Stories from RhyDin & The Rings

Ares, God of War, sat sprawled on a hard, wooden chair behind his massive War Table, glowering darkly at the man that had been brought before him just minutes ago. He was not best pleased to be viewing him in the flesh. “What,” he finally growled, “are you doing here, Aiakos?”

Aiden was grinning, of course, no matter how dire his present circumstances. And they were dire, indeed, if the God was using his birth name. “You haven’t called me that in forever.” He quipped cheerfully, refusing to bow beneath the Deity’s disapproval or the pull of his name. “I’m thinking you missed me.”

Ares slammed his hands down on the arms of his chair and pushed to a stand, startling the enormous mastiff at his feet. The Warhound echoed his master’s ire with a rumbling growl of its own. “Do not think to toy with me.” Ares snarled, pushing the dog aside as he stalked around the table. “You know I am bound to detain you. What idiocy makes you believe I will ignore this obligation?”

Aiden’s grin finally faded away as he watched the God approach. It was always a delicate matter, bringing Ares around to his way of thinking. A crapshoot of the highest order, he had to push the right buttons at the right time to get the dice to fall his way. Right then, it was time to get down to business. “I don’t expect you to ignore it, Big Brother. I knew what I was getting into when I let your vulture tag me and bag me.”

The reminder of their kinship pulled Ares up short. His anger changed to confusion for half a heart-beat. Aiden had always made a point not to call on their blood ties no matter the circumstances. That he did so now took the God by surprise. “Then why?” He demanded, suddenly suspicious.

“I need a favor.” Aiden replied. Short. Simple. To the point. As if he had every right to ask. Confidence was always the key when dealing with this particular God. He had no respect for the indecisive.

Ares scoffed, expression flooding with renewed annoyance as he stepped in close enough to jab Aiden’s chest with his finger. “You would see me back in chains?” The ground beneath their feet shook with the God’s growing outrage. More Warhounds clambered to stand inside the tent, growling in anticipation.

Ignoring the danger around him, Aiden kept his gaze pinned on Ares’ face. He raised both hands, palms out, as if to surrender, but braced his position, refusing to give up an inch of ground. “No, no. You do what you need to do. Turn me over, give me up.” He pushed the next button in a tone just shy of mocking. “Keep the peace.” His grin slid back into place at the narrow-eyed look Ares gave him in response to the idea that the God of War should choose peace. “Just give me a few days before you do.”

Ares curled his hand into a fist, as if preparing to strike Aiden down on the spot. Yet the blow never came. The God’s mind was working through the possibilities of having such a valuable and voluntary prisoner within his grasp. “What is so precious,” he finally asked, “that you would risk us both with such a delay? They will know you are here.”

“And you’ll enjoy making them wait.” Aiden knew, without a doubt, that Ares chaffed the most at the compromises that had been made to see the Pantheon whole once again. He was counting on the fact that the God would help him if for no other reason than it would drive the rest of his family mad with frustration. It might well even lead them to outright violence, a thing that only worked in Ares’ favor.

The silence stretched as Ares considered, standing close and balanced on the blade’s edge of violence. The inside of the tent had darkened ominously and his voice held the warning of the thunder before the storm. “What reason, Aiakos? No more mincing words.”

Here was the true tipping point, Aiden knew. There was no more avoiding the answer, so he offered it flatly, without emotion. “I believe the Desert Man has been killed. If so, I need to find his soul before The Ever Brutal, or anyone else, gets their claws on it.” Allah would be all too happy to reclaim possession of this particular lost sheep, but it would be nearly as bad if the soul ended up in other hands.

Ares’ eyes went totally black and his fist flashed out quicker than a viper’s strike to slam into Aiden’s face. Bone cracked, cartilage crumpled and skin split with the inhuman force of the God’s blow and Aiden went down, his consciousness wavering. He caught himself with both hands, on one knee, and watched his blood spill into the dirt as Ares raged above him.

“This mortal again?!” Ares boomed, his voice echoing impossibly off the walls of the tent. “Have we not had enough of him? Of -all- of them?” Two of the Warhounds were moving to claim the downed victim of their Master’s wrath, hackles raised and fangs gleaming. The God made no attempt to stop them. Instead, he turned to watch the impending carnage.

Aiden clung tenaciously to the present and forced himself upright as he felt the mastiff’s drawing near. His vision protested the change in position and more blood poured down his face as a reward for his persistence, but he had no intentions of failing this test. He raised both arms and growled back at the beast’s closing in.

