Disclaimers: First of all, this story is a follow-on of sorts to the Bacchae Trilogy by M.Keck, which means that it is set after the end of Season 2 but before Season 3. Events that occurred in the trilogy will be referred to and characters who appeared in the trilogy first will appear here, so it will be easier if you read the trilogy first to understand this story, although it isn't vital. Graphic violence will be portrayed in this story, so if you don't like that kind of thing, don't read it. Yes, I do think Gabby and Xena are an item, but there won't be anything graphic on the sexual side in the story-well, no orgy scenes, but people do have sex you know. There will also be other relationships of a sexual nature portrayed, heterosexual and homosexual. If your too young to read that kind of thing, wait till you've grown up, if it's illegal where you live, move or vote to change it, and if it offends you or insults your beliefs-tough. You don't have to read this story, and I'm sure there are plenty of people out there who will if you don't, so don't bother sending me hate mail and death threats because they will be ignored and deleted, okay? Intelligent criticism is appreciated, and should be sent to: NR185@lamp.ac.uk

Part 3

Vandria ducked a wild slash from a Bacchae, then yelped as another's claws slashed her left upper arm, drawing four thin lines of blood. She hacked her sword in a swift counter to the first's belly, sending its guts and a spray of blood falling to its feet, then span on the second, traded two quick blows with it, getting a small cut on the knuckles from its claws as she did, then she lunged upwards and the point of her sword pierced its brain and stuck out of the top of its skull. It staggered, brain-dead, although it would be back on its feet without a scar to show that it had ever received the wound in short order, and Vandria ripped her sword clear before kicking it in the chest so hard that it landed in a crumpled heap three full bodylengths away. Turning back to the first, which was still trying to attack her even though it couldn't walk properly because of its injuries, she drew her sword back, then lashed it across at head height as hard as she could. Steel bit sharply into flesh and bone with a meaty "thunk", and the Bacchae's head fell slowly from its shoulders, an angry expression on its face as it fell. Its body collapsed to the floor after the head, still and unmoving, but she knew that it wouldn't stay that way for long. Xena, her and about ten of the bravest soldiers were attempting to hold back the attacking Bacchae until the bulk of the surviving army that had gone into the Bacchae Forest had escaped it, and they weren't being very successful, only just holding their own. Still, they only needed to hold for another minute or two, then they'd be able to-she saw it, and didn't have time to think before she acted. A wolf with blood-red eyes was leaping at Xena's throat, and she hadn't realised that it was coming for her. It was Bacchae, and Xena was mortal, so if it bit her there was no way out-she lunged at the wolf, throwing herself full-length and tackling it in mid-air. Its claws scraped Xena's armour but didn't penetrate, and she was so caught up in the fighting that she barely noticed it, but Vandria quickly found herself in a world of trouble. Fighting Bacchae was bad enough, they had claws that hurt like having razor blades stuck into your flesh with acid on the tips that more often than not caused infected wounds or even poisoned you, while bites from them turned you into one of them if you were a woman or could kill you in seconds if you were a man. They had superhuman strength, reflexes that allowed them to catch arrows in flight if they saw them coming, could fly and were able to heal almost any non-fatal wound, even those caused by Dryad Bone weapons. As well as that, they had heightened senses, taste, touch, smell, hearing and sight, and simply wouldn't stop if their Lord ordered them to do something unless they were successful, dead, or completely incapable of carrying on. Against this, Vandria had strength that was, while considerably greater than most humans, certainly not superhuman, eyesight like an Eagles, wings that allowed her to fly, a temper that could have given Thor pause for thought and four centuries of practise fighting with every kind of weapon, including her bare hands, against any number of enemies. It wasn't an even match, the Bacchae held the advantage physically while Vandria held the advantage in skill and experience, but nor was it a fair fight. Vandria hit the ground hard on her shoulder, the wolf atop her, loosing her sword in the process, rolled over, trying to get the furious wolf in a headlock, and found the wolf at her face, snapping at her with Bacchae fangs as it just missed her face. Its claws raked down over her chest and upper legs, tearing through her leathers and into her flesh with supernatural sharpness and strength, but she bit her tongue and refused to scream, tightening her grip on its throat. The force she was exerting would have broken any human's neck easily, but the Bacchae's neck resisted her, partially because of its superior strength, partially because of the difficulty of getting a firm grip on its neck through the wolfs shaggy fur. She gritted her teeth and closed her hand's like a vice, blood beginning to flow under her fingertips as they bit into the Bacchae's flesh, then she got a real, solid grip on the flesh and bone of its neck, just as one of the Bacchae's claws caught on and cracked a rib-she wrenched, bone cracked, it went limp. She threw it aside and rose slowly, feeling her blood running down her chest and legs, the cracked rib inside her cutting into her flesh-a fist thundered into her face with a crack of bone, her left cheekbone and nose snapping under the impact. Stars spiralled across her vision and everything went black around the edges for several long moments, and she felt herself being bodily lifted and thrown before she could recover enough to do anything-a burst of volcanic fire shot into her skull as the grinding crack of breaking bone sounded, flesh tearing and her spine creaking as she slammed into the hard trunk of a tree back-first. Ribs snapped and cracked, her upper left arm snapped like a twig as it was locked under her when she hit and she felt the shoulder joint pop out as far too much pressure was applied the wrong way. The breath exploded from her lungs and she felt blood in her mouth, felt it pouring from her ears and nose as her head cracked painfully against the tree as well, nearly knocking her unconscious, and a spurt of blood exploded from her mouth as she crashed to the floor, only semi-conscious. Something landed next to her, and someone grabbed her hair and used it to wrench her head back, to bare her throat-fangs sank into the jugular vein of her throat. She growled, but couldn't do much about it, and felt her life ebbing away slowly, but then simply ceased to care about what happened to her, whether she lived or died. Fourth rule that you learnt when you grew up in a realm of Warriors and war, when there is no way to win, you are defeated, but not dead, and if a fate worse than death awaits you, remember, there is always another option. Forget life or death, forget love and hatred, forget yourself, put on the Bear Shirt and die like a warrior, sword in hand or not, die as you were born, fight to the last and live one last time. She hadn't known what the phrase "putting on the "Bear Shirt"" meant for a time, until, at the age of sixteen, she'd seen Norse warriors demonstrate it in battle. When there was no hope left, you were either dead or dying on your feet and there was no escape, you could always do one last thing to aid your comrades in arms, although on your own head be it. "Putting on the Bear Shirt" was a way of saying that when you had nothing to live for you had no reason to live, and so it didn't matter whether you lived or died as long as you died like a warrior, there was always one thing left that you could do. Norse Berserkers, the most formidable Warriors of their breed, put on shirts of Bear-Skin to mark themselves before they went into battle, because they became a danger to friend or foe, and simply would not stop until they were dead, ever. All or nothing, quite simply, and from now she had nothing to loose. Vandria's head wrenched around, startling the Bacchae who had though her dead or crippled, and the creature didn't have time to react to what came next as, nothing resembling intelligence left inside the mad eyes of its intended victim, Vandria's teeth closed on its throat and, with a snarl, a bite and a brutal wrench, she tore out its windpipe. It choked, despite not needing to breathe, and a hammer blow to the ribs with force that exceeded its own strength literally blasted it off of the Valkyrie. Vandria leapt on top of it, headbutting it as it tried to rise, and locked a grip that put any Bacchae's to shame around its neck. The Bacchae struggled, but couldn't throw the madwoman off, and flesh tore under her fingers as Vandria's gripping fingers ripped through flesh, seeking bone or hardened parts to destroy. Blood spurted everywhere and flesh parted and tore as the Bacchae's struggles became maddened, claws raking Vandria's arms, but the Valkyrie didn't even notice. Fastening on the bone of jaw and neck, Vandria wrenched brutally, breaking both simultaneously, then heaved upwards with all her strength. Muscle and flesh tore, bone parted, and the Bacchae's head came clear of its neck, to be tossed away as unimportant as the seriously injured Vandria rose to her feet, ignoring her injuries, to confront the circle of Bacchae confronting her. Not one failed to notice that the only thing spreading from the bite wounds in her neck from their sister was the red blood that was dripping from all of the many wounds that she'd suffered, not the tell-tale white marks that should have spread rapidly after a Bacchae bite on any mortal to make her one of them, and more than one of the creatures saw the madness glowing in the Valkyrie's eyes and took a step backwards from the madwoman for a reason that they couldn't have explained. Vandria just grinned, an expression that chilled the blood of all who saw it. She didn't say anything as she moved, there was nothing left in her to say anything and nothing left to say. A rumbling growl issued from her, however, which, combined with her feral expression and her bloody, torn and broken body, with such injuries that she shouldn't have even been able to stand up, said it all. "Do or die" was the message, and what was going to occur. With a roar of fury, outnumbered ten to one, dying on her feet and completely uncaring, Vandria the Valkyrie, adopted daughter of Odin the All Father and Frigga the All Mother, warrior of Asgard and Warrior Born sister of the Aenir, attacked them all…

Four summers ago...

The tall, dark-haired woman with the slanted eyes and slender build that marked her as a native of Chin waited patiently for the cup of herb tea, mixed to precisely the right amounts with meticulous care, to boil, then she produced two cups, small, round, china cups without handles, and poured the tea into them. She was careful to make sure that the cup for her visitor was filled to the level and amount that she knew her guest preferred, and checked the scent of both to be sure they were just right before she took one in each hand, displaying a surprising strength and firmness of grip for her slender build, and turned to carry them both into the main room of her home. The woman's hair was long, falling to her waist in a smooth, silken smooth wave of raven black, and her forest-brown eyes were steady and clam, glowing with life and intelligence even in the dim light shone by the lanterns about her. She was wearing a single-piece bright red dress, and was barefoot, as was the custom, but the dress did little to conceal a softly-curving figure underneath it that was undeniably pleasant on the eyes, nor did it conceal the exquisite beauty of the woman's face. This effect was intentional, since the woman's official function at the court of the Emperor of Chin was as his concubine in truth, a function that he himself had chosen her for thanks to her beauty, but she had become much more thanks to a combination of great intelligence and careful manipulation of her Master. The woman was now more ruler of Chin than the Emperor himself, thanks to careful doses of drugs in his food and drink that the woman supplied, and the land prospered under her, but she knew a slight sense of unease nonetheless, since Ming Ten, the Emperor's son, would soon be of age to ascend to the throne and she could not be sure what the young man would do. However, she maintained her aura of calm and solitude, as she always did, no sign of her inner worries intruding on her expression or thoughts, firm discipline and a clearness of mind allowing her to do such things. She looked about her as she walked, looking closely at the building that she called home, and had done for almost twenty years now. It was such a transient thing in the great journey and the greater world, she couldn't help but think, but she had, nonetheless, become quite attached to it over the years. In fact, she expected to die here in due course, likely on the new Emperor's orders when he came to the throne. He'd never liked her, and she knew that he wanted her dead for what she'd done to his father and the empire of Chin, but she did not think ill of him for it, it was just the way of people who were too involved in themselves to see the truth of the world around them, and besides, it was not her way. Thin wooden walls rose up vertically to both sides of her and behind her, and a tarred roof of thick wood overlaid with slate outside it was above her. Wooden archways were elegantly designed and carefully yet strongly constructed, with decorative patters of the house of Lao drawn about them. The wooden floor, overlaid by rich crimson-red carpets, was cool beneath her bare feet, and rich sea-green drapes hung from the walls, mingling with crimson red one's in bright patterns that were elegant and relaxing in style and colour to the eyes. There was nothing in sight that was disturbing to the eye or out of place, which was as it should be, so she allowed a small smile to show briefly and continued on into the guest room, where visitors could be properly received. Inside, a woman waited, one she knew well, very well, and was looking forwards, although she wouldn't admit it to anyone, to renewing her acquaintance with. The woman was an enigma even to another who had known her on and off for more than ten years, even though she was sure that she knew the mysterious woman better than anyone else alive, but she always perfectly observed the correct rituals and courtesies and was capable of providing intelligent discussion and good company, so her visits were always more than welcome. Stepping through the door, she paused, and looked at the woman before she continued into the small but adequate guestroom. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor, hands on her knees backs to the flesh, her eyes closed, her body relaxed, a sure sign of rest and meditation. Long raven-black hair gleamed in the lanterns light, lustrous and smooth as silk, to touch as well as to the eye, she knew from experience. It fell to well below her waist even when standing up, falling to just above her feet and curling inwards, and now it was gathered around her legs and back in a long wave. Her build was slender and tall, like most Chinese women's, but she was taller than most, and her slender body was formed of firm muscle and smooth skin, hard and strong where most's were soft and weak. It didn't take away from a strong, easy beauty only enhanced by fine bones and long limbs, firm curves and a catlike grace, instead somehow adding to it in a way that made her more feminine than some women who spent their lives trying for such an appearance. Sea-green eyes were hidden underneath closed eyelids, full red lips barely parted on a face that showed evidence of a great deal of time spent in the sun, a healthy, if light, tan only enhancing her fine looks, and she was wearing a sky-blue one-piece dress, bare feet extended in front of her. On her right middle finger a golden ring shone, with a crimson-red ruby set in the centre of the slim band, and somewhere on her body a tattoo of a sea-green coloured Chinese dragon rested, never in the same place twice. When asked about such things she'd merely smile and say "Magic", then refuse to say any more despite all attempts to make her talk or discuss it, as the watcher had discovered, to her mild annoyance, some time ago. Xena, the Warrior Princess of Greece, while it had taken her a short time to master the Chin tongue before she could even be understood, had been more forthcoming on her history and thoughts in the short time that they'd known one another than the women she was looking at had been about herself in a decade, as she recalled. Politely holding in a sigh, she sat down in the appropriate fashion opposite the mysterious woman, whom she knew only as Tai'Chi Hian, and placed the two cups of herbal tea in front of the both of them. Even as she did, Tai'Chi's eyes opened, revealing two sea-green orbs, and she smiled, a full smile that one only allowed one's intimate friends or acquaintances to ever see properly. The watching woman had a hard time holding back a blush for all of her discipline and self-control, there was no question of the two of them knowing each other with intimacy for certain...

Tai'Chi Hian performed a bow from the waist down, then straightened. "I thank you for welcoming me into your home, Lao Ma, many blessings be upon you and your house for your kindness" she said, in the soft, sing-song language of Chin, her voice soft and gently melodic, a singers voice, but with an underlying tone to it that almost anyone but Lao Ma would have missed. When she attended functions and meetings of this nature, Lao Ma was sure, she had to put a considerable amount of restraint on some part of herself to control some inner impulse that urged her to do terrible things of an unspeakable nature to those she might otherwise call friend or ally, or even love. It wasn't clear why, or how, but she'd heard more than a few of the myths, rumours and legends connected to the mysterious woman, supposedly for over a thousand years now, and she had decided that, except as perhaps a matter to be considered before her death, she never did want to know the truth. The Greeks had an expression for it that Xena had used, and it was as good a description of what was meant as she'd heard-"Knowledge is power, but it is also a responsibility. Be careful what you look for, because you may not like what you find". Rather crude, she'd always thought, but the western people were like that with few exceptions. However, their experiences did give them valuable insights into things that society and life in Chin did not, as Xena had taught her, although the warrior had never realised that the lessons given had gone both ways, so she made a point of learning what she could of them while not allowing their brutal, bloodthirsty nature and ways to seep into her mind and body and corrupt her consciousness. "You are welcome in my house. Enter freely and be at ease, what is mine is yours whilst you are my guest, Tai'Chi Hian" Lao Ma replied, giving the proper reply with a full smile on her lips, resisting the urge to show the woman and share with her a great deal more than a smile. Tai'Chi always had that effect on her, however, so she was used to accepting and dealing with it, or giving in to it body and soul if the circumstances were available and she felt the wish to upon her. Tai'Chi grinned, displaying sharp, perfect, gleaming white teeth, the incisors so little overlong that only one who knew what to look for would see the difference, then held her hands in front of her in a prayer position, palms together, elbows down and hands up. "Lao Ma, my former student, dark times come for you and yours, secrets telling me so are breathed to me on the mists of time, yet you appear ignorant of these facts or uncaring. I understand as well as any the transcendence of the Spirit over one's flesh and blood, but one cannot merely forsake the world of woman and man, of flesh and blood, of love and lust because one does not care to remain in it any longer. I understand that you care for Ming Ten even though you know of his hatred of you and his determination to see your death so you will not act against him, but it is not your time yet and the one who could replace you is not ready, and likely will not be in time. Please be open with me, Lao Ma, I require understanding of your reasoning before I will consider allowing you to continue on this course that you have chosen" said Tai'Chi, softly. The strength of her voice did not matter, however, the merest whisper would have carried to any ear in the still room, which lay silent as a tomb except for Lao Ma's slow and steady breathing. Lao Ma bowed her head, her dark hair falling over her eyes. "My apologies, mistress, but you are not correct. I am neither ignorant of these future facts nor uncaring, I merely know what is to come to be inevitable so will not stand against it. Ming Ten has his own destiny, and he will follow it through, he is part of the fire that will shape and sharpen my chosen successor into a blade fit to fight the fire with. Also, I know well that while the Warrior Princess of Greeks may seem brutal, savage and an unthinking animal, she has a lions heart that will allow her to walk the paths and defeat any enemy that dares cross her path. She is stronger in mind and body than she herself knows, and will become stronger yet, once she meets the other half of her being and learns once more what she has forgotten. The Night will be made Day, the Hawk will be made strong by union with the Fox and the End will become the Beginning, cleansing all that stand in their way from their path and burning bright in the darkness yet to come for others to follow. I have seen this, I know this, it will be, and these things are worth any sacrifice" Lao Ma replied, softly, her eyes never leaving her former Mistress and tutors eyes. Tai'Chi nodded her head in acknowledgement of her former pupils arguments, but her eyes showed that she remained troubled over something. "Join with me in the mists, Lao Ma" she said, raising her right hand. Lao Ma grasped it, both women closing their eyes, and their spirits threw off the shackles of their flesh and blood bodies and spiralled up and into the sky, into swirling mists that were invisible to the human eye, into the blur that lay between past, present and future...

...Twenty-six summers ago, a bawling baby with traces of raven-black hair is freed from its mothers body, takes its first breath and screams at the world, at everything, as it will so many times in the future. A tall, dark-grey haired man with broad shoulders and ice-blue eyes takes the child in his arms, then sits next to the mother, a young, auburn-haired and forest-brown eyed woman of great beauty. The man wears a farmers white tunic, pitch black leggings and boots, but all of his movements are steady and he has a look about him that speaks of his true nature, he has the eye's of a hawk and the calluses of a sword-wielder who does so for a living. "Its a girl, Cyrene, just like the Midwife thought it would be. Now Toris has a little sister, what should we call her do you think?" the man asks, softly, holding the squirming baby in a clean towel in his arms. One tiny hand reaches out uncertainly, and the young woman, exhausted, reaches out a hand, the middle finger of which is promptly grabbed with a determined expression on the babies face. "She has a warriors grip, Atrius, that's for certain. So let her be a warrior in name as well as in spirit, let her be... Xena, Lion of Amphipolis" said Cyrene, with a weary smile. Atrius smiled, then chuckled, still holding the baby in his arms. "Yes, a fine name. Xena, Lion of Amphipolis, yes, I like it, so be it. Today, the Champion of Amphipolis takes her first breaths, may the world tremble!" said Atrius, his voice rising as he spoke, half joking, half serious. Cyrene cuffed him lightly, "Atrius, I'm a new mother, please don't say things like that so soon" she said, but her eyes were haunted, as though what had been said had meant something more than was obvious to her...

...Nineteen summers ago, the seven year old Xena, hair long and raven-black already, wearing a rough dirty-brown tunic and leggings, a pair of sturdy black boots on her feet, runs towards the entrance of Amphipolis as fast as her long legs will carry her. A troop of mounted riders canters through the fields just out of sight of Amphipolis as she does so, coming into sight of it slowly, a group of men in armour with sheathed weapons about them, weary from a long ride. Their faces brighten as they see their home town ahead of them, and they nudge their tired horses into a canter just before a hard-running raven-haired streak comes out of the gate as though propelled from a Catapult. A man wearing dark-grey armour bearing Ares symbol on his breastplate, now-white hair and moustache obvious, grins broadly at the sight and spurs his horse ahead of the rest. As he gets close to the sprinting young girl, delighted squeaks of "Papa!" are obvious, and the young girl breaks out in a broad, silly grin. Atrius shakes his head, and, without breaking his horses stride, leans down out of the saddle, catching the young girl in his free arm, and, with her agile help, he easily swings her onto the saddle in front of him. She grabs hold tightly, giggling with glee, and Atrius spurs his horse into a gallop, racing through the town in one last race before he reaches his home, where an amused Cyrene is watching from the front door of the Inn, shaking her head...

...Sixteen summers ago, Atrius storms out of a meeting at Ares temple with a figure who is momentarily visible, who is wearing pitch-black leathers and boots, and has raven-black hair, a short beard and a moustache. He is handsome in a way no mortal can be, and exudes dark power and danger, particularly thanks to the Sword of War sheathed at his left hip. He smirks at the departing back of his warrior, then vanishes in a flash of crystal-blue light, even as Atrius, clad in raven leathers and his grey armour once more for his meeting with the God of War, mounts his horse and rides it back towards Amphipolis, whipping it mercilessly, anger burning on his face. It takes him little time to reach the town, and he jumps from the horse without even bothering to tie it up, leaving the winded animal free. The door is closed and locked, but he kicks it open without using a key and strides into the main room, only to find Cyrene sitting at a table by candlelight, evidently doing the accounts while waiting up for him in a ruby-red dressing gown and white shift. She rises to her feet, startled, but he doesn't give her time to react as he marches over to her and backhands her, nearly breaking her jaw and sending blood flying from her torn lips as his gauntlet crashes into her face. He kicks her in the ribs when she crashes to the floor, and she screams in pain as a rib cracks, but then he waits for her to recover her senses before he continues. "You WHORE!" he shouts, his face blood-red with fury, and he wrenches her head back by grabbing her hair, pulling out strands with the force of his grip. "A-Atrius, w-what in Ares name-?" Cyrene begins to ask, coughing as she clutches her chest, but he doesn't give her time. "He TOLD me, you BITCH! He told me it ALL! Your little roll in the hay together while I was away on the campaign, the "services" you provided for him as a good follower of the God of War-! GOD'S, you SICKEN me, and so does that BRAT of a child of his, but her, at least, I can do something about!" Atrius practically screams in fury, slamming his wife's head into the floor twice while he shouts, nearly knocking her unconscious and leaving her in no state to reply, or, really, do anything. "I'll sacrifice your love-child to him, THAT'S what I'll do, see how he likes the taste of his own blood-!" Atrius raved, pounding about the Inn's floor in fury as Cyrene slowly recovered her senses, blood running down her face from split lips, a broken nose and a cut on her forehead. She didn't have any idea what he was talking about, she'd never laid with anyone but her husband since they'd been married, but he clearly wasn't in any state of mind to hear any attempt at argument. Pausing momentarily in his screaming fit, Atrius shot a glance at his wife which chilled her to the bone, then he turned, spinning on his heel, and marched back outside with an expression that meant murder on his face. She could guess where he was going, he hadn't been carrying any weapons and his horse always did, which meant that, whatever she was going to do, she had very little time to do it in. However, prophecy could be damned, blood was blood and it would always run thicker than water, and would always tie her tighter to her children than her husband, no matter how much she cared for him. Slowly, she rose to her feet, feeling the pain in her side from her cracked rib, and began to walk outside slowly even as her soul slowly began to wither away. There was an axe by the woodpile, between her and the stables, where he would be, and there was only one thing that she could even possibly do, really...

...Eight summers ago, a dark-armoured form, wearing raven-black fighting leathers and an ill-fitting breastplate of dark metal with bronze swirls on it, fights like a Harpy against an army of men attacking it and the young men and women standing with it. Long, raven-black hair swirls about its face and a feral smile is clear on its lips, ice-blue eyes gleaming with almost inhuman intensity as it laughs, hacking and slashing with a broadsword that tears through armour, flesh and bone with equal ease as the Lion of Amphipolis makes her stand against Cortese's army, leading those who dared stand with her. Beside her a blond-haired young man fights with youthful speed and deadly skill, brown eyes bright and full of life, a sword in his right hand and a knife in his left, her brother, Lyceus, who skilfully parries and blocks strikes at himself and his sister even as flickering ripostes tear through flesh and bone. He fights with less strength and skill than his sister, but is more than capable of defending them both in the heaving mass of fighters about them both, his dark-brown leathers unmarked despite the ferocity of the fighting occurring. A strange expression is on his face, a look of acceptance and understanding, as though he knows something that the others there don't-he sees an archer wearing the red and white uniform of Cortese's men taking aim at his sisters dark form, even as Xena laughs joyously as she wades through the battle like a God of War, cutting and killing anything that dares get in her way of Cortese's kind. She doesn't know the archer is there, but the archer can see that the raven-haired woman is holding together the force fighting them, so he takes aim, draws his bow-and fires. Lyceus doesn't hesitate for an instant, he throws himself into the arrows path even as he hurls his knife at the archer, who has no time to do anything except raise his hands and scream before it hits him in the throat, even as the arrows steel tip pierces leather, flesh and bone, and, finally, heart. Lyceus hits the floor and rolls, but doesn't move again. His eyelids twitch, and he seems to smile, then he lies still, blood beginning to pool beneath him. Xena hacks off the sword-arm of her last opponent, rips out his throat on the backswing, then turns, dripping red blood, eyes gleaming, seeking her brothers face with a grin that speaks of pleasure and-she sees him. Bright, clear eyes go as clouded as thunderclouds suddenly appearing in a clear sky as something breaks inside her, all expression except anger leaves her face and eyes, and she raises her sword to the sky, red blood glistening on the blade, over her armour and face, and screams at the sky, at the God's, at everything, a cry that will grow to be feared in years to come like the touch of Death itself...

...A woman with red hair like freshly-spilt blood, skin and eyes as pale as a ghost, wearing a black breastplate and carrying a strange sword of gold, ruby-red and coal-black with a silver blade, a bloody-red line seeming to burn along the blades centre, sees a raven-haired warrior leaping from one ship to another as a Greek ship attacks an Egyptian one, the raven-haired woman clearly leading the Greeks, and moves to face her...

...A beach, Roman soldiers, bereft of armour and insignia, laugh as the raven-haired Greek woman grunts as she is held by two men on each arm and punched in the gut yet again, blood seeping from her mouth from split lips and from her head from a wound on her forehead. Her men are all about her, lining the beach on crosses they are hanging from with broken legs, having been crucified by the tall, dark-haired and eyed strongly built man in a Centurions armour, Julius Caesar. They are dying even as they hang there, even as they are forced to watch their leader being beaten, used and abused by men that had been welcomed as friends and allies. The Legionary, a dark-haired man with hard grey eyes, hits Xena once more in the stomach, then launches a vicious kick that cracks into her side, cracking a rib. She groans, staggers, and those holding her let her fall, but she struggles weakly to rise-only to receive a kick in the head for her efforts. She doesn't stop, but it doesn't matter, as hands close on the few leathers she is still wearing and she knows that what dignity and pride she has left, even control over her own body, are all about to be taken from her in blood, sweat, pain and tears that will all be hers. She doesn't see, looking on from a hilltop not that far away, a pair of ghostly-pale eyes, as well as a pair of soft dark-brown eyes, and the dark-eyed figure doesn't realise that the white-eyed one is considering, silently, whether or not to risk trying a Chakram throw at the smiling Caesar from where she is, consequences be damned...

...A battle in a Cabin, the dark-haired and brown-eyed Celt and an old Healer who was healing Xena's injuries fight six Legionaries, part of Caesar's bodyguard, there to kill the injured Warrior Princess, who is more than capable of taking care of herself even in the state she is in as is quickly obvious. The Celt, M'Lila, easily defeats the Legionaries foolish enough to attack her as she defends Xena, although the Healer is knocked unconscious when he gets between a Legionary and his patient. M'Lila sees an archer before Xena does, however, and throws herself into the path of the bolt before it can strike. It slashes into her back, piercing a lung, and she collapses into Xena's arms, dying after mere moments. It is the last straw, and the Warrior Princess throws Legionaries around the Cabin with her bare hands before breaking the lasts neck between her legs, swearing herself to the darkness for what Caesar has done here and to her as she does so. The Healer wakes up, and sees the carnage, but can't do anything about it, and accepts Xena's help in dealing with M'Lila's body, which they burn at a makeshift Pyre to avoid it falling into Caesar's hands. Xena finds the white-eyed woman's Chakram hidden in M'Lila's clothes as she does this, and takes it for her own, then limps away from the Cabin as the tall Healer watches, his face a mask, but a feeling of deepest sorrow is evident as he watches the young woman go...

...Five and a half summers ago, a raven-haired woman is running through a forest on two unsteady legs that look to have been broken and not healed properly yet. Other wounds are also obvious, some old and not yet healed, some new and still bleeding fresh red blood. A ragged raven-black tunic and leggings are her only clothes, battered forest-brown leather riding boots on her feet, and she is apparently unarmed, although the ice-blue chips that are her eyes show no sign of panic or fear even as dogs howl not far behind her and shouting men with torches, clubs and swords follow them. She sees some buildings of Chin's distinctive style ahead of her and veers to avoid them-then nearly falls over herself as a raven-haired woman steps from behind a tree directly in front of her. The woman has forest-brown eyes and a short and slim build, this and her slanted eyes marking her as a native of Chin, a dark crimson-red dress covering her. The warrior snarled in fury, she doesn't need this, and her hand came out from under her tunic with dark metal in hand, a hollow disk, the Chakram-"I can help you, Xena of Amphipolis, if you will allow me" said the woman, holding out empty hands in a gesture of peace even as she stopped the raven-haired warriors movements dead by speaking in perfect Greek. Xena shook her head to clear it, and raised the Chakram in threat. "Yes, right! Get out of my way, bitch, or I'll cut you in half-!" she snarled, but the Chin woman's expression did not change. "You are in pain. I can help you with that, if you will allow me?" she asked, advancing slowly, hands still out in front of her. Xena briefly wondered about the woman's sanity, but she could see no guile or deception in those eyes, and something made her believe the woman, so she allowed her to approach. Raising a hand, the Chin woman settled it on Xena's brow and concentrated, briefly closing her eyes. A wave of pleasant warmth spread from her hand through Xena's body, then the woman stepped back and calmly looked at the warrior. She felt incredible, and looked better, better than she had in moons, Xena realised, looking at her body. Fresh wounds were healing or had stopped bleeding, old wounds had disappeared or scars had vanished, and the pain that had been her constant companion since Caesar had practically disappeared. She looked at the Chin woman with mouth open, but didn't know what to say, except to allow the light of understanding to show in her eyes. The Chin woman nodded in acceptance, then gestured for Xena to follow her. "I am Lao Ma, Xena, and, if you will allow me, I believe that I can help with what troubles you" said the woman...

...Five summers ago, a tall, slim figure, with dark auburn hair and eyes, wearing dark-brown furs about herself, another, younger woman dressed as she is standing by her side, looks fearlessly into deep ice-blue eyes framed by raven-black hair that glint in the sunlight like diamonds, sharp and cold, promising pain and death to all who oppose her in any way. The dark-eyed woman just smiles, and never takes her eyes from the ones cutting into hers. "I am Alti, Xena, and, somehow, I have a feeling that we are going to be very good friends"...

...A child is born to a raven-haired and ice-blue eyed woman who is attended by no-one but a nurse in a dark cabin away from all eyes. She takes the child in her arms, tears running down her face, and clutches him tightly. "Solan", she whispers, so quietly that it can barely be heard, "Solan"...

...Four summers ago, a winged figure suddenly hurtles down from the sky at one of two Bacchae attacking the ice-eyed Warrior Princess, shattering the back, ribs and neck of the target landed upon, and a well-aimed knife takes the one holding the Warrior Princess from its grip as though it had been hit by a Catapult. The Warrior Princess is too shocked for words for a long moment, the Valkyrie has just saved her life for no apparent reason after she got them all, including the Valkyrie, into this mess against all argument, but she doesn't allow her feelings to show on her face. A brief discussion ensues, but the appearance of Bacchus himself ends it, then the Valkyrie stops a Bacchae from attacking Xena with her bare hands after being forced to tackle it in mid air. A bloody battle ensues, which the Valkyrie wins, but, as she rises, a second Bacchae catches her off guard and throws her across the clearing that they were in, wrapping her around a tree. Incredibly, even after the Bacchae gets its fangs into her, the Valkyrie manages to tear it off of her, tearing out the Bacchae's throat and tearing off its head, but she is left surrounded by ten more Bacchae, with no chance of escape. She doesn't care, and, even as Xena watches helplessly, barely able to walk with her broken leg, watching in growing, helpless horror, the Valkyrie, Vandria, growling like a wild animal, attacks them all...

…The real world came back into focus as Tai'Chi Hian released Lao Ma's hand, and both women regarded one another silently for a long moment before Tai'Chi spoke. "The woman is a bloodthirsty savage with a strong mind and a lions heart, as you say, but I doubt her ability to truly perceive the mystery and control the power that she must wield in time. She lacks discipline and control, and believes that all can be overcome by the strength of her blade in her hand and the might of her will. She barely learnt any of the lessons that you taught her. She has a poor habit of seeing her friends and family die about her despite her best efforts, one that she cannot seem to change despite trying. If this is your choice Lao Ma, I can only hope that your belief that there is a greatness of Spirit to her as well as a greatness of Body is true" said Tai'Chi, quietly. Lao Ma just smiled, and looked her former Mentor in the eyes once more. "She taught me what I would not have learnt had I not met her, Tai'Chi, and I am the greater for it, though she knew this not. She will surprise you, as she did me, and she will be what must be in time, if, God's willing, she survives" she replied just as quietly. Tai'Chi nodded, replying without words, none needing to be said. If she survives, indeed...

Three summers ago...

It wasn't often that you saw someone that you didn't know in Olympus, home of the God's of Greece, especially if you were one of the twelve seated Gods, but the tall blond Goddess was sure that she'd never seen the darkly-dressed…whatever-it-was that was striding down the main avenue of Olympus towards Zeus's Palace before. Whoever, or whatever, it was, although it was evidently physically a she, it had simply stepped out of the Ether into Olympus and just started walking down the avenue between Palaces towards Zeus's without so much as a by-your-leave. This just was not done, at least, not unless they had changed all the rules since she'd last checked, which had only been a year ago, so she doubted it. There were rules and formal things which had to be done to be allowed into the Pantheon of another God, and you could be forcefully stopped if you didn't observe them, but this thing had just bypassed them all and was heading towards the home of the King of the Gods without an evident care in the world. To the blond onlooker, this simply would not do. In any case, she wanted to ask the stranger how she'd managed to get her hair that amazing mixture of flaming-red and raven-black which so well showed off her raven-black clothes and tanned form. She decided to study the stranger for a few moments longer, though, just to see what there was to see and tell what could be told from just looking-after all, the woman was undeniably stunning, even by her standards. The woman stood two inches below six feet tall, and was long-limbed, with a slender yet strong build that was more than slightly revealed by a dress that left little to the imagination. The raven-black silk dress fell to below her feet at the back but was still somehow held up off of the floor, while at the front it rose to just above her ankles, displaying bare feet. The dress was cut up both sides to halfway up the woman's hip, the width of her leg on both sides being revealed where the material of the dress was simply missing. Up and over her chest, crossing only at her back where they joined to the lower half of her dress, two long pieces of material wrapped in a long, unbroken line, one over each breast, reaching around from her lower back, up over her chest and shoulders and back down to her lower back, where the material met once more. The woman's full figure left less than nothing to the imagination in that area, even by the standards of the watching Goddess, and she almost felt the warmth of embarrassment creeping into her cheeks at the sight. Around the woman's throat a choker collar of the same material as her dress lay, and from it, pointing downwards with a ruby gem in the centre of it, was a silver cross, although she couldn't identify the Pantheon that the design originated from. At her waist, hanging from the front of her dress, a larger silver cross hung upside down, also with the ruby gem in the centre, but this time smaller gems also sat in the tips of the four segments of the cross, a strange design that meant nothing to the puzzled Goddess. On each finger of both hand's, although not her thumbs, silver rings with blood-red rubies, just like all the others, sat, and long nails that were more like talons extended from her fingers, a darker, uglier bloody red in contrast. Two horns, formed of her hair, extended up about three inches from the crown of her head, and completely white eyes that somehow seemed to see everything without looking at it were very eerie to look at. The woman was stunning, superb, more than any mortal could possibly be, so that ruled that out, but still left who was she? Something shifted in the air, materialising about the woman-the watcher nearly swallowed her tongue. Twin light-blue Cherubic Angels, these she did know, fat and cute with tiny wings that kept them aloft more by magic than actual effort, with eyes like the woman's and tiny pitch-black spiky halos to complete the set about their heads, buzzed about her. Those were called Fauns, a lesser Spirit form whose whole existence was dedicated to pleasing their master or mistress, but who had a tendency to drive the being in question insane given time because of their near complete lack of intelligence and the fact that they were always impossibly cheerful and trying to make their "owner" and everyone around him or her so cheerful that it made the head hurt, to put it mildly. This changed things, to put it mildly. It took at least a minor Godling to summon one or two of the Fauns without effort, and Demi-God's could do it if they put their mind to it, but only a full God could dictate the mood of the Fauns and control them really, and this woman was doing that without any effort that could be detected, which made her a powerful one at the very least. Spirits were extremely mischievous a great deal of the time, and even Fauns would cause trouble somehow if they saw a way, but these two obediently flew around their mistress as though she was the centre of their Universe and nothing else mattered to them. Putting aside thoughts on getting tips on hair from the woman, she closed her eyes and reached out with the senses that only being a God gave you-if she'd had a heart, it would have skipped a beat. Her Godly senses allowed her to detect the energy and origins of anyone focused upon, and their true nature, but millennia of doing that hadn't prepared her for what she saw. A great globe of power surrounded the woman in reality, golden energy streaked with darkness that would stand out clearly in the night sky, so intense that it hurt her eyes to look at it. As well as that, while her Fauns were indeed what they appeared, she bore no links at all that could be detected, instead she was darkness corporate itself. Chaos-born…something in the Goddess's mind whispered to her, and she shivered, forgetting her questions. The oldest, most powerful beings that existed, formed and grown of pure Chaos, wielding power beyond imagination and with knowledge of things that shouldn't even be, able to do things that Gods couldn't dream of. This woman was one of them…what was she doing here-? No, scratch that, she decided, she didn't want to know, someone who didn't care whether they lived or died could ask. Retreating into her Palace, see-through pink dress brushing against the door as she closed it, she almost trapped herself in the door as it closed, but just avoided it. She didn't care, she was too scared to care.

Turning as she felt eyes on her, the darkly dressed woman saw a flutter of pink, a dress, and caught a brief glimpse of a full figure and a frightened pair of eyes in a smooth, beautiful face before the door of the Palace of the Goddess of Love closed and locked with a click. Aphrodite herself, no doubt, thought the woman with a sigh, another who should have known better but had apparently learnt just in time. Shaking her head, she turned back to her path to Zeus's Palace and continued her walk, pausing to knock on the huge golden doors more out of courtesy than any desire to let him know that she was here to see him. After all, he should have realised by now that she was here, so if he hadn't too bad for him. The knocks sounded like thunder over Olympus, and she just prevented herself from rolling her eyes in irritation. Zeus always had had a flair for the dramatic, it seemed that some things never changed. "HALT!" called a strong voice behind her, and she gritted her teeth, then turned around. Behind her were four men in full gleaming golden armour, breastplates and backplates, with kilts of leather and metal and long black leather boots reinforced with golden stripes. They were each wearing a full-face helm that fitted to their face and covered their entire head, like a second skull, although a band of golden steel warded the rim at the place just above eye level the whole way around and a thin line of steel, like a fishes upper fin, covered the helm front to back of the helmet ridge in a long line. Every man was massive, at least six and a half foot tall and with muscles that looked like they'd been carved onto him rather than grown, and each held a golden spear as tall as he was with a razor-sharp blade a foot longer beyond that. A broadsword hung sheathed at each's left hip, and a long dagger at their right. They were soldiers of Olympus, the Guardians who ensured its safety short of invasion by another Pantheon, and they were clearly not happy about her presence. A sneer curved her lips, surprise, surprise, they shouldn't have been, she'd walked right past them and they hadn't even seen her, although she wasn't going to tell them that Zeus himself couldn't find her if she didn't want to be found. Let them work it out, she thought, if they could. Every man lowered his spear until it was pointing at her, and they stepped forwards towards her, four gleaming spear points at her throat. She smiled, ah, but it was good to be alive sometimes. "Who are you, and how did you pass us? Answer these questions truthfully and quickly, and you shall not be harmed. Do not, and great will be the harm we shall render unto you" said the speaker, a blue-eyed soldier. "As to the former, Leviatha is my name. As to the latter…well, your eyesight is obviously impaired by those helmets, so I suggest that the answer is obvious. However, if you leave now, I will not demonstrate the fact by causing you all deaths of great pain" she replied, eyes moving from face to face, from eyes to eyes, slowly but surely. "Not an answer that we can accept. You will leave with us now" replied the speaker, shifting his spear so close to her that it was practically pricking her throat. She looked at him, and he couldn't help but notice as she raised a hand and placed one fingertip on the point of his spear blade, a wicked smile on her face. Without the slightest warning, a bolt of golden energy blew a hole a meter wide in his chest, ripping through magically warded armour forged by Hephasteus to protect him from just such an attack, going through breast and backplates before dissipating into oblivion. "No" replied Leviatha, without the slightest change in expression, now holding a spear designed to harm supernatural beings in her bare hand by the blade with no sign of discomfort. She flipped it around in a blur, catching and holding it one handed by the haft, then shrugged. "He was born to die here. Are you?" she asked softly, Suddenly nervous men would have licked their lips if they could have, but they did not retreat. They served until they were destroyed, then they went to the Elysian Fields, unless they turned traitor or performed an action that left them out of favour, and disobeying an order to investigate a breach like this would certainly count. They shifted nervously, but then Leviatha felt the golden presence of another God behind her, and she tossed the spear at one's feet before turning to face Zeus, who had white hair and a white beard, she couldn't help but notice, and was wearing a golden robe over his still powerful frame. His dark-brown eyes were still bright and gleamed with power, though, so she felt safe in assuming that he was merely trying to look like a human patriarchal figure. "Leave us, the lady is my guest" he ordered, his voice deep and powerful. Picking up their deceased comrade and his spear, the three remaining warriors bowed and vanished. Zeus turned his gaze towards Leviatha, and smiled broadly, a smile which was returned as she cocked her head to one side. "I know it's been two millennia, Zeus, but when did you become mortal precisely?" she asked, dryly. "I didn't, but that's a long story. If you would come in before any of my family turn up it would be better, some of them are rather hot headed and dislike guests they don't know of. Do you still like that Tartarus-created brew called Ghennan Bloodwine, by the way? I have some left somewhere, but I have others if you don't" he asked, stepping aside and gesturing for her to enter. She did, and he closed the great golden doors behind them, ensuring them privacy, before leading her towards the main room. "Ghennan Bloodwine would be pleasant, thank you, I haven't had any for two hundred years, not since I last visited those idiotic Persian God's. They gave me an entire bottle, you know, said that I might as well have it because they weren't going to exist long enough to finish it themselves the way things were going. Idiots, even if they were right, but they had good taste" Leviatha replied, licking her lips. Zeus sighed, "Please don't mention dissolution while I'm sober enough to care, I'm already depressed enough. Hold on-here you go" he said, concentrating briefly as they walked and handing her a half-full dark-green bottle that appeared to be half-full of molten lava that appeared in his right hand in a blur of ice-blue crystals. He lead her into the main room, four white marble pillars holding up an impossibly high roof that the blue sky seemed to shine above of. Walls of white marble formed all four of the walls, and two large chairs of a sky blue colour constructed of dark wood covered by silk were either side of a marble table that an unfinished Chess game was upon, a Scrying Pool to the right of the chair that Zeus took being temporarily clear. He produced two glasses in the shape of Doves sitting on branches from the air and set them out, one in front of each of them. Leviatha poured them both a full glass, then sat back and sipped hers, feeling the burning heat that would have melted a mortal if it had touched one fall down her throat in a delicious slow burn that made every nerve tingle in an almost orgasmic sensation. Sex was better, she knew from experience, but only just-at least, in her opinion. "So, what do you want to talk about now that you're here?" Zeus asked, looking slightly pale as he sipped his own Bloodwine. He didn't look very happy, and she smiled, knowing that he didn't drink much in any case, and the Bloodwine was an acquired taste to say the least it was so strong, even by her standards. "Your least favourite subject, actually-Dissolution. Do you have any idea of how many of the Elder Pantheons are dissolving now? Have you realised how close the Olympian Pantheon is to following them? Oh, and I know that this upsets you, but I don't care, because it's happening in any case" said Leviatha, sipping her Bloodwine once more. "Yes and yes, although I try not to think about it where I might be overheard or someone might grasp what is on my mind. Persia most recently, Babylon, Summeria, Britannia is on the way…and those are just some of the larger ones. This "One God" that the Roman's are encouraging worship of in their own gentle way and who has influence growing in the East too is more than a minor threat, and the Greek's belief in us has been waning more and more over the past two hundred years, ever since Alexander the Great really, curse the man and his belief in humanity over Godly power and leadership. If it continues, in ten mortal years or less we will be walking the world as mortals and no-one will know us or care, and fifty or sixty years after that we will have lived out our mortal life spans and will pass on to oblivion to be remade once more. There seems to be nothing I can do to reverse what is occurring, no matter what I do or try, and I have had to ban time travel because it has been abused by my family endlessly, although also because once it is realised what is occurring they might try to go back and reverse it before it began, and the Fates will not allow that even if I would. Do you realise that not one of my family has realised what is occurring because they gain their power from Intrinsic items? Olympus itself, Ambrosia and worship? They simply eat more Ambrosia and pass it off as a lapse of some sort, even Hera. Hades has the best idea of what is occurring apart from me, living where he does and doing what he does, but he won't accept it. I even changed my appearance in an attempt to improve relations with the humans, but nothing has worked as I said. We cannot exist without force of human belief to sustain us for all our power, and we are loosing that with no way to retrieve it, so yes, I am aware of what is occurring since you ask" said Zeus, a lost look appearing on his face. Leviatha sipped her Bloodwine once more and nodded, "I see, and I'm glad that you at least have recognised this. One last thing before we do whatever else comes to mind, though. What if the worst does come to the worst? Olympus and the items that make the Gods what they are won't disappear even if their wielders die, you know" Leviatha asked, quietly. "Worst of the worst? I will destroy Olympus and everything that goes with it to prevent what we both know could happen in time to prevent that happening, but it won't come to that. No, I have a better idea, I got it from the one God in fact. Are you aware that the founder of his Church in Rome is one of his first Creations, a female named Lilith?" Zeus replied, with a smile. "Yes, but she was acting on her own initiative and we both know it. What of it?" Leviatha replied, narrowing her eyes. "I was more thinking of a who, a who I can trust absolutely to ensure by whatever means necessary, even if we ourselves fall as I expect, that nothing that should not be will ever happen" replied Zeus, a twinkle in his eyes. He looked her in the eyes, then waved a hand over the Scrying Pool. In it, the image of a tall, muscular man appeared, dressed in dark-brown leather trousers and boots, a yellow cutaway tunic that left his arms and much of his chest bare covering his chest. He had long auburn hair that fell free to his shoulders, deep-set dark-brown eyes and was ruggedly handsome, with a strong jaw and a big-boned build. His eyes gleamed with intelligence and a brutal honesty, and he moved with surprising grace for such a large man, standing three inches over six feet tall. "Tell me" said Zeus, softly, "What do you know of my son, Hercules…?"

Two moons ago...

In the Athenian Assembly Hall, in the centre of Athens, things were not going well. In fact, the President of the Athenian Council thought, as he tried very hard not to allow his frustration on his face, the only way that they could get worse, at least in his opinion, was if the Pelponesian War with Sparta started all over again somehow. His sighed, raised his hand and pinched the top of his nose to ease his headache, even as shouting continued almost all around him as the numerous representatives of Athenian society attempted to blacklist one another or voice their opinions over everyone else's. He was only forty-six, he silently grumbled, and he'd only been President of the Council for six years, why did this have to happen to him after things had finally begun to show some signs of settling down? Next to him, his Deputy, Makis, a younger man of thirty-seven years of age, dark-black hair only just starting to show grey, light-grey eyes still bright, stood up suddenly, raised his symbol of office, a quarterstaff topped by a golden ball with a picture of the Owl of Wisdom sculpted in it, and brought it down on the wooden desk in front of him, hard. The sound was like a thunderclap indoors, and it echoed around the large, dark assembly hall like the angry rumble of a God a full two times before the sounds died away. It was, it had to be said, especially given the better than two hundred men in the hall practically at each others throats and screaming at the tops of their voices a moment before, effective. In the silence which followed, as everyone present but those at the Council desk looked about themselves worriedly, a pin could have been heard to fall on the floor. Makis, slim but with a still-strong build, wearing a grey tunic, raven-black leggings and leather boots, quarterstaff that symbolised his position and rank in the hall still very evidently in hand, swept the hall with his eyes. His expression was like thunder itself, scarcely contained anger almost literally emanating from him, and no-one in the dark hall dared speak as he looked at them. The hall was arranged into six circular rising tiers, with people filling every one, from every level of Athenian society, and the closed hall was dimly lit by torches about the walls, particularly the centre of the hall, where the Council sat. There were four people at the table of the Council, the President, his Deputy, General Arcterious, leader of the Athenian army, and Osophocles, Admiral of the Athenian navy. There were numerous lower-ranking Ministers and scribes who made sure that the rule of the Council over Athens ran smoothly, backed by the Assembly, but the present meeting did not require their presence so they were away doing what they did. The session had been called, in fact, to address the recent events in Illyria and Macedonia, and those present were supposed to hear the reports then discuss and decide on what to do in response to what was occurring, if they could, but, instead, once they had heard the first outlines of what was really occurring, everyone present had attempted to blame it on someone else or attempted to find some impossible explanation that meant none of it was Athens fault or responsibility in any way. The President's first reaction to this had been to order the guards to restore order, but that could have lead to deaths in this situation so he had disregarded the possibility and tried to think of another. Fortunately, his Deputy had beaten him to it, and had quickly gained the attention of everyone in the hall once he had acted on his idea. A good choice, the President couldn't help but think once again, for his replacement once he finally gave up on these idiots and retired to his farm in the South once more, a time which he was feeling growing closer and closer as time went on. He just couldn't stomach the idiocy of the way that the Assembly carried on any longer, it was wearing him out faster than the battles he had once fought ever had, and he seemed to have a permanent headache all the time these days. When it had all gone wrong, he didn't know, but he was fast approaching the point where he wouldn't care in any case, he'd done his part for Athens, it was time to let someone younger and stronger take the helm against the Roman threat and all the other impossible problems that he was left trying to solve day after day. "IF you are all quite finished, we DO happen to have real business of importance to discuss today, which will NOT wait, my Lords. Of course, if you wish to ignore it for now, it can be postponed for the time being, but, unless we wish to see Roman's walking unopposed through our city gates because we were either incapable or unwilling to deal with the problems presented to us and they were not, we should not do this. Do you agree with this, my Lords, or does my Lord Arcterious point that Rome now has a border with us due to its conquest of Illyria mean that little?" declared Makis in a booming voice that echoed in the hall. Angry expressions and stiff backs were evident in the hall at Makis's blunt speech, but none could deny that he was correct in his assessment of the situation that Athens now found itself in, so no-one made anything more than angry mumbles as he looked about the hall once more. "Thank you, my Lords. Milord Arcterious, I beseech you to continue with your report about the situation facing us as far as can be ascertained if you would" said Makis, looking at Arcterious, who nodded, then rose as Makis sat. Arcterious was a young man, barely thirty, and was new to the leadership of Athens armies. He had only come to command a half-moon ago, in fact, after his predecessor had been murdered by a deranged Macedonian soldier while leading the war against the Bacchae threat in Macedonia. As well as this, since becoming General he had made an enemy of the Macedonian's, who had joined the Amazon's in fighting both the Bacchae and his army, which they had supposedly been allied to, after the Athenian army had indiscriminately killed both Bacchae and Amazon, despite the fact that the Amazon's, despite being Bacchae themselves, had clearly been fighting against the other Bacchae. He'd been obeying orders from Athens, of course, to wipe out the Amazon threat once and for all once the Bacchae were defeated, but the Macedonian army hadn't cared, and had, in fact, since warned Athens not to send soldiers back to Macedonia unless it wished for a war against the nation that had produced both King Philip and Alexander the Great, who had conquered much of the known world between them, including Greece. They had decided not to include the name of Parmenion, the half-breed Spartan-Macedonian, who had served both Philip and Alexander and was known still as the greatest General of his time, but the warning had still been obvious. After all, they didn't need to, Xena, the Warrior Princess herself, generally acknowledged as the greatest Warlord and General of her generation, was Macedonian herself, her birthplace being the town of Amphipolis, and no-one believed that she would merely sit back and watch her nation be conquered by Greek's if it came down to making a choice. He still had dark auburn hair and dark brown eyes, and he was powerfully built under his black leathers and boots, his rank insignia being evident about his neck, a silver necklace with a blunt golden sword hanging downwards. The army knew that he could do his job, and do it fairly well, but he was not his gifted predecessor and everyone knew it, just as they knew that it could not have come at a worse time. "My Lords, as I will now discuss, we now face threats from both north and west. In the north, despite our assistance to them in the Bacchae war, the Macedonian's have now warned us away from their land on threat of war should we ignore this. Whether or not I believe their reasoning, that we broke the alliance by attacking the Amazon's, who were assisting us against the Bacchae despite being Bacchae themselves, is another matter, but the warning is real and stands. However, with the decimation of the Macedon army and the damage inflicted on that land they are barely able to keep the peace in their own Capital and towns, and they are not able to do so in the villages and countryside, so Warlords and Bandits of every kind run almost amok there now. This presents a very real threat to surrounding Kingdoms and lands as well as their own, but, thankfully, not our own. However, on that basis, we come to our second major problem, the Roman conquest of Illyria. Reports from Emissaries there and Spies tell us that the Roman's are in complete control after mounting a surprise attack while our attention was on the Bacchae war in Macedonia, and queen Teuta is definitely dead, stripped naked and crucified atop her own Palace by all accounts, on Caesar's personal orders. Teuta had no heirs, and brothers and sisters of hers will be hard if not impossible to find, if they even live, in any case, so the possibility of employing any such to rally the Illyrian people against the Roman's is small to non-existent, at least in that regard. A military strike against Illyria to drive the Roman's out would also be foolish, since the Roman's have ten thousand Legionaries there, a force too strong to overcome before reinforcements could be sent from Italia, which would give the Roman's an excuse to attack us in turn should our forces be defeated. Other options do exist, but will take me time to outline. Be advised, however, that should one slip be made in this regard the Roman's will take every advantage of it, and they are exerting every pressure on us even now even as the watch with a Hawks eye for any weakness that we might show. Questions?" asked Arcterious, finishing his long speech...

It was seven Candlemarks later, and the President felt as though an entire herd of wild horses had been stampeding in his head the entire day. He slowly climbed the steps to his home, a large stone mansion in the centre of Athens, where his Mistress would be waiting to expertly ease the strain that he was under and Servants would be waiting to pour him a warm bath that he could relax into, and cleared his mind of everything that had been said that day in the Assembly meeting with a sense of blessed relief. One of his Servants opened the door as one of his four Bodyguards, dressed in silver and sky-blue armour, breastplates and battleskirts of leather and steel, long black-leather boots reaching their knees reinforced with whirling silver patterns, knocked, and they walked inside. The servant was a young blond woman dressed in a servants long white robe whom he didn't recognise, but then he rarely did recognise his Servants, nor did he abuse them in any way. As far as he was concerned, that was how these things worked, Servants did as they were ordered, were rewarded if they did it exceptionally well, and were otherwise left alone to live their own lives. None of his servants or Bodyguards had ever complained about his system, so it worked, or at least he presumed so, but he carefully kept an eye on his valuables and treasures in any case. None had ever disappeared or been replaced by something of lesser value and similar appearance to his knowledge, nor had he ever noticed anyone carrying weapons where they should not, but he was always careful nonetheless. Better safe than sorry he had always believed, and he'd been proved right almost every time he'd been forced to test his philosophy, even though when it went wrong, it tended to go very wrong. His Bodyguards, tall, strong young men who were always seen armed and armoured and knew how to use the spears, swords and daggers that they always carried, marched off to their assigned positions throughout the modest but strongly-built Mansion, and the President allowed himself to be led to the bathing room by the servant. The Mansion was of typical Greek design, white stone walls, red slate roof, windows that allowed in the maximum amount of light and air and comprised of several interlinked rooms, two doors, one front one back, leading to the outside world, made of solid, dark wood, but it was sufficient and comfortable as a home to the President while he was in Athens. Here, he had no need to be the President of the Council that ruled Athens, here there was no need to worry about how his decisions might effect the city of Athens and its thousands of inhabitants. Here, he could stop being the President and simply be Menelius, son of Dargus, citizen of Athens, greatest City in Greece, another weary man who wanted to do nothing more than rest after a long days work. He would have preferred to have worked in the fields as a simple farmer, but his gift for politics and a conscience, one that kept him from simply making any decision without considering its impact on people that he led, had eventually led him to try and change things for the better from the inside out by joining the Assembly. He had risen to President of the Council after twenty summers in the Assembly, only to discover that, after six summers, if he died the next day no one would even know he had existed if they had not met him. It was very, very wearing, and the Assembly and all that went on every time it met was slowly killing him, he knew, as it would kill Makis when he took over, the only other man present who really seemed to really care about what they were doing. Lies, treachery, double-crosses, backstabbing, sometimes literally, giving up on everything you ever believed in just to survive or you would see it destroyed piece by piece-he shook his head. How he'd lasted this long was beyond him, but there was no way that he was going to last another summer. He would resign at the end of this winters session, come what may, and go back to his farm to spend the remainder of his life doing what he should have been doing for the past twenty-six years. As per his standing orders, a bath had been prepared for when he returned in the dark wooden tub by the fireplace that allowed warm water to be added when necessary, and once he was inside the blond servant shut and locked the single door so that they would not be disturbed. He stepped out of his soft dark-brown leather boots, leggings and light grey tunic, removing the golden medallion that hung around his neck on a golden chain that signified his position as President when he wore it, and put it in one boot. Testing the water with a finger, he decided that the temperature was just right, and removed the loincloth that he wore, placing it atop the rest of his clothing carefully off to one side. He looked down at himself and sighed, even as he carefully climbed into the warm water. When he had been young his body had been firmly muscled, little fat had been evident, he had been broad-shouldered and handsome, with soft light-brown eyes and light brown hair that had fallen to his shoulders in a loose ponytail. He had been handsome then, tall and good looking, and, while the women hadn't been falling over themselves to bed him, he'd been able to bed his share of the young beauties of his village. Now he was old, fat and running to flab, once trim body bulging in places that loose clothes scarcely concealed, muscles that had once been able to carry him a day without effort now aching after a day spent exercising the mind to the point of collapse except for the fair walk to the Assembly building from his city home, which he always insisted on walking just to prove that he could. You are getting old, he told himself, old and fat, and you have been in this city for far too long, you think more like them than any simple farmer ever should. Once he was in and comfortably settled, the blond servant brought over soap and a jug should he wish to wash his head or the back of his neck or wish her to do it for him, then she stood up and removed her own robe, sandals and shift, placing them carefully aside. It was one of his house rules, if he was bathing or was in a similar situation then anyone with him should dress, or not, as was appropriate, so that neither would feel that they had anything to be embarrassed about, or anything to conceal, although his Bodyguard were excepted from this. After all, he thought, he always preferred honesty from those who worked for him whenever possible, and how better to assure this than to strip away all possible disguises? Or so he reasoned. As he watched his servant undress, he couldn't help but notice the young woman's slim body, tanned and curving in all the right places, the dark hair between her legs or the elegance of her movements, her soft forest-brown eyes being set in a softly beautiful face. Her breasts were small but merely enhanced her slim beauty and elegance to his eyes, and her long hair fell to just above her waist free and unbound like a golden shower of rain, soft and silken. However, whether or not she noticed or cared, her small pink nipples were erect and she was breathing faster than she should have been, her body flushed slightly as were her cheeks. He could feel himself responding to her youthful beauty-at least he hadn't lost that yet-but he was too tired to indulge with two women in one night, even had he been so inclined. Besides which, his mistress would be awaiting his summons, and she was always excellent at what she did, so any notions of using the servant girl to the same ends were ridiculous in any case, even one after the other, even with a girl who was likely more than ten years younger than his mistress. He controlled his reactions to the servant as she began to wash his hair, only to hear her breathing speeding up still further and to find his eyes being irresistibly drawn to her small breasts as they swayed slightly right in front of his eyes as she moved. All he would have had to do was reach out and touch her, or even ask, he was sure, and she would have joined him in the bath and more in a second. He closed his eyes, and sighed, forcing down his growing arousal. This, was not going to be easy, he thought. He wondered, almost absently, whether the reason for the Servants reaction to his nakedness was because of her youth, her position, her position in his household, whether she was merely young and inexperienced in these matters, whether she was merely unused to such physical intimacy so casually with a member of the opposite sex, or-worst-because she had never been with a partner of any kind in that way before. If it was the last possibility, he was going to have to watch more than his hands while the young woman was near him, he was going to have to watch hers as well, as well as other things about her. He made a point of washing himself while she poured water over his back, occasionally adding warm water to the bath for him, even as he resolutely kept himself from more than glancing at the swing of her hips and the profile of her figure every time she turned around and walked, and, more quickly than usual, he was done. He summoned a vision of his mistress to mind to dispel the effect that the blond servant was having on him as she poured warm water over him one last time, however. Tall, slim, a fuller build than the slim blond, the way he liked it, with long auburn hair that fell, curling, down to her waist, over golden-tanned skin. She had soft forest-brown eyes, just like the servants, unfortunately, but she had a tendency to wear silks that were almost pure white that left little to the imagination due to their close fit and the soft, easily-tearable material that the clothes were made of. She also had a tendency to not wear anything underneath her silks, and, unsurprisingly with her dancers slim but strong build, she liked to dance, especially when she had an audience and, for a reason he didn't care to know, nothing at all on. She was very good at it-in fact, it was her livelihood, she danced with a performing company that toured Athens and other great cities and towns, and it "got her in the mood" when she was called by him, or someone like him. That was the other way, he well knew, that she made enough money to be able to afford a few luxuries as well as survive, but he understood that and didn't judge her on it. He also knew, unlike most, that she had a superb singing voice as well, one that, for some reason she wouldn't explain, she very rarely indulged. He only knew about it because she'd started singing along to a tune a musician he'd once hired for a party had been playing on his instrument, but she'd gone silent and refused to repeat the piece despite begging from the musician who'd been down on his hands and knees by the time she'd left. The musician had later declared later that his life would be complete if she would join him on stage or privately as she chose, but he might as well have tried to raise the dead, and eventually left himself. She was classically beautiful, fine-boned with smooth skin, despite her thirty-three years, and her lips were soft and supple, he knew from experience, just as he knew how her breasts fitted perfectly into his hands, and how her cries of passion really could have raised the dead they became so loud and strong, if they could have heard them from inside his mansion. Her name was Shanara, and, by now, he knew that she would be in the house awaiting him and his call. He smiled, she was worth any wait. He gave the order, and the blond servant dressed and left far more rapidly than was necessary, although she didn't bang the door. He suspected that he hadn't seen the last of her, or her evident interest in him, and she evidently wasn't angered by his dismissal of her for another woman. He couldn't help but sigh at the thought, however, as he considered it, but he put it away for future consideration as he dried himself off, then dressed in the dark raven-black robe and sandals laid out for him since, as usual, his clothes had been taken to be cleaned. At last, he couldn't help but think, he actually had something to look forwards to after his long day...

He was lying down on his simple double bed, white sheets and blankets and dark wooden frame, eyes closed, still wearing his robe, as was customary, eyes closed, when he heard the door to his room open, close, and lock-which could only be done from the inside. The footsteps were the light ones of a woman, barefoot, but he could hear the rustle of fabric against skin, and realised that the woman was wearing a robe, as he was. Shanara always wore a dark royal-blue robe, belted at the waist, that revealed tantalising glimpses of long, firmly muscled yet slender legs and the soft flesh of her breasts and the dark valley between them. She knew how to carry herself in any situation, but to say that she could cause the hair on your body to stand on end even while dressed was an understatement, some of the things that she'd worn for him had practically had his manhood carrying him through the air to her when she'd just looked at him. If she was dressed in her robe, however, she was intending something special, she only wore as little as possible if she felt that he deserved a treat before giving him one that he never forgot, and the memories by themselves made his heart rate double. He heard the robe land in the corner of the room, but kept his eyes shut, not needing to see her to know what she was doing, and heard her begin to move, light-footed and graceful, moving with a grace that was fluid to the eyes, body shifting and swinging in ways he'd never forget. There was no music, but his mind made up for that as the tempo increased, adding horns and drums and other instruments-she moved even faster, so fast that he wasn't sure that she was on the floor all of the time-his robe was suddenly whipped off, as though it hadn't been tied on at the waist and hung on his arms at all-a warm body landed atop his, his mind shorted out as warm tongue and lips met his...

He didn't know how much later it was, and he didn't care, when a voice came to him through the dark tides of utter and absolute exhaustion and satisfaction so complete he knew that he'd never experience anything like it ever again. "Menelius, I know that you can hear me, so if you would answer me one or two questions before I leave?" asked what sounded like Shanara's voice, his brain being too exhausted to pick up on the tiny, but significant, difference that anyone who knew her well would have grasped quickly if awake and listening closely. "Anything" he mumbled in reply, sinking deeper into his pillow as he spoke, almost asleep but hanging on by his fingertips. "I know about the Roman's in Illyria and the problems that their causing you. I know some people who could do something about it, and would be willing to, for a price. What would you be willing to pay them if they did you this service?" asked the voice, growing dimmer by the moment to Menelius. He still heard it, though, and gave an honest reply as he was too exhausted to lie. "Anything" he muttered, then consciousness finally fell away from him as he was swallowed by a black hole that opened up beneath him. He never felt soft fingers stroking his hair, never felt a soft kiss that was planted on his cheek. "That's what I expected. Goodbye, Menelius, and sleep well, you've earned it" said the voice, softly, then the owner rose, turned and left the sleeping man.

Outside Menelius's mansion, waiting silent as a shadow in a side street, a dark figure covered by a raven-black cloak waited patiently, watching the main entrance for the reappearance of his companion. The figure was tall and broad-shouldered, and its poise was that of a hunter which knows it is in hostile territory, ready to fight or flee at any moment, hands and arms invisible, raven-black leather boots evident on its feet. It was late at night, so few were around but for the watch, but this figure had less wish than most to run into any figures of authority, even though they would have caused it but brief problems. It shifted suddenly as there was a disturbance at the front door of the mansion, then a figure dressed in a raven-black dress with a light grey cloak exited the door, which was closed behind it, dark-brown sandals evident as it walked. It appeared to be a Greek woman of just over thirty years of age, with long, curling auburn hair visible under her hood and soft forest-brown eyes, a fine-boned face of some beauty being evident, skin tanned golden from long exposure to the sun. However, once the woman was out of the door and down the steps, she turned to face him, and walked quickly over to him. As she did, however, her appearance, and, impossibly, her physique, changed. She grew taller, gaining a fuller, more strongly built frame, her legs and arms grew longer, becoming solider and more firmly muscled, yet still undeniably being those of a woman, and her torso shifted, her upper chest shifting and growing larger, her waist becoming broader as did her hips. Her face shifted as well, as did her eyes, bone structure altering and eyes changing colour and shape slightly, her clothing altering as well, and, within a minute, a completely different woman was walking towards the watching figure, who grinned and stepped out to meet it. As one, they pulled back the hoods of their cloaks, now both raven-black, to look the other in the eyes, and both grinned. The figure who had been watching was a tall man, evidently in his late thirties, with a shaved head and dark brown eyes that stared out of a softly handsome dark-black skinned face. His grin displayed pure white teeth, and his eyes gleamed with intelligence even as he automatically kept track of everything about him. He was wearing raven-black leather armour, leggings, jerkin and boots, and a raven tunic lay beneath his jerkin. Over his jerkin, a baldric of five knives hung from left shoulder to right hip, raven-black hilts and sheaths making the raven-black belt almost invisible against his armour. Under his cloak, opposite one another in an X shape on his back, two quivers of crossbow bolts sat, ten bolts to a quiver, and at his left hip hung a raven-black single hand-held crossbow decorated with silver that traced the lines of its stock. It was folded up and away at the moment, the crossbow arms folded, but it was unmistakably the weapon of an assassin. At his right hip a short sword hung, with a hilt of gleaming white ebony shaped like the front half of a leaping wolf, sheathed in a raven scabbard, and across his shoulders a blackened chain-mail guard covered his upper chest and shoulders as well as part of his throat. The woman wore crimson leathers that covered her from throat to foot, a pitch-black breastplate and leg and forearm guards of pitch-black and silver decoration and reinforcement. Gauntlets of the same design covered her hands, and at her right hip sat a dagger in a raven-black sheath, the hilt raven-black in colour and shaped like the front half of a leaping Panther. At her left hip a sword was sheathed, the hilt being a strange design, a mixture of golden lines running through coal-black and crimson-red, and a ruby jewel sat at the top of the hilt where it connected with the blade, the crimson red line that led up the centre of the silver blade almost seeming to make it gleam more brightly even in the raven-black scabbard that it was in. However, what would have told any who knew of the legend or myth, as it was viewed by different peoples, was the appearance of the woman. Her long hair fell to below her waist, and was the colour of freshly spilt blood, so much like it, in fact, that her hair almost seemed to be bleeding down her back. Her lips were also the same crimson red, but the rest of her body was white as snow, even her eyes, as though drained of all colour by some arcane process. Her physical beauty defied description, but mere sight of her was more than enough to draw any eye in an instant, her armour not concealing a body that any man would kill for and a beauty that rivalled that of the God's, and the watcher, who knew her better than most, still found himself swearing everything that he was to her in an instant as he saw her true form once more. The Red Death was a hard woman to miss and impossible to mistake, and she proved it to the most hardened of hearts every time he saw her. As for he himself, Ibn'Amal Toquiori, also known as the Nightslayer, he just gave thanks every night to whatever God had arranged for him to be this wondrous woman's companion for all these years, and always did his best to live up to the standards that she set. He never failed, of course, but he never attained the one prize that he had always sought after either, the one thing that could only ever be given to him, not taken, no matter his feelings on the matter. The body and soul of the woman known as the Red Death, the woman that he had loved like he would never love any other for the last thirty years. "Did he offer what you expected?" asked Ibn', with a grin that told all that cared to see that he already knew that none could resist the "bargaining" powers of his comrade in arms. "He did, of course. "Anything"...I like the sound of that, don't you?" replied Red, too-sharp white teeth gleaming in the dim light of the torches. "Indeed, now we must see if he can live up to his side of the deal, whether or not he knows that he has made one. I take it that we will indeed be taking ship for Illyria in the morning?" Ibn' replied, raising an eyebrow. "Yes, get Andara and get to the dock by sun-up, I'll meet you there. Right now, I'm in the mood for a little hunting" said Red, licking her lips in a way that practically made Ibn' swallow his tongue. "Of course, but, if I may say, the sounds that I could hear suggest that our Athenian "President" enjoyed a night that he will never forget, no?" asked Ibn', untangling his tongue as his grin grew even broader. Red sighed theatrically, "You always did have good ears, even by my standards, Ibn', but bear in mind that I'd never answer anyone else who asked that question with an answer of words. However, you are correct, he did. He was very good, in fact, Shanara wasn't lying when she said that he was in exceptional shape for a man of his age, but I have a feeling that we should get this done sooner rather than later, so I will see you in five candlemarks. Good journey, Ibn' and keep your eyes open, we don't know who knows were here yet, remember" replied Red, with a sultry pout, then she blew him a kiss, pulled up the hood of her cloak, turned, and ran off with silent footfalls that were lighter than any animals. Once Ibn' managed to shake off the after effects of seeing the woman who could command his soul with a gesture apparently flirting with him while admitting that he held enough of a place in her heart that she trusted him, something that he'd never known her to do in thirty years of knowing her, he pulled up the hood of his own cloak and ran off himself, just as silent although not as quick. Andara would be waiting for him, after all, and he needed to burn off the fire that the kiss blown to him by Red had ignited in his blood before he reached her unless he wanted to have to explain why he was acting so oddly, an effect that Red acting like she just had around him never failed to have...

At a fire in the darkness in some woods, two people were sitting, side by side. It wasn't that cold a night, despite the approaching cold of winter, but the two weren't sitting as close as they were for warmth. Green leaves on trees about them rustled in the slight breeze, shadows being cast across the campsite by the bright starlight in the clear night, but these were banished by the bright light of the carefully constructed fire pit, clearly constructed, just as the site had been chosen, by someone with considerable knowledge and experience of life in the wild. Above the fire a small cooking pot sat, now empty of what had been a refreshing and filling meal for both of the two present, and both were now relaxed and sitting easily, the smaller figure resting against the side of the larger one. The taller figure had raven-black hair that fell to her waist in a smooth wave down her back and ice-blue eyes that gleamed like polished diamonds even in the dull firelight, intelligence and wit clear in the piercing eyes of the woman. She was tall and broad shouldered, six feet tall at least when standing up straight, and smooth skin slid over strong, firm muscles as the woman shifted slightly, firelight gleaming on bronzed skin. Even as relaxed as she was, however, the woman's posture would have given any who cared to look the impression of coiled power just waiting to be unleashed, and not the slightest sound or shift anywhere in or near the clearing escaped her notice on some level, although she betrayed no reaction that might betray this fact to anyone who didn't know her as well as the smaller woman lying comfortably against her did. A raven-black leather skirt still sat about her, as a cream shift did, covering her torso, but not concealing strong, firm curves or long and firmly muscled arms and legs. The woman was classically beautiful, with a smooth yet softly angular face that would have been any sculptors joy to copy, but nothing could conceal the feral grace of her slow movements as she sat upright, legs stretched out, knees bent, in front of her, slowly sharpening her broadsword. Long, dextrous fingers easily held the hilt of the sword in a strong, firm grip, just as they held a round stone they was slowly being run up and down the blades edges, but the scraping noise that issued from the slow contact between steel and stone was sharper and harsher than was necessary, and both listening knew it, and the reason why. The smaller figure was a woman six inches shorter and twelve years younger than the taller, dark woman, and she had strawberry-blond hair and an open, easy, young face with emerald-green eyes. She had a soft beauty that still had traces of the puppy fat left over from her youth in her cheeks, arms, torso and legs, but these few traces were rapidly being burnt off by the young woman's growing strength and the development of her still-growing body. Muscular legs and arms that still maintained the slimness of a woman's build were becoming increasingly evident as she walked about in her short forest-green Amazon-style top and dark wood-brown skirt, short dark-brown leather boots covering her feet, and the long and regular exercise that she had been receiving over the past two years of travelling with her companion was rapidly removing the last remains of the girl that she had been to show the young woman that she was becoming. The soft, weak build of a young girl who's major exercise was to shift buckets of water from the village Well to her home was almost gone, and the curving, firm form of a woman was fast growing to maturity. She hadn't quite noticed this yet, only being eighteen years old, but her dark companion had and was keeping an extra close eye on anyone she considered even possibly suspect that they passed, just in case. The young Amazon Princess was a girl growing up into a woman fast, and she simply hadn't realised the effects that this would have on people that knew, or didn't, as they travelled on the road, alone but for the company of one another. A folded Amazon Staff with the markings of an Amazon Princess lay off to the side, near some unpacked saddlebags, and next to that lay an empty disk of dark metal with strange markings on it and a breast dagger, as well as the raven-black leather top that the dark woman wore when they were travelling. A breastplate of raven-black metal with bronze swirls decorating it was set next to the leather top, as were bracers and gauntlets of the same design, and, just visible in the trees, a Palomino horse snuffled at the grass of the forest floor as it ate its fill. The two were about as close to being at peace on the road as they ever were in their nomadic existence, but they knew that it was unlikely to last, so were quietly absorbing it while they could. In truth, the dark woman was exhausted, but would never admit it, while the strawberry blond woman wasn't much better and was sporting a fresh bruise on her left ribcage where she'd missed a block during an earlier fight which wasn't helping. She'd been lucky, they both knew, that the mercenary that she'd been fighting had been using a club and not a sword or knife, and it hadn't helped the nerves of the dark woman at all. However, considering where they were heading now, she felt reasonably sure that she could look forwards to an at least relatively quiet winter, or at least she hoped that that would be the case as she looked down on the strawberry-blond mane of her young companion with a fond smile. When had she started to care about having a rest to recover and just enjoy herself for a while? She had to ask herself, remembering the Warlord of old who would have walked through a raging thunderstorm and the Gates of Tartarus in full armour with sword drawn to fight the God of War single-handedly if she had seen the need to without a second thought, and either won or died with no other options considered. Come to that, when had she started to care about whether she lived or died? Answer, when her young friend, who had stood in front of a crowd ready to stone her death and stopped them with the passion of her words, who had extended her the hand of friendship without care for her past and taken a burnt-out, grumpy old ex-Warlord as she was and shown her the way to become a hero, had first stood in front of her people in a village not far from here, called Potedaia, the home that she had abandoned to follow that same ex-Warlord, and offered herself to a Warlords soldiers as a slave if they would just leave her people alone. More specifically, the moment that emerald-green eyes had met ice-blue, and the weight of a lifetime of sins just hadn't seemed so heavy after all as she'd stepped out from hiding and stopped the soldiers from taking any of the villagers, then gone on her way to Amphipolis and her mother-and that same mob that that same girl had stopped. What did I ever do to deserve you? The dark-haired woman couldn't help but think, every time she woke up or looked about and saw the young strawberry-blond girl either lying fast asleep or going on like a Wagon rolling down a hillside that never ended with no brakes, going faster and faster until she came to a always-magical conclusion somehow. She'd never dared dream, however, that, as well as that, the woman who had become worth more to her than her own soul would one day find her path leading into her companions arms as well, having long since owned the heart of that same ex-Warlord. She still cursed Callisto every day for what she'd done, taking Perdicas, Gabrielle's husband, from her life forever on only the second day of marriage by ramming her sword into his heart before a horrified, but somehow still, Warrior Princess had been able to make a single move to stop her. However, if the insane, now entombed in lava, blond Goddess hadn't done so, Gabrielle would never have turned to her dark companion for solace and help, and they would still probably not have acted on what it had turned out both had known all along. Some people might have said that she was taking advantage of her companion at a vulnerable moment when her defences were down, but she knew the truth, as did Gabrielle, and neither of them regretted a single moment of what had occurred that night. However, now, despite the closeness and soft warmth of her companion, friend and lover at her side, the dark woman was unhappy and remained so for a reason that she had no wish to elate to her companion-yet. Some stories were best left in the depths and darkness of the past, and, at least for now, what was bothering her was one of them. "Xena?" asked the young strawberry-blond woman, snuggling more closely into the warriors shoulder and side so that she was forced to stop sharpening her sword, which she'd been doing for more than long enough in any case, "Why won't you tell me what it is that's bothering you?" she asked, quietly. Xena sighed, then picked up the sheath of her sword and sheathed it, replacing the sharpening stone in the pouch with the rest of her tools before she looked down at the young woman, her face, for once, letting the young Bard see how tired she was. "I did tell you, Gabrielle. Illyria, Roman's, very bad thing, serious trouble for Greece in general should they choose to expand further. Athens is in serious trouble if the Roman's try to push, and with Caesar, they always will. To top that, I couldn't do a thing about it because we were controlled by Bacchus as Bacchae at the time, and then I apparently prove to be so out of touch that I have to hear the news from refugees heading north? Its just-sorry, Gabrielle, but I just don't like the Roman's. Their the greatest threat that Greece has ever faced, and their getting stronger all the time while Greece isn't. You know what I mean, I just don't like feeling so-" Xena said, but Gabrielle gently cut in. "Powerless? Out of control? Yes, I understand, Xena, you probably want to raise an army and drive away the Roman's yourself, or you've thought about it at least, but your not going to do it because you don't do that anymore" replied Gabrielle, her breath tickling Xena's bare arm. "But, Xena, you've been trying to get me to listen to what people don't say as well as what they do and use both to work out what's really going on, and I think I have" Gabrielle continued, looking up, emerald-green orbs meeting ice blue as Xena looked down and met her gaze. "Oh? All right, Gabrielle, tell me, what am I really talking about?" asked Xena, looking at Gabrielle with a mock stern gaze that just concealed a small surge of pride involving the young woman in the warriors heart. Gabrielle was learning more and more every day and was improving constantly as she gained in experience and knowledge, a fact that never failed to fill the warrior with an immense sense of pride and satisfaction. One day, Xena knew, she would make a superb Queen for the Amazon's, as she should, and, if the battered old ex-Warlord who had followed her around all those long years was still willing and able and around to do it, she intended to live out her last days at Gabrielle's side as her Champion and Consort, the one role that she truly felt that she had always served Gabrielle in well. If not, if, by some act of the Fates or appalling set of circumstances they were either not together in that time or Gabrielle was dead, whatever was left of the ex-Warlord that had followed her around for what time they had had together would follow her promises to the letter. She wouldn't become a monster, she would be a hero, and she would live what was left of her life to the fullest-before she fell on her sword and ended the life of one of the greatest monsters that the world had ever known, and spent the rest of time paying for a lifetime of darkness in the deepest, darkest pits that Tartarus had to offer. After all, fair was fair, and she had more blood on her hands and conscience and more acts that defied comprehension in her memory committed by her and her army than she could ever make up for, no matter how long she lived, even with Gabrielle by her side-hadn't she? Since the young woman had come into her life, it had to be said, pure and simple, that nothing was as clear-cut as it had seemed before, if it ever had been. "I think that its fairly simple, really, Xena, even though I don't know that much about you still. Just what is the history with you and Caesar, if you'll tell me, please?" said Gabrielle, adding the last word with a puppy-dog look in her eyes that Xena almost always gave in to-and very nearly did now. Xena closed her eyes and looked away, although she could still feel Gabrielle's eyes on her face. "Not now, Gabrielle, not now. I'll tell you when I'm ready, but-not now" said Xena, looking back at Gabrielle and opening her eyes to lock ice-blue with emerald-green. Gabrielle looked at her for a long moment, then smiled, "All right, for now. But we will talk about this in time, Xena, you keep so many secrets that even I can see that its tearing you apart, and there's no need for that any longer, you know?" Gabrielle replied, a sad smile appearing on her face. Xena nodded slowly, but the smile on her face was a full, genuine one, one that she allowed few but Gabrielle to ever see. "I know, Gabrielle, and thank you, I needed that. If only you'd been around before I met Hercules, eh?" Xena replied, softly. "I'd have been a little young then, Xena, but, you've got to start somewhere haven't you?" Gabrielle replied, with a smirk on her face. The Palomino, Xena's horse, Argo, looked up abruptly at a strange sound, before it continued munching on grass and relaxed, putting its head back down to the ground. The sound had been one that was so rarely heard that it had barely recognised it-its riders full-out laughter, joined by her young companions...

One moon ago...

The waterfall was a beautiful sight, she had to admit, even considering the kind of scenery she considered beautiful and the kind of things that she lived for. It was fifty feet high, about half that across, and had a deep, sheltered pool of pure blue water at the bottom that kept a fair amount of warmth in it even in Winter, which she'd happily discovered three summers ago. It was sheltered, too, which was even better in her opinion, sheltered not only from the weather, the pool being concealed to a large degree beneath the branches and foliage of large trees that never lost their leaves, even in the Autumn, but from prying eyes on the outside. It was very difficult to find the pool if you didn't know where it was, she was well aware, and, given her solitary nature, it could have been made for her, all things considered. The tall, rugged cliffs that the crystal-clear pure-blue water poured down from were rough and easy to climb, especially given her experience, even given her unique nature, but they didn't have any jagged edges of crumbling rock faces since they were so well shielded from the weather. Atop the cliffs, on either side of the wide river where they ran down and formed the waterfall, a rough area of dark rock extended, slightly slippery with moss and spraying water from the fast-moving but shallow river, but quite possible to walk on, even to sit on if one was so inclined. The view from the top was panoramic, magnificent, the view allowing her to take in the whole of the huge forest that covered the lands about her and some beyond, more if she strained her Hawk-sharp eyesight, and she often spent a great deal of time just sitting or standing atop the rocks, watching nature and marvelling in its beauty and simplicity as the world passed by. Her particular favourite was to be sitting on the rocks when the sun went down, a massive, glowing red orb slowly retreating into the sky behind the dark, solid world that it lit during the day. The view of the sun rising was better, although she had to be careful not to look directly at the sun as it rose with her eyes as sharp as they were, the slowly creeping light illuminating, piece by piece, every last shadow and patch of darkness left by the retreating night. The falling sun, she had always thought, was an indication of the fact that everything ended in time, no matter what or who, and it always helped to remind her of why what she did was so important. The rising sun spoke to her of life beginning anew, rebirth, one being reborn, cleansed of the darkness that coloured their soul and purified so that one could start again afresh. Something, given the last six years, she very much wished that she would be allowed to do each day she awoke, but it hadn't happened yet, and she didn't know when it would. Or, it had to be said, if it would, some things just couldn't be forgiven in some cases. The sun was rising now, and she was sitting atop the rocks of the waterfall's cliffs, waiting to greet it. She was a nomad, as much by nature as by choice, but, in the time that she'd spent on this world, she had to admit that this small place had come as close to being called home as had anywhere she'd ever stayed for a time. She hunted for food, fish, boar, the occasional stringy bird if she couldn't get anything else, or whatever she could get, and brought it back to this place to eat. The small clearing had a cave in one of the cliff walls, and, at the back of it, aside from other caves that she'd partially explored, there was a small pool of water fed by a freshwater spring, which more than sufficed for providing her with drinking water. There was a larger cavern a fair way deeper into the caverns that she'd found almost accidentally one day, almost falling into it one day when she'd been exploring with torch in one hand and sword in the other, and it was a quiet, simple place that she could go to to think if she felt the need. The lake was fed by an underground offshoot of the river above, as far as she could tell, but there was a tunnel at the bottom of the lake, partially concealed, that she'd never felt inclined to explore down after discovering it. There hadn't been a need, she'd had all that she needed. The lake cavern had more than enough flat, dry ground to enable her to practise sword drills or shadow-wrestle with opponents of her memory or imagination, and simple exercises that kept her shape were simple enough to perform in the cavern as well. She didn't think anything of a few laps of the lake, or performing exercises that simply kept her in trim, and if she wanted to maintain or build up her stamina or muscle she simply went for a run about the area of the forest that she knew, or a glide, depending on what she felt she required. Right now, however, she simply wished to enjoy the sunrise, and carefully kept her eyes slightly down and away from the sun to avoid being dazzled or worse by the increasingly bright light. The sun rose up and over her bare skin with a pleasant lack of speed, warming her toes, her feet, her legs, stomach, chest and arms, then her throat, then her face and head, even as she closed her eyes and enjoyed the pleasant luxury of feeling her night-cooled body being warmed from top to bottom by the very first rays of the early-morning sun. She sat back for some time, just enjoying it, then, slowly, she rose to her feet, yawning, and stretched her arms, stretching them up and behind her back, then she flexed every muscle in her body, one by one. It was an old technique, one taught to her by someone, even now, she wasn't sure about calling a friend, and it never failed to be totally effective in relaxing her even while she woke up properly first thing in the morning. To finish, she extended and flexed her wings, then beat them twice, quickly, briefly lifting herself off of the ground before she settled back down, then she walked over to the edge of the waterfalls top and looked down, the edge of the river running over her bare feet. It was a long drop, but nothing ridiculous as long as you knew what you were doing, and she did, unquestionably, she'd made this jump thousands of times, so she simply smiled at the sight, and stepped back a single step. She paused to look at herself in the clear water, so clear that it was like looking into a crystal-clear mirror, and she shook her head as she remembered the woman who had first come to this world four hundred and nineteen years ago, going on four hundred and twenty. A number of things had occurred since then, and they'd left their mark, physically and mentally, for the better and for worse. She could still remember the young woman of twenty-five who'd stood against those who'd attacked the realm, full of righteous fury and wrath, burning anger boiling in her veins at those who dared sully the golden realm with their dark power and bloody blades, and she could still remember that same young woman loosing her eye to a brutal dagger strike when it had rapidly turned out that nothing had been as simple as it had appeared. It came back to her as she thought about it, the images not dulled by time in the slightest...

...She and two of her Sisters, Brunhilda and Maldia, hacked and slashed their way forwards towards the centre of the enemy line, sharp steel cutting through flesh and bone, back to back, fighting the Iscarl invaders with every ounce of their beings. They were fighting for their homes and their families, their honour and their Lord and father, Odin, who was leading the advance himself, and they could not, would not, fail to turn back the black tide of death and destruction that threatened all that they were. She parried a strike from an Iscarl soldier, deflecting raven-black steel with her shining silver Asgardian blade, and looked grimly into the face of her attacker even as her arms creaked from the force of the blow. The warrior was taller than she was, at least six feet, perhaps taller, as were all Iscarl soldiers, broad shouldered and heavily built, and he wore plate-mail armour that covered him from head to foot. Breastplate and backplate over a chain shirt covered his arms, chest, back and neck, while raven-black metal and leather gauntlets guarded his hands. Raven-black bracers guarded his forearms, while black-leather boots reinforced with strips of black chain guarded his feet and lower legs. Silver chain leggings guarded his upper legs and groin, while very dark navy blue plate armour fitted over the chain on his upper legs as well, more guarding his groin and backside. A helmet shaped to his skull covered his head, and a faceplate that was evidently supposed to resemble his face covered his except for his ice-blue eyes. He swung his sword two-handed with skill and strength, but she could see several flaws in his technique as he did so, presumably supposed to be covered for by his armour-well, he was about to learn that that wasn't true. She struck at his chest with a stab, he didn't bother trying to parry, then had to leap back to avoid having the tip of her sword slide up his armour almost quicker than he could react and punch under his helmet into his brain. She didn't give him time to recover, leaping forwards and striking at face, elbows and knees with a flurry of blows that he tried to either side-step, duck or parry, but he failed miserably to avoid most of them, only just stopping her blade from puncturing one of his eye-holes, much to her annoyance, since his armour was resistant to her other attackers. She wasn't Thor or one of the royal family, she couldn't just employ brute strength and savagery to kill her opponents when they were armed and armoured like the Iscarl was, she had to use a more tactical approach. To top that, the Iscarl were resistant to the inherent magic that all Valkyrie and the royal family wielded to a greater or lesser extent, so the lightning-bolt bright orange blur that burned about her blade wasn't making it as effective as it usually would. This was causing her and her eleven Sisters more than a few problems, she'd seen first-hand, but they'd find ways to cope, as they always did, the only real question was what would they decide to do. She fought the Iscarl's sword high, then low, then she simply engaged in a series of fast slashes that he couldn't keep up with, denting his breastplate but failing to make any real impression-she took her blade in both hands, and wrenched upwards with all of the considerable strength she could muster. The chain-mail at his throat parted and black blood flowed, and her blade cleaved on into the raven-steel of his helmet, tearing through his faceplate, through his face, and into one of his eyes-where it wedged. The Iscarl screamed and staggered backwards, dropping its sword and ripping her blade from her hand, wrenching at its helmet, then it managed to get a firm grip with both hands, and tore its helmet clean off of its head, tearing her blade through its scalp even as it did so. Her sword came loose and fell free, but she drew a dagger to finish the job before-it turned and looked at her, she saw its face for the first time, and her heart stopped as both her eyes shot open to such an extent that the red rims could be seen. The Iscarl's face wasn't there, the only thing even remotely humanoid about it was its single remaining ice-blue eye. Its face was a mass of writhing tentacles, a mixture of bloody red and raven-black in colour, its nose was a single horizontal slit above its eyes that opened and close even as she watched, and its mouth was an inch-wide hole that had several layers of tiny and massive jagged razor-sharp white teeth. In the centre of its mouth a tiny flap over a hole opened and closed, and a set of tiny bloody-black tentacles inside the hole were momentarily apparent as the hole opened, then closed. Black blood dripping down its face did nothing to improve its looks, and its single eye glittered with an insect-like predatory look that almost made her vomit. She barely even had time to scream before it wrenched up and around with a dagger that she hadn't seen, and the raven-black blade tore across her face and into her right eye...Her vision went blood-red, then black, and everything suddenly faded away...

She shook her head, shaking away the cobwebs of ancient memory. That had happened a long time ago, but it still hurt like having a Fenris Wolf gnawing on your legs, and she did her best to avoid thinking about it when she could. It had been her first real battle after gaining her wings as a full Valkyrie at the age of eighteen, and she'd been young, overconfident, foolish and full of belief that no Iscarl invader could possibly stop or even hurt a defender of the Golden Realm fighting for a just cause. She'd been young, she should have known better, but she'd survived and learnt from her mistakes, now she was here. Her eyes travelled up her long form from her feet to the hair atop her head, noting every single little scar and recalling where and how she'd received it, and from whom. A feral face and form looked back at her, matching her movements perfectly in reverse, and she smiled. Long, smooth legs, arms, body and neck, slim waist and hips, smooth skin carrying the occasional large or small white scar, a face that still bore the beauty of youth coloured by a sharp look about her eyes and features that reminded one of a wild animal. Her lone left eye was a light grey, her uncovered right eye an empty white orb with a vertical small white scar over it that had long since robbed her of sight through it. Long, loose auburn hair fell to below her waist in a wild, unruly mass, a few braids hanging down her back, and the too-sharp nails in her hands and feet that seemed to resemble claws if one looked at them too closely when uncut were all too obvious. Her body was strong and firm in build, firm muscles shifting under smooth, darkly-tanned skin as she shifted, even her belly being flat and almost rigid with muscle. She'd never been the most physically attractive of women, although she knew that she was beautiful, her build was slim and small and softly curving, lean and muscular. She was a warrior through and through, not a lover, and she grinned, exposing gleaming white teeth that somehow only emphasised the animalistic, feral look that she always had. That didn't mean, however, that she didn't take pride in her physical appearance, and she certainly liked being able to get a man that she set her mind on, so she allowed herself a brief surge of pride in having succeeded in keeping her figure over the long years that she'd lived. She only looked to be about twenty-eight or twenty-nine physically, a benefit of the slow ageing process of all Valkyrie, and she had no intention of turning into a Hag any time soon just because she'd lived the equivalent of four human lifetimes now. If she was to be honest, she intended to still have her looks and her build as they were now in another four lifetimes, but that was a touch of vanity that she didn't like admitting to having, so she rarely indulged it. Her single eye tracked to two scars in particular as she stood and thought, however, as it always would when she looked at her reflection in such a fashion, especially naked, as she was now, and her expression hardened. The first was a large scar in her left side, just below her ribs and barely missing her stomach, the size of a sword-blade that hadn't entered cleanly and had twisted about somewhat, a mass of pale white scar tissue, slowly fading. There was another, smaller mass of largely faded pale-white scar tissue at her back, just to the left of her spine, she could see in the river and knew well from memory, where the tip of the same blade had exited from her body, having ripped right through her guts in the process. The wound should have killed her, and she'd thought it had, but she'd woken up and discovered that she'd been saved, by some act of fate, by the same woman who had wounded her. The second wound was a massive tear in her neck, right over her jugular vein, where a Bacchae had, six years before, torn her throat open in an attempt to drain her blood and make her one of them. It was a fading mass of scar tissue as well now, but, again, it should have killed her. Instead, she'd woken up, again, to find that she'd been saved by the intervention of a Demi-God who had saved her life but left her the scars to remind her of the fact. That had led to six years of nightmares, blood and death, until the Demi-God had finally been killed almost a summer ago, by whom she didn't know, but, whoever it was, she was eternally grateful to them. Her wings were finely-feathered with auburn-coloured feathers of the same colour as her hair, well-groomed and maintained, and, as ever, felt as light as a feather despite their position and bulk. She shook her head, then stepped up to the edge of the river once more, looking down at the deep pool far below. Despite all this, however, she still needed such mundane things as baths regularly, and there was nothing better than a quick swim first thing in the morning to wake you up she'd thought for a long time now. She closed both her eyes, clearing her mind, then she opened them once more, readied herself-and dived off of the edge of the cliff. She kept her wings pulled in, so the fall was indeed a fall rather than a glide but less than a tumble, and, after a few long moments of wind whipping past her, a delicious sensation of freedom and blissful lack of care and worries, she hit the water of the pool and plunged in, cutting into the water as cleanly as a knife into butter. Plunging beneath the surface, she carefully angled herself so that she wouldn't simply keep diving until she reached the bottom, then, as she levelled off, she aimed up and towards the surface, pulling herself forwards and upwards with powerful strokes. She broke the surface, breathing in deeply, then swam over to the side, where she'd left the crushed plants that she used as a form of soap, and started cleaning herself up, starting with her hair and working downwards. