon freely and with just about anyone. They were tools to wield, of course, weapons to harness and make manifest against those foolish enough to fall victim to the Colchian militant's captivating magnetism. Yet, as he had borne witness to the ills of passion, and used the thralls of attraction to satisfy his own ends, Damocles was more than a little skeptical about dealing with the Goddess whose realm involved this most usable of tools.
Still, one had to provide patronage and worship to all of the Divine Ones, and to admit otherwise would be both blasphemous and foolish. From high and mighty Zeus to the lord of the underworld himself, Hades, one must make way for the ways of the sacral. He was skeptical, yes, but that did not cloud his belief in the Olympians, and though he had made a habit of interfering and tampering with the affairs of mortals before, never had the Silver-Eyed man debased himself in his devotion. Granted, though he had found most alignment with the Lord of the Underworld, and by his profession he made frequent and recurrent prayers to both Athena and Ares, he still felt oddly out of his comfort zone when it came to Aphrodite. Had the Goddess been mortal there would be no doubt that she would have been someone he would have seduced and manipulated, someone he had captivated through calculated efforts and careful whispers of intoxicating wantoness, as he had done before against anyone who remotely intrigued him, and so that was perhaps the reason he did not admit to being as invested in the Love Goddess's sphere of influence. Alas, he would not be so bold as to assume that he could have a night with Aphrodite freely and unmovingly. Besides, there were easier, more approachable mortals that were far more likely to fall victim to his efforts.
Thus, though his steps towards the Aprhodisias were confident and gallantly proud, as they usually were, there was a hint of uncomfortableness in the way he moved. Perhaps he should have offered more than twelve garlands of roses and the typical sacrificial doves that he was told were favored by the Goddess. He had, after all, been less-than-frequent in his daily commitment to the Lady of Love. Yet, perhaps there were other, more pleasurable ways to make up for his lack of devotion to the Goddess.
Damocles oftentimes favored the company of hetairai whenever he felt the need for a bit of indulgence and satisfied his sinful desires with those expensive, but still well-worth courtesans. Monetarily, the company of these highly-educated, albeit temporary lovers was something that wounded his personal budget, but he would rather spend greater coin in the confidence of safety than in the precocious situation that lesser men who favored inferior stock often faced. He could count on their diligence and industry, on their meticulous disposition of their duties, and, most importantly, on the good-riddance of any unwanted bastards that he had neither the patience nor the time for. Nevertheless, if word on the street was true, as it often was, the Temple of Love had done well on its name and reputation and become less of a place of worship and more of a place of lustful ardor, a sacral brothel if you would. He supposed one should not have been so free to cast such harsh judgement on that home of prayers, for the prostitutes of that grand institution was none other than an Olympian herself. Besides, what better way to discover the truth behind these suspicions than by exploring their salinity?
Aware of the suspicions that he had heard beforehand, Damocles both harbored the coins he wagered were to be spent on the temple and kept himself in a state of suitable presentability. He cared very little about the state of affairs of his clothes. If the rumors were true he wouldn't be wearing much anyways in his visit to the Aphrodisias. Yet, he kept true to his appearance, and trimmed his beard so as to avoid any resemblance to one of the savages from the north. In typical fashion, the devastatingly handsome man sported the usual ebony locks of hair that he pushed backwards and styled in place, and kept his signature, rare silver eyes shining bright, but fiercely. He appeared every bit a warrior, strong, powerful and muscled like a girl's fantasy, complete with wide, broad shoulders, brawny arms and a shredded chest that seemed harder than any breastplate. It was almost as if he was the manifestation arrogant debauchery itself, with his sinful gaze rarely making way for any of the inner uncomfortableness he harbored before that wanton center of selfish attention. But, he was not here for himself, but rather his own-perceived concessions that had to be made out of necessity to remain in the good-graces of the Lady of Love.
With his wicked smile never fading, the towering militant walked the steep steps of the building complex and noticed the rushed walks of shames of some familiar faces that he had recognized before in the armies of different officers, causing him to smirk in delicious devilishness. Oh, would these sights not get tongues rolling. Perhaps he aught to pay a visit to one of the Court's gossip mongers, and provide a well-documented report about the lieutenants and captains he recognized but did not greet. Of course, he could not tell with whom exactly these brigands had lain with, but just the sight alone made his mind churn out a few ideas to reserve for the future. Still, this was not the time and place for such conspiracies. Thus, after providing tribute to one of the wayward priests that dotted the stony interior, Damocles turned to a seemingly unassuming woman and inquired about the additional services provided by the temple. She was small, barely reaching past his hip, and with a heavy outfit that made him believe she was not one of the nefarious prostitutes of this sordidly sybatical place. She was perhaps no older than sixteen summers, and was probably one of the many followers of Aphrodite who had embarked on a journey to become a priestess. Without speaking much to her, he followed the diminutive girl through the cavernous building until he was directed to one of the inner chambers, left alone by himself and with nothing but a nod of confirmation that signalled to him that he would have his inquiry answered soon.
"Wait here...soon someone shall attend you." said the hooded girl as she disappeared into the background and Damocles alone and by himself.
So far, there seemed to be much ado about nothing. This was not what he was expecting of the temple and its burgeouning reputation. Perhaps, this truly was a mistake, a false suspicion that only confirmed his skepticism. It was fitting he though, that the deceptions of the Goddess of Love were implemented by her most devout followers. Love was a fool's idea, and something he never pursued in his daily affairs. There were more important things to deal with than the onerous rumors of some shoddy temple. Yet, he kept patient and still, crossing his pronounced arms over his chest as he waited and stared at the walls of the place, noticing their depictions of scandalous positions he had practiced before with others in the past. A snicker escaped him when he recognized some of the more exciting positions depicted by the frescoes, bringing back a few memories to some of his more adventurous and daring bedside partners. Were some of the patrons of this establishment so unoriginal that they needed a visual guide in the sexual arts? He figured that some Greeks were on the prudish side. After all, not all of his past lovers had shared in his enthusiasm, but the image of an innocent trying any of those more tiresome positions caused him to find some modicum of amusement as he waited for whatever it was that this temple had built upon as truth.
It was early in the evening as Euterpe lounged in the temple gardens, poised on an artfully designed kline, built to blend into the flora that surrounded it. Pale skin bathed in the silvery light of the moon, soft red curls formed a lush pillow around her head, eyes closed with her face tilted up to the sky. The peplos she wore seemed woven of moonlight itself, the decadent material a fine white silk, almost sheer in its delicacy. She could have been a nymph of Selene as she lay prostrate under the moon and stars, breathing in the scent of night-blooming jasmine and delighting in the beauty of the dappled patterns cast by the garden’s lengthening shadows.
Her peace was interrupted by a soft voice calling her name a few paces away, hazel eyes fluttering open to see the upside-down visage of a golden-haired acolyte. “There is a patron waiting within your chamber,” the girl informed her, Euterpe sitting up slowly and pulling her hair over her shoulder. The last few nights had been unusually slow for her, hence why she was outside rather than waiting within the chamber herself.
“Have they been waiting long?” she asked as she stood and straightened her peplos, the acolyte shaking her head in response.
“A few minutes only. Yours was one of the only chambers unoccupied. I did not think you would mind.”
Walking over, Euterpe brushed her fingers over the younger woman’s cheek and offered a smile. “Of course not,” she reassured her. “Thank you. I’ll be along shortly.” Nodding, the acolyte briefly leaned into the priestess’s touch before responding with her own smile and turning back the way she came.
Euterpe’s pace was measured and sedate as she made her way back inside, down the twisting halls that led deep within the temple proper. Moans and sighs of pleasure permeated stone walls and wooden doors as she walked, a wanton symphony fit for the ears of the Goddess herself. The courtesan felt a stirring within her chest at the sound, a rush of warmth that heated her veins and set her heart to racing. Whether it was her first patron of the night or her tenth, Euterpe always felt that same thrill, that same catch in her breath of eager anticipation of what might await her behind her own door.
Reaching her normal chamber, the priestess tapped lightly at the door to announce her arrival, squaring her shoulders and raising her chin high. An aura of calm confidence surrounded the scarlet-maned beauty, the warmth in her chest spreading to her limbs as she opened the door. A smile softened her face when she entered, closing the portal behind and approaching the man who sat and waited for her arrival.
She paused a few paces away from him, her smile deepening as she inclined her head in greeting. A symmetrical face with even features and a close-trimmed beard looked back at her, catching eyes of an almost silver hue to meet her own. He was a well-built man, the hint of hardened musculature beneath his clothing telling her he was probably military. Then again, it was Colchis, and many of those who came to visit her were of a similar vocation, so that was no surprise.
“Aphrodite’s blessings on you,” was her warm benediction, a soft voice like melted honey flowing from plush lips. Taking a few steps nearer to him to close the distance between them, she reached out her hand to stroke lightly along a stubbled cheek. “I am Euterpe, one of the priestesses of this temple.” Her touch lingered, a fingertip gliding along his jaw to stop at his chin. “Be welcome into the goddess’s grace, and let us both hear your own name.”
Once he had introduced himself, she smiled again and pulled her hand away, offering a small bow. “I am here to serve at your leisure, whatever that might be. Some prefer to talk for a while first, to share wine and become more comfortable in each other’s presence.” Indicating the decanter and two glasses on a nearby table, she shrugged. “Others prefer to bypass such niceties and pursue their worship in earnest. The choice is entirely yours, of course, so long as you offer Aphrodite her due deference.”
Resting her hand on his chest and feeling the dull thud of his heart beneath her palm, she tilted her face up to meet his gaze once more. “An open heart is all I require within these walls. The rest is up to you.”
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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It was early in the evening as Euterpe lounged in the temple gardens, poised on an artfully designed kline, built to blend into the flora that surrounded it. Pale skin bathed in the silvery light of the moon, soft red curls formed a lush pillow around her head, eyes closed with her face tilted up to the sky. The peplos she wore seemed woven of moonlight itself, the decadent material a fine white silk, almost sheer in its delicacy. She could have been a nymph of Selene as she lay prostrate under the moon and stars, breathing in the scent of night-blooming jasmine and delighting in the beauty of the dappled patterns cast by the garden’s lengthening shadows.
Her peace was interrupted by a soft voice calling her name a few paces away, hazel eyes fluttering open to see the upside-down visage of a golden-haired acolyte. “There is a patron waiting within your chamber,” the girl informed her, Euterpe sitting up slowly and pulling her hair over her shoulder. The last few nights had been unusually slow for her, hence why she was outside rather than waiting within the chamber herself.
“Have they been waiting long?” she asked as she stood and straightened her peplos, the acolyte shaking her head in response.
“A few minutes only. Yours was one of the only chambers unoccupied. I did not think you would mind.”
Walking over, Euterpe brushed her fingers over the younger woman’s cheek and offered a smile. “Of course not,” she reassured her. “Thank you. I’ll be along shortly.” Nodding, the acolyte briefly leaned into the priestess’s touch before responding with her own smile and turning back the way she came.
Euterpe’s pace was measured and sedate as she made her way back inside, down the twisting halls that led deep within the temple proper. Moans and sighs of pleasure permeated stone walls and wooden doors as she walked, a wanton symphony fit for the ears of the Goddess herself. The courtesan felt a stirring within her chest at the sound, a rush of warmth that heated her veins and set her heart to racing. Whether it was her first patron of the night or her tenth, Euterpe always felt that same thrill, that same catch in her breath of eager anticipation of what might await her behind her own door.
Reaching her normal chamber, the priestess tapped lightly at the door to announce her arrival, squaring her shoulders and raising her chin high. An aura of calm confidence surrounded the scarlet-maned beauty, the warmth in her chest spreading to her limbs as she opened the door. A smile softened her face when she entered, closing the portal behind and approaching the man who sat and waited for her arrival.
She paused a few paces away from him, her smile deepening as she inclined her head in greeting. A symmetrical face with even features and a close-trimmed beard looked back at her, catching eyes of an almost silver hue to meet her own. He was a well-built man, the hint of hardened musculature beneath his clothing telling her he was probably military. Then again, it was Colchis, and many of those who came to visit her were of a similar vocation, so that was no surprise.
“Aphrodite’s blessings on you,” was her warm benediction, a soft voice like melted honey flowing from plush lips. Taking a few steps nearer to him to close the distance between them, she reached out her hand to stroke lightly along a stubbled cheek. “I am Euterpe, one of the priestesses of this temple.” Her touch lingered, a fingertip gliding along his jaw to stop at his chin. “Be welcome into the goddess’s grace, and let us both hear your own name.”
Once he had introduced himself, she smiled again and pulled her hand away, offering a small bow. “I am here to serve at your leisure, whatever that might be. Some prefer to talk for a while first, to share wine and become more comfortable in each other’s presence.” Indicating the decanter and two glasses on a nearby table, she shrugged. “Others prefer to bypass such niceties and pursue their worship in earnest. The choice is entirely yours, of course, so long as you offer Aphrodite her due deference.”
Resting her hand on his chest and feeling the dull thud of his heart beneath her palm, she tilted her face up to meet his gaze once more. “An open heart is all I require within these walls. The rest is up to you.”
It was early in the evening as Euterpe lounged in the temple gardens, poised on an artfully designed kline, built to blend into the flora that surrounded it. Pale skin bathed in the silvery light of the moon, soft red curls formed a lush pillow around her head, eyes closed with her face tilted up to the sky. The peplos she wore seemed woven of moonlight itself, the decadent material a fine white silk, almost sheer in its delicacy. She could have been a nymph of Selene as she lay prostrate under the moon and stars, breathing in the scent of night-blooming jasmine and delighting in the beauty of the dappled patterns cast by the garden’s lengthening shadows.
Her peace was interrupted by a soft voice calling her name a few paces away, hazel eyes fluttering open to see the upside-down visage of a golden-haired acolyte. “There is a patron waiting within your chamber,” the girl informed her, Euterpe sitting up slowly and pulling her hair over her shoulder. The last few nights had been unusually slow for her, hence why she was outside rather than waiting within the chamber herself.
“Have they been waiting long?” she asked as she stood and straightened her peplos, the acolyte shaking her head in response.
“A few minutes only. Yours was one of the only chambers unoccupied. I did not think you would mind.”
Walking over, Euterpe brushed her fingers over the younger woman’s cheek and offered a smile. “Of course not,” she reassured her. “Thank you. I’ll be along shortly.” Nodding, the acolyte briefly leaned into the priestess’s touch before responding with her own smile and turning back the way she came.
Euterpe’s pace was measured and sedate as she made her way back inside, down the twisting halls that led deep within the temple proper. Moans and sighs of pleasure permeated stone walls and wooden doors as she walked, a wanton symphony fit for the ears of the Goddess herself. The courtesan felt a stirring within her chest at the sound, a rush of warmth that heated her veins and set her heart to racing. Whether it was her first patron of the night or her tenth, Euterpe always felt that same thrill, that same catch in her breath of eager anticipation of what might await her behind her own door.
Reaching her normal chamber, the priestess tapped lightly at the door to announce her arrival, squaring her shoulders and raising her chin high. An aura of calm confidence surrounded the scarlet-maned beauty, the warmth in her chest spreading to her limbs as she opened the door. A smile softened her face when she entered, closing the portal behind and approaching the man who sat and waited for her arrival.
She paused a few paces away from him, her smile deepening as she inclined her head in greeting. A symmetrical face with even features and a close-trimmed beard looked back at her, catching eyes of an almost silver hue to meet her own. He was a well-built man, the hint of hardened musculature beneath his clothing telling her he was probably military. Then again, it was Colchis, and many of those who came to visit her were of a similar vocation, so that was no surprise.
“Aphrodite’s blessings on you,” was her warm benediction, a soft voice like melted honey flowing from plush lips. Taking a few steps nearer to him to close the distance between them, she reached out her hand to stroke lightly along a stubbled cheek. “I am Euterpe, one of the priestesses of this temple.” Her touch lingered, a fingertip gliding along his jaw to stop at his chin. “Be welcome into the goddess’s grace, and let us both hear your own name.”
Once he had introduced himself, she smiled again and pulled her hand away, offering a small bow. “I am here to serve at your leisure, whatever that might be. Some prefer to talk for a while first, to share wine and become more comfortable in each other’s presence.” Indicating the decanter and two glasses on a nearby table, she shrugged. “Others prefer to bypass such niceties and pursue their worship in earnest. The choice is entirely yours, of course, so long as you offer Aphrodite her due deference.”
Resting her hand on his chest and feeling the dull thud of his heart beneath her palm, she tilted her face up to meet his gaze once more. “An open heart is all I require within these walls. The rest is up to you.”
For a moment, Damocles thought it a bit humorous how, despite his reservations about the place, and his concerns over those who devoted themselves to the Goddess of Love, it was all rather ironic in a way. He was a soldier after all, part of Ares’s dominion and patronage, and had oftentimes made prayers to the God of War and his fiery temper. And yet, instead of opposing the temptations of Aphrodite, the Lord of Battle had taken her as lover and tangled himself in the once-emptied marital bed of Hephaestus and his wife. Of course, that story did not have a pretty ending, but he supposed that maybe he could suspend his disbelief and at least make himself comfortable in this place. Besides, he was going to provide the necessary coin once he was done, not prior, thus he would be judge and jury over the service he had…procured.
Much to his surprise, instead if hearing a sultry voice, he heard the oddly pleasant sound of a voice that danced between music and poetry. His bright eyes the color of silver took in the unexpected softness of the one who seemed to have been assigned to him this time. A part of him had expected to meet some sort of vicious, intense woman that would make the air around her chill with the steps of her heels, but to his welcomed…delight?....he found a radiant beauty, youthful and energetic, with a lightness to her step and a freeing presence that contrasted so much with the unyielding attitude he had inhibited before. “Hello He greeted precisely, though with his deep, baritone voice, the kind that could make others stop and ponder their words and decisions before him with the weight of his authoritative, smoldering tone.
He supposed he did not particularly care for whomever had been assigned to him, as long as the expected covenant of secret between client and provider remained the same. When it came to women of comfort and pleasure, Damocles did have a preference of sort, but he was not a naïve man, and his sense of self-preservation won out over his taste in company for what amounted to a moment of desirous release. This was a place dedicated to love after all, and he was not going to allow even his tiniest of deepest secrets be uncovered by a skilled beauty that knew just how to pluck at the strings of an impassioned heart, black and shrouded as his was. “I am Alexander of Dolomesa, a militant.” He deceptively half-confirmed, using a false alias to hide his identity and protect himself from any subtleties that may try and find a chink in his armor.
His bright eyes kept close watch of the ethereal beauty that moved about as if hovering about, watching intently as the apparent free-spirit danced around freely and with little care in the world. A part of him felt most interested in the color of her hair, crimson like the passion this woman of exquisite beauty surely long mastered in her long years of consummate study to the art of seduction. Then, there were those sensuous, graceful curves, virtually flawless in every aspect, but surely kept away from all but those who desired to make worship to the Goddess of Love. He did not react to the soft touch of her soft, pleasing fingers, though he felt each teased the stubbles of his beard, awakening a tingled, but unexpressed interest in the woman. “You honor your Goddess well, Euterpe.” He said, maintaining a composed, but steady look of piqued intrigue to the woman that seemed to approach him without fear or hesitation. There was no hesitation in his gaze, and though he was not the one charged with pleasing the other here, there was still a titillating aspect of the chase that he quite enjoyed behind closed doors.
“I rather we skip the formalities.” He confirmed with a short answer to what was an easy question to respond. She was much smaller than her, with Damocles towering over the rare treasured gem that was the priestess, and there was a contrast of forms that he not many women had exchanged with him. Compared to her fairness, he was tanned and pressed with a touch of the sun that darkened his skin to a natural olive complexion that juxtaposed with the light-skinned prostitute. Physically he thought her the opposite of him for now, but that did not change his satisfaction with her. If anything, their differences delighted him, and caused him to reach forward and pull her lithe frame close to him, pressing the velvety softness of her ample body against the vascular muscles of his own.
And yet, as he held her closely, and with a forceful grip that was the perfect mix between roughness and gentleness, Damocles saw her breath hitch and catch around her throat, drowning out a response that would be lost to time forevermore. “Are you scared?” He asked with the same gravity of his enthrallingly deep voice. “You can relax. will not hurt you…” He assured before lowering his head and pressing his lips against her plump ones, stealing the first of many kisses that would be had from her. His eyes closed the instance that the promissory press was secured, deepening into her without any hesitation at all, before the grasp on her side steadied to a more inviting one, letting the girl realize that he was not out to do any harm at all. Immediately, he pushed the confines of his tongue against hers and tangled with the priestess, welcoming her to a pleasurable contest where nobody was a loser and everybody was a winner. Meanwhile, his remaining hand ensnared itself with the fiery embers that was her hair, tugging at those locks with the experienced skill of a confident man who knew exactly what he wanted.
It was only after some moments passed that Damocles broke their first kiss and relaxed in his stance, grinning at the woman as he wished to hear whatever it was that her reply would be to the next comment he would say in good faith. “I warn you that I am not a recurrent worshipper of your Goddess… but I supposed I could convert, under the right circumstances...” He said in a lighthearted manner that was obviously not unserious in its demeanor. “Make of me a man of faith, priestess...”
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For a moment, Damocles thought it a bit humorous how, despite his reservations about the place, and his concerns over those who devoted themselves to the Goddess of Love, it was all rather ironic in a way. He was a soldier after all, part of Ares’s dominion and patronage, and had oftentimes made prayers to the God of War and his fiery temper. And yet, instead of opposing the temptations of Aphrodite, the Lord of Battle had taken her as lover and tangled himself in the once-emptied marital bed of Hephaestus and his wife. Of course, that story did not have a pretty ending, but he supposed that maybe he could suspend his disbelief and at least make himself comfortable in this place. Besides, he was going to provide the necessary coin once he was done, not prior, thus he would be judge and jury over the service he had…procured.
Much to his surprise, instead if hearing a sultry voice, he heard the oddly pleasant sound of a voice that danced between music and poetry. His bright eyes the color of silver took in the unexpected softness of the one who seemed to have been assigned to him this time. A part of him had expected to meet some sort of vicious, intense woman that would make the air around her chill with the steps of her heels, but to his welcomed…delight?....he found a radiant beauty, youthful and energetic, with a lightness to her step and a freeing presence that contrasted so much with the unyielding attitude he had inhibited before. “Hello He greeted precisely, though with his deep, baritone voice, the kind that could make others stop and ponder their words and decisions before him with the weight of his authoritative, smoldering tone.
He supposed he did not particularly care for whomever had been assigned to him, as long as the expected covenant of secret between client and provider remained the same. When it came to women of comfort and pleasure, Damocles did have a preference of sort, but he was not a naïve man, and his sense of self-preservation won out over his taste in company for what amounted to a moment of desirous release. This was a place dedicated to love after all, and he was not going to allow even his tiniest of deepest secrets be uncovered by a skilled beauty that knew just how to pluck at the strings of an impassioned heart, black and shrouded as his was. “I am Alexander of Dolomesa, a militant.” He deceptively half-confirmed, using a false alias to hide his identity and protect himself from any subtleties that may try and find a chink in his armor.
His bright eyes kept close watch of the ethereal beauty that moved about as if hovering about, watching intently as the apparent free-spirit danced around freely and with little care in the world. A part of him felt most interested in the color of her hair, crimson like the passion this woman of exquisite beauty surely long mastered in her long years of consummate study to the art of seduction. Then, there were those sensuous, graceful curves, virtually flawless in every aspect, but surely kept away from all but those who desired to make worship to the Goddess of Love. He did not react to the soft touch of her soft, pleasing fingers, though he felt each teased the stubbles of his beard, awakening a tingled, but unexpressed interest in the woman. “You honor your Goddess well, Euterpe.” He said, maintaining a composed, but steady look of piqued intrigue to the woman that seemed to approach him without fear or hesitation. There was no hesitation in his gaze, and though he was not the one charged with pleasing the other here, there was still a titillating aspect of the chase that he quite enjoyed behind closed doors.
“I rather we skip the formalities.” He confirmed with a short answer to what was an easy question to respond. She was much smaller than her, with Damocles towering over the rare treasured gem that was the priestess, and there was a contrast of forms that he not many women had exchanged with him. Compared to her fairness, he was tanned and pressed with a touch of the sun that darkened his skin to a natural olive complexion that juxtaposed with the light-skinned prostitute. Physically he thought her the opposite of him for now, but that did not change his satisfaction with her. If anything, their differences delighted him, and caused him to reach forward and pull her lithe frame close to him, pressing the velvety softness of her ample body against the vascular muscles of his own.
And yet, as he held her closely, and with a forceful grip that was the perfect mix between roughness and gentleness, Damocles saw her breath hitch and catch around her throat, drowning out a response that would be lost to time forevermore. “Are you scared?” He asked with the same gravity of his enthrallingly deep voice. “You can relax. will not hurt you…” He assured before lowering his head and pressing his lips against her plump ones, stealing the first of many kisses that would be had from her. His eyes closed the instance that the promissory press was secured, deepening into her without any hesitation at all, before the grasp on her side steadied to a more inviting one, letting the girl realize that he was not out to do any harm at all. Immediately, he pushed the confines of his tongue against hers and tangled with the priestess, welcoming her to a pleasurable contest where nobody was a loser and everybody was a winner. Meanwhile, his remaining hand ensnared itself with the fiery embers that was her hair, tugging at those locks with the experienced skill of a confident man who knew exactly what he wanted.
It was only after some moments passed that Damocles broke their first kiss and relaxed in his stance, grinning at the woman as he wished to hear whatever it was that her reply would be to the next comment he would say in good faith. “I warn you that I am not a recurrent worshipper of your Goddess… but I supposed I could convert, under the right circumstances...” He said in a lighthearted manner that was obviously not unserious in its demeanor. “Make of me a man of faith, priestess...”
For a moment, Damocles thought it a bit humorous how, despite his reservations about the place, and his concerns over those who devoted themselves to the Goddess of Love, it was all rather ironic in a way. He was a soldier after all, part of Ares’s dominion and patronage, and had oftentimes made prayers to the God of War and his fiery temper. And yet, instead of opposing the temptations of Aphrodite, the Lord of Battle had taken her as lover and tangled himself in the once-emptied marital bed of Hephaestus and his wife. Of course, that story did not have a pretty ending, but he supposed that maybe he could suspend his disbelief and at least make himself comfortable in this place. Besides, he was going to provide the necessary coin once he was done, not prior, thus he would be judge and jury over the service he had…procured.
Much to his surprise, instead if hearing a sultry voice, he heard the oddly pleasant sound of a voice that danced between music and poetry. His bright eyes the color of silver took in the unexpected softness of the one who seemed to have been assigned to him this time. A part of him had expected to meet some sort of vicious, intense woman that would make the air around her chill with the steps of her heels, but to his welcomed…delight?....he found a radiant beauty, youthful and energetic, with a lightness to her step and a freeing presence that contrasted so much with the unyielding attitude he had inhibited before. “Hello He greeted precisely, though with his deep, baritone voice, the kind that could make others stop and ponder their words and decisions before him with the weight of his authoritative, smoldering tone.
He supposed he did not particularly care for whomever had been assigned to him, as long as the expected covenant of secret between client and provider remained the same. When it came to women of comfort and pleasure, Damocles did have a preference of sort, but he was not a naïve man, and his sense of self-preservation won out over his taste in company for what amounted to a moment of desirous release. This was a place dedicated to love after all, and he was not going to allow even his tiniest of deepest secrets be uncovered by a skilled beauty that knew just how to pluck at the strings of an impassioned heart, black and shrouded as his was. “I am Alexander of Dolomesa, a militant.” He deceptively half-confirmed, using a false alias to hide his identity and protect himself from any subtleties that may try and find a chink in his armor.
His bright eyes kept close watch of the ethereal beauty that moved about as if hovering about, watching intently as the apparent free-spirit danced around freely and with little care in the world. A part of him felt most interested in the color of her hair, crimson like the passion this woman of exquisite beauty surely long mastered in her long years of consummate study to the art of seduction. Then, there were those sensuous, graceful curves, virtually flawless in every aspect, but surely kept away from all but those who desired to make worship to the Goddess of Love. He did not react to the soft touch of her soft, pleasing fingers, though he felt each teased the stubbles of his beard, awakening a tingled, but unexpressed interest in the woman. “You honor your Goddess well, Euterpe.” He said, maintaining a composed, but steady look of piqued intrigue to the woman that seemed to approach him without fear or hesitation. There was no hesitation in his gaze, and though he was not the one charged with pleasing the other here, there was still a titillating aspect of the chase that he quite enjoyed behind closed doors.
“I rather we skip the formalities.” He confirmed with a short answer to what was an easy question to respond. She was much smaller than her, with Damocles towering over the rare treasured gem that was the priestess, and there was a contrast of forms that he not many women had exchanged with him. Compared to her fairness, he was tanned and pressed with a touch of the sun that darkened his skin to a natural olive complexion that juxtaposed with the light-skinned prostitute. Physically he thought her the opposite of him for now, but that did not change his satisfaction with her. If anything, their differences delighted him, and caused him to reach forward and pull her lithe frame close to him, pressing the velvety softness of her ample body against the vascular muscles of his own.
And yet, as he held her closely, and with a forceful grip that was the perfect mix between roughness and gentleness, Damocles saw her breath hitch and catch around her throat, drowning out a response that would be lost to time forevermore. “Are you scared?” He asked with the same gravity of his enthrallingly deep voice. “You can relax. will not hurt you…” He assured before lowering his head and pressing his lips against her plump ones, stealing the first of many kisses that would be had from her. His eyes closed the instance that the promissory press was secured, deepening into her without any hesitation at all, before the grasp on her side steadied to a more inviting one, letting the girl realize that he was not out to do any harm at all. Immediately, he pushed the confines of his tongue against hers and tangled with the priestess, welcoming her to a pleasurable contest where nobody was a loser and everybody was a winner. Meanwhile, his remaining hand ensnared itself with the fiery embers that was her hair, tugging at those locks with the experienced skill of a confident man who knew exactly what he wanted.
It was only after some moments passed that Damocles broke their first kiss and relaxed in his stance, grinning at the woman as he wished to hear whatever it was that her reply would be to the next comment he would say in good faith. “I warn you that I am not a recurrent worshipper of your Goddess… but I supposed I could convert, under the right circumstances...” He said in a lighthearted manner that was obviously not unserious in its demeanor. “Make of me a man of faith, priestess...”