The wings sprang into ghostly existence as he moved, uncoiling from his arms to sweep out and slam into the stalking Warhounds. The creature’s yelped in surprise and pain as they were thrown back, one fetching up against a tent wall and the other slamming hard into the heavy leg of the war table. Neither animal got up to try again.

The War God snorted at the display, his gaze remaining on Aiden as the man climbed slowly back to his feet with those wings cupping the air behind him, glowing with unearthly light “Well,” he commented darkly, a grin now twisting his lips, “you can fight off a dog, at least.”

Aiden dragged one sleeve across his mouth, wincing as he worked his jaw from side to side. Talking was painful, but possible, so he got to it. “We can talk about your lineage later.” He shot back; voice thick. “Right now, you need to remember that ‘those mortals’ have slain two Titans. Titans you called up for them to battle. They have survived the Taint and thrived. One of them has even survived and bested our Uncle’s loving attentions. They are warriors, Brother, and they have earned your consideration.”

Ares sneered at Aiden’s words, but the expression was short lived. He could not deny a certain measure of truth in what Aiden said. Tough as cockroaches, this particular bunch. “What favor would you possibly ask of me, Aiakos? I will not help any of them, dead or alive, so directly.”

Aiden let his head drop to stare at the ground lest his triumph be telegraphed too openly. Ares would change his mind on a dime if he thought it pleased Aiden too much. Head still canted down, blood still streaming freely from his nose, he looked through his brow to the God and spoke his favor. “Just put me in touch with Devrim. He’ll do the rest.”

“Are you shittin’ me?” Aiden’s voice echoed off the walls of the small, stone room he’d been given beneath Ares’ Temple. The God had stashed him underground after their meeting, masking his presence with a complex layer of celestial wards that they both knew wouldn’t last very long. Still, it gave them a little time to plan their next move and await the outcome of Devrim’s search.

Word had come quicker than expected, delivered by the Ferryman himself, and the tale had Aiden pacing the tight confines of the room as he spoke. “That fucker just walked right into the inn?” He asked, sounding more relieved than surprised even to his own ears.

“He did.” Devrim confirmed. He’d seated himself in a chair near the door and watched Aiden pace with some small measure of concern. “From what I could discern,” he continued, “his soul is still quite firmly attached to his flesh. If he has been resurrected, it was no time in the recent past. I placed a marker on him, in case you wish me to track him again at some point in the future.”

“Fucking Hell.” Aiden muttered, covering a wince with the rough scrub of one hand across his face. He hadn’t asked Devrim to mark the Desert Man, but he couldn’t say he was sorry for it, either.

“I should have known.” He went on, shoving aside the thought of the Mark. “I thought maybe, maybe it was bullshit. Slick just showing up like that, and having a public conversation about it? Something was off. I knew something was off, but I couldn’t take the chance. If that Almighty Desert Asshole had gotten his hands on his soul…….” He trailed. Allah carried a grudge the size of Mount Olympus and he would have taken it out on the Desert Man for an eternity.

“Aiden,” Devrim murmured it, leaning forward in his chair as he spoke in a calm, reasonable tone, “are these men truly worth the sacrifice you have made? Your brother cannot keep you here forever and he is not strong enough on his own to fend off your Uncle. How long do you think you can avoid being turned over?”

“That doesn’t matter.” Aiden snarled in reply, displaying a temper that few ever witnessed. “I screwed them over. I came into their life, bringing Gods and Titans and a taint that changed them forever. I made them believe that I could make it all work. And then, for my grand finale, poof,” he waved his hands, “I up and disappeared without any warning, without even a single word of explanation.”

“Your disappearance spared them.” Devrim countered. “The Pantheon required payment for the transgressions lest the active Powers step in. You went to prison….”

“Bullshit.” Aiden interrupted hotly, slashing the air with one hand. A faint sound of rustling feathers accompanied the motion. “That was just an excuse. They wanted to bring down the Harbingers, and what better way to do that than to get rid of me? I didn’t even see it coming.” Even now, years later, he felt the sting of his blindness. “And once they got what they wanted they forgot all about any supposed ‘transgressions’.” He made fingers quotes as he spoke the word, disgust thick in his tone. “Fuckin’ War Boy even summoned up another Titan for them a few years later.”

“For which it paid dearly, himself.” Despite his reply, Devrim’s brow furrowed deeply as he considered Aiden’s answers. Guilt still clouded the man’s viewpoint, but he did have a point when it came to the Company’s motivations. Yet that still wasn’t the point he was trying to make. “Aiden, when is enough….enough?”

Aiden growled out a quiet sigh as he resumed pacing the room. “I owed them, Dev. They deserved better.” On this, he wouldn’t be swayed. “Not that it’s going to matter,” he continued, reaching for a bit of levity, “especially after you went and tagged him like a fucking pigeon.” Aiden had to admit, he found that part just a little amusing. “How pissed was he?”

Devrim leaned back, a brief frown touching his lips. Aiden was in no frame of mind to listen to reason, so he let the matter go. “He was not the slightest pleased, I assure you. I’m rather impressed that he even detected it. Most mortals, even the demi sort, don’t have the sensitivity.” He offered no apology for his choice. He was, after all, the one who would have to find the lost soul.

Aiden laughed a bit, shaking his head, a touch of nostalgia entering his tone. “Yeah, he’s always had some skills, that one.” He no longer knew the extent of the Desert Man’s capabilities, but he was confident they had only grown over the years. “Look, Dev. Just…don’t let him wind up in the hands of the Ever Brutal if you can help it, alright? If we can do that much, it’ll be a win.”

Devrim inclined his head and rose from his chair, reaching for the coat he’d tossed over the back. “I’ll do my best. But we both know there are no guarantees.”

“Yeah, I get that.” Aiden replied, pausing his pacing once again to eye Devrim directly. “I also get that they weren’t the only ones that got screwed over when the Pantheon cracked down.”

Devrim smiled, extending his hand to Aiden without a moment’s hesitation, sincerity in both his expression and his voice. “Don’t give it another thought. I landed on my feet and the boat suits me well.” He tightened his grip on Aiden’s hand for just a moment as he tacked on a bit more. “We weren’t meant to mingle with the mortals.”

Aiden scowled a bit, but offered another laugh. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. But they sure are fun sometimes, ya gotta admit.” He winked, but went right on before Devrim could escape. He knew this would be his last chance to try and send any messages. “I know I’ve asked a lot already.”

Devrim shrugged on his coat, canting a sidelong look back to Aiden. “But you’ll be wanting something more, of course.” The smile he still wore belied his stern tone, attesting to the fact that he was only teasing the man. “Go on then.”

Aiden didn’t hesitate to take advantage of Devrim’s generosity. “I need you to get a message to Anu. Tell him to watch out after the kid, especially in the next few weeks, and to keep him out of this city at all cost. And try to find Whippet, if you can. Tell him,” he paused a moment, trying to think of the best way to phrase it, “tell him I made my own choice, alright?”

Once again, Devrim nodded. “I will.” He assured, serious and intent. “Good hunting, Aiden.”

“You will turn him over this instant.” Aphrodite, Goddess of Love, did not appear to be in a loving mood. The flowing skirt of her gossamer dress, designed to reveal more than it covered, swirled around her ankles as she paced a short, tight circle across the stone floor of Ares’ private meeting room. She was every bit as breathtaking in her anger as she was in the throes of ecstasy.

Ares tightened his jaw and dragged his gaze away from the Goddess in an attempt to ignore her undeniable allure. She had always been his most unforgiveable weakness. “I think not, Sister.” He imbued the false title with all the scorn her felt for her. “The Harper shall remain in my custody.”

Across the table from the War God, Hades, God of the Underworld, spoke before the Goddess could say another word. “Having him in your custody will only put the target on your back, Nephew.” His tone was calm, reasonable. Firm. “At the very least, your father will want him to answer for his crimes against the Pantheon.”

Ares scoffed. “What crimes?” He challenged. “Turning him over to Zeus in some feeble attempt to curry favor will not dig yourselves out of the hole you’re in. He was not the one that played stud to this,” he gestured toward Aphrodite, “broodmare.”

“Is that not your own intention?” Aphrodite seethed, jumping back into the conversation with a sneer on her lips. She continued in that same harsh tone, taunting the War God ruthlessly. “Always whining for Daddy’s approval like the pathetic cur you are. Perhaps if you had been Godly enough….”

Ares slammed his hand down onto the table, coming half out of his chair as he interrupted the Goddesses’ tirade. “Do not think to insult me, Whore! I am not the one who was stupid enough to break the Compact.” That he wanted her, even now, infuriated him more than her words.

“This time!” The Goddess shot back hotly, chest heaving and wild glee in her eyes. This had always been the way between them and she seemed to reveal in the exchange, forgetting that Hades was even in the room.

The Death God made a point to remind her of his presence.

“Enough!” Hades barked, jerking one arm sharply. The movement, more than the word, seemed to pull the Goddess up short. She stumbled out of the lean she’d taken toward Ares, her glare snapping back to the Lord of the Underworld. Any trace of glee had vanished, supplanted by unmistakable disgust. The dark, malevolent stare Hades leveled on her in return was enough to have her turning away with an impotent snarl.

The interlude recalled Ares to himself, reminding him the Goddess was more troublesome than desirable. And she was, most certainly, no longer his problem. He settled back down into his seat and unclenched his fists as he spoke. “He stays with me. If you wish to press your case, I am sure the Council will hear your plea. Eventually.”

Aphrodite whirled around, this time spitting venomous words at Hades. “We cannot wait for the Council to decide. Will you continue to do nothing while that mongrel corrupts the flesh of our flesh?”

Hades appeared to ignore the Goddesses’ prodding, locked in a stare with Ares. He could see that his nephew was entrenched. “Very well,” he murmured darkly, rising from the chair, “we will collect him ourselves.”

“Yes, we will.” Aphrodite purred, demeanor shifting fluidly back to adoring companion. She cast a triumphant and meaningful look to the War God as she came to stand beside the Hades.

“You will try.” Ares countered, smirking at them both as he lounged back in his chair. “Let us see which of us benefits more from the attempt, shall we?” War and death went hand in hand, after all, even if their respective gods did not.

“You are being short-sighted and foolish, Nephew.” Hades warned, the gaunt lines of his face hardening with contempt as Aphrodite ran her hand along his shoulders. “The half-breed will be your downfall and I will not be there to save you again.”

Ares tightened his jaw. “I will not be the one in need of saving this time." He assured with dark menace. But then the smirk returned to his lips, reflecting strongly in his black, hawkish eyes. "Enjoy your mare, Uncle. I hear they're not quite the same once they’ve been clipped.” He scissored the air with his fingers to accompany the words.

“You filthy dog!” Aphrodite's shriek was some sweet music to the God of War, causing him to laugh even when she tried to launch herself across the table. Hades caught her with one arm, scowling over his shoulder at his nephew as he dragged the Goddess away through the Hell Gate that formed behind them.

Ares laughed until the portal snapped closed behind the pair. Then he set about preparing for War.

“….and try to find Whippet, if you can.”

Pressed into service once more, Devrim returned to RhyDin in search of Mesteno. He’d met the Necromancer before, years earlier, but knew it wasn’t likely the man would remember him given the circumstances of their brief encounter. With that in mind, when he finally tracked him down outside the Red Dragon Inn, Devrim made a point of highlighting their connection.

“Mesteno, correct?” Devrim kept his tone smooth and friendly and his demeanor calm. A tactic that served him well when dealing with skittish souls. “Whisper described you exactly."

To Mesteno, the face was an unfamiliar one, but that didn't mean he didn't find a worm of unease as Devrim neared. Not fear, but a certain surety that being cautious would be a good idea. "I'm sure it was real flattering," He replied dully.

Undeterred by Mesteno’s caution, Devim offered his hand as he joined him on the porch. "Devrim Morvani." He introduced himself, the glint of some amusement in his gaze. "I believe he compared you to bamboo poles and bed springs."

They’d exchanged simple pleasantries under the watchful eye of one of Mesteno’s friends before finally moving inside.

“Why do you sound so familiar?” Mesteno asked as they entered the inn.

"We've met before,” Devrim admitted, “though you may not remember. You left my boat before we arrived at our destination." The Necromancer moved with a stalking wolf’s intensity that was not matched by the hollowness of his gaze. A curious contradiction that Devrim monitored closely.

“Should never have got out of the damn boat," Mesteno murmured to himself as he led the way to the hearth.

There had been others in the inn that night, people Devrim had met during his previous visits. A good number of them seemed to know the Necromancer well enough to be worried about him. He felt their attention even from afar as he and Mesteno conversed. "Whisper asked me to find a certain lost sheep. But it seems said sheep was not so very lost after all."

The heat from the nearby fire bled through the back of Mesteno’s jacket, and started to lift the damp from his heavy hair in curls of steam. He'd settled too close, but didn't seem to care. He rested both arms atop his knees, and frowned at Devrim as if he hadn't the energy for his usual savagery. "He was as he needed to be, turns out." Mesteno offered nothing more specific than that concerning Koyan, asking after Aiden instead. "What did it cost him? What did... what happened to Aiden?"

Devrim took his time answering the question, weighing how much to say as he studied the others in the common room. "With no way to contact me given my place of employment and his current disfavor, he sought his brother's aid in arranging a meeting."

Mesteno’s reply was succinct. "They have him, then." It was not a question. It sounded particularly grim.

Looking back, Devrim spoke in a quiet murmur. "They did not seem inclined to let him leave." He confirmed.

While they spoke, Koyan had arrived and taken a seat at the bar. The Desert Man had spotted Devrim rather swiftly and he kept a sharp eye on him and Mesteno from across the room as he fielded the questions and concerns tied to the recent reports of his death.

Mesteno, eyes closed, exhaled slow. His expression was difficult to read, especially for a man that had known him only for the space of an hour perhaps, while they shared a grim duty. "Since you're playing messenger," he ground out, as if it cost him to say whatever he was about to, "then you take one back from me to his brother. I want there to be an exchange."

The commotion around Koyan finally drew Devrim’s gaze. He watched long enough to pinpoint the man and take note of his agitation before looking back to the Necromancer with an answer for his demand. "You assume I can gain audience with him at all. He is, after all, Upper Management."

"If you do not do this," Mesteno went on as if Devrim hadn’t spoken, his eyes still closed (couldn't believe he was doing this again) "I will go to the Old Temple District, step right into one of their temples and start throwing grenades. Do not think for a second I won't. *That'll* get the attention of the wrong one, and then War loses what I'm offering."

Devrim smiled, a little wry and a little sad. He didn’t doubt Mesteno’s resolve for and instant. "That would not help him in the slightest. In fact, I predict it would make the situation far, far worse. He chose his path and expects no assistance in leaving it." He had not refused the task Mesteno requested. Not yet. First, he was trying reason.

"It would definitely make it worse... which is why I'm giving his brother the chance to come and speak to me before I *escalate* things." Mesteno finally opened his eyes, and met Devrim's. His own gaze was not nearly so piercing. Something had robbed him of that vicious intensity, and left it hauntingly empty instead. "Turns out I'm good at escalating things."

Koyan chose then to lift his voice in urgent warning. "Mesteno, don't touch that guy!" Koyan bellowed, pointing a finger right at Devrim. "That guy. That guy." He didn't give more information, but he looked very unhappy.

Hearing the Desert Man’s outburst, Devrim adjusted his chair to keep both Koyan and Mesteno in view. It was the latter that held the bulk of his attention, though. "Why would you choose to do so again?"

Without Devrim's bulk blocking his view of the room, Mesteno finally spotted Koyan at the bar. His attention lingered there briefly, as if now and then he still needed convincing the Turk wasn't as dead as they'd all feared... then he turned his attention back to Devrim....until Koyan's bellow reached him. He didn't shout back. Didn't say it was a little late. "Are messengers supposed to ask this many questions? Offer him the exchange."

They’d haggled back and forth, but couldn’t come to an accord. Still determined, the Necromancer decide to take a more direct approach. He made one last demand before he left.

"He doesn't like your marker.” He was speaking of Koyan, of course, who still watched them both hard eyes. “Take it off him."

"If I do so,” Devrim replied, “you must never ask me to seek him again."

Given that Mesteno hadn’t answered, Devrim might have left things as they were. Koyan, however, had other ideas. Not long after the Necromancer left, he repeated the demand. "Take it off."

Devrim met Koyan’s glare with annoying mildness. "Would you wander lost should the worst come to pass?"

"I'll take that chance. Off." Forthright, to Devrim.

"He risked much for you.” Devrim countered calmly, “And would do so again, I think, should he be able. It is a shame."

"He did.” Koyan admitted. “But that is not the point right now."

"It is very much the point." When Koyan hesitated, uncertain he wished to risk the clasp of hands required to remove the mark, Devrim continued. "The mark will not hurt you. Only I can see it. And it will keep you from the hands of those that would use you like a commodity. Or worse. For there are those that have lost you that would have you again."

In the end, Koyan remained insistent and Devrim removed the marker he had placed on the Turk’s soul. He left the man with one final thought. "The Ever Brutal is an apt moniker. I wish you luck."