The Steppes Part 1

"So this is what it comes down to then? War?" a man clad in bronze whispers to his comrade. They both are perched upon the palisade enclosing an unimposing encampment in the outlying region of northern Macedonia.

"It seems so. Ever since the philosopher arrived at the camp, strange things have been happening. The air has grown cold and the grass near his tent has died." the comrade grumbles. Their attention is suddenly drawn to a tent with several foreign patterns stitched onto it. The entrance folds open and a man with a cyan garb appears from the tent. He is carrying two cubes with what appear to be runes.

"That's him. That's the one. The philosopher, Aristotle. He and his cubes. The commander said he crafted these walls with those." the bronze emblazoned man mutters. "Preposterous!" his comrade replies "You do not believe that to be true, do you Val?" "I've heard rumor from recruits from the southern provinces that he constructed the new fortifications there. Rumors or not, we shall see for ourselves, watch."

Suddenly, the ground near Aristotle begins to shake. His hands are moving faster than the eyes of the soldiers are able to see; they are a blur, a flurry of flesh and stone. They stop and the tremors around grow louder and louder. A stairway of earth rises in front of the philosopher, which he promptly climbs. He silently made his way to the two men.

"Any strange phenomenon occurring near or far from the walls my friends?" Aristotle inquires. "Nothing that we could notice. It is rather dark out." Val responds somewhat sarcastically. "Aside from those fissures you caused just now..." "Well, if you do happen to see anything that is not of my doing, be sure you raise the alarm immediately. There is trouble afoot. The oracle preaches of a great danger near. Even my instincts are warning me." Aristotle then turns and treads down his stairs, which crumble back into the earth with behind each step he takes.

Val and the archer remain vigilant throughout the night, finding nothing out the ordinary from their post. A fog rolls in as it nears dawn and their vision is obscured. Chanting is heard in the distance through the fog. The chanting excels to an uproar. It is a barbarian raid. Sparks and flames are now seen in the thick fog. The soldiers scramble towards the earthen gate to raise the alarm...

Concordia

Concordia

It was another day that the sun hadn’t shined upon Sicily. The sounds of battle and war was upon the near and far horizons. Sicily, the home to three of city states, these three being unique in the way that they fought. They fought with one of the most savage tools that they had mastered over many generations of constant war with one another. Instrumenta musica. The only way these barbaric states knew how to use these was for war. War was all they knew. They used them for only the fiercest battles an each state had developed their own variation of instrumenta. One forging theirs under the hammer of Vulcan, the Orichalcum. One carving theirs with the god Pan, the Ventiligna. And the city state only binding theirs with the thickest of hides killed by the god Mars himself, the Percussiones.

These cities however, hated each other with a passion. A passion that had burned for so long that they had forgotten why they quarreled with one another. The dynasties that led these three cities had continued the violent clashes against one another, simply to prove who the best of the three was. But as of now, they hadn’t seen what they had been doing. They didn’t know what they could do with their instruments. Often pillaging and destroying towns on the outskirts of the opposing cities, many innocents lost their lives from the war. Never would they understand what true music sounds like, for in their last moments, they only heard the screams of war. But there was a hope for those who still sought out true music. A glistening light in the darkness of war that encircled the island. It was Mercury, the Wayfinder.

As the personal oracles of dynastic rulers of the three states had spoken, one day the Wayfinder would come to their home to find their horrible wars, battles, and their uncivilized way of using music. Not for joy, nor pleasure, but only for themselves. Never to share happiness, only to make them frown and flee once they had heard the sounds of Ares’ pounding war drums, the wail of Pan’s flutes, and the screams of Vulcan’s trumpets.

Mercury was sent by Apollo to investigate the strange sounds that had come of the isle of Sicily. Mercury, looking to get his daily run in, gladly accepted this request and sprinted off in his winged sandals to Sicily, straight into a maelstrom of harsh notes and loud booms. He scuttled away from the fight onto a nearby hill, covering his ears, and watched the battle unfold. Specks of crimson flew into the air, which was thick with smoke. The dead grass scattered with bits and pieces of drums, armor, and other equipment. Mercury, silently watching the men play their instruments across the field from each other in the form of columns. Men were blown apart by the notes as they pierced their cuirasses and knocked several others off their feet. The trumpeters began to scatter and rout as they saw their brothers fall before them. The earth stained scarlet, Mercury turned and returned to Apollo at Olympus.

Having heard what these barbaric people had turned music into, Apollo was enraged. He lashed out, “These peoples have not a single drop of understanding of what music is! They must prove that they are capable of creating something wondrous with what they have! Not war! Imbeciles!” Breathing heavily, he slowly regained his composure as he looked up at the statue of Jupiter that was in the main courtyard of Olympus. “As white as the clouds,” he thought. It was then as he was staring at the marble columns all around him, that he knew what he had to do. “Mercury, request an audience with father at once. I must speak of their evils to him, to see what a proper punishment for them would be. Abusing the power of what we know as music,” Apollo said. In turn, Mercury wandered off to the grand hall of Jupiter. Massive marble columns and busts of the gods and goddesses of Olympus surrounded Mercury. He gazed at the tapestries of velvet bearing Jupiter’s bull and thunderbolt, as he slowly approached the massive god sitting on the throne in front of him. With a full, white beard, kind eyes and a strong and deep voice, Jupiter called out to Mercury, “Ah, Mercury my child. Come, sit and feast with me!” Mercury quietly took a seat at the table to the left of Jupiter. “Now, what information have you brought for me today, Wayfinder?” Jupiter’s voice boomed as that of thunder, which also shook Mercury and made him drop his silverware. He stood up before Jupiter, cleared his throat and then spoke “I have information regarding a request from Apollo. He sends to you that he wishes for Typhon to be quelled by the fighting states of Sicily.”

“Music soothes the savage beast, eh?” Jupiter responded. “So be it.” 

Mercury, sprinting from Olympus, returned to the island and told them of their task that would end their quarrels. He told them that they were to calm the raging Typhon or their island would be destroyed. Fearing for their lives, they mustered their forces into a massive army and marched towards Mount Etna, where Typhon was beginning to awaken. Black from the molten rock that coated him, he peered at the army moving towards him. Collaboratively, the army played the nastiest tune that they had known. This did nothing but irritate Typhon. He let out a raging roar as he lowered his head and charged across the Tyrrhenian Sea into Vesuvius and set the mountain aflame. Fiery rock emerged from Typhon as he turned his head, blinded from the ash, he struggled. He then turned and saw the source of the terrible sound. Again, he lowered his heads and charged back towards Etna. “No! This is not what you are to do!” Apollo screamed as he rode on his golden chariot towards them. He took his lyre from his back, and gave the war drums a beat. The flutes understood now what they had to do, as did the trumpets. Apollo led them to victory as they played the softest, most beautiful song that the world had ever heard. Typhon collapsed, infatuated by the astonishingly the perfect pitches of the song, returning the underside of Etna, destined to slumber for another eternity.

The people of Sicily finally realized that this was what music really was all about. Coming together and working as one; as an ensemble. The City-States then moved on and formed one country that loved music together and they called it Concordia. From then on, the best bands in the world were led by the grace of Apollo and his lyre.

The Tartarian Emperor

Remus of Aventine

Let us feast upon the sight of this glorious, no, magnificent hall; home to the brother of the Aventine Hill, Emperor Remus. Vanquished from his hill, he now manifests the darkest reaches of the Underworld, Tartarus. Not long after he was slain on the Palatine hill, the blood that was left by Romulus drew back to Gaia. Gaia then gave birth to four, winged beasts. The monsters were coated with several different hides that radiated miraculous powers; one was engulfed in a blazing fire, another was crystallized freezing ice, the third was covered in scarlet blood that pulsated angrily, and the last was submerged in a hue of gold.

The furies though, had an obligation that need be fulfilled.

Remus roamed about the river Styx for months after his death, as he could not cross without the help of Hermes, but Hermes was at Rome, celebrating its founding with the Gods. It was up to Remus's children to escort him. These flying creatures came to be known as the Remian Furies. They are distinctively different to that of Uranus's furies. Their goal was to indirectly assist Remus with the vengeance against his brother. The four furies carried Remus across the banks of Styx. They then ventured deep down to the abysmal depths of the Underworld to reach what would be Remus's kingdom, Tartarus. When Remus and his retinue arrived at said dark and undesirable pit, they established the palace from which they would rule.

Out of the sheer cliffs of Tartarus, the Black Palace was founded.

Although, Tartarians were at first reluctant to their new self proclaimed ruler. The pitiful and unintelligent scum the inhabited Tartarus revolted for five horrible years. Remus was a man of virtue, in the beginning of our story, he only wanted to impress his brother. He built high walls to prove to his brother that they both were equals and that Remus was fully capable of protecting the people of his hill, but Romulus proved otherwise when he murdered him. By bringing about Remus's death, only more blood was to be spilled. Before entering the underworld, Remus knew not what to think. He was disowned by his own flesh and blood; his own brother had slain him. The furies turned him cold. They convinced him that he deserved to slay every single citizen of Rome. They all deserved death because of Romulus's idiotic and horrendous act. The furies all taught him important, yet abhorrent lessons. The fury of fire taught him rage and destruction. The fury of ice taught him that there was no mercy for any man, woman, child or beast that stand in the way of his path to glory, they were to be expelled from the path all the same. The fury of blood taught him to love the sight and taste of bloodshed and finally, the golden fury gave him the "gift" of greed. Remus needed all of these traits to attain victory over the Roman Republic on the surface world. With these traits, Remus grew in power and built an army to overthrow pockets and cells of resistance groups, to demonstrate that he was the emperor of the Underworld.

He grew to such a power, that not even Hades inquired of his actions.

Remus built an unstoppable army. It spanned the reaches of the Underworld, near and far from Tartarus. Supreme might fueled the Remian Empire, but their might could not depart them from the Underworld, an outsider was needed to open the gates for the army to leave. Remus called upon Greece for help. His cries for help echoed and oscillated to thousands of oracles on the surface, and finally, a client was reached. An oracle cried out to a philosopher by the name of Aristotle. From that day forward, it was he and his lexomancers' task to free Remus and save Greece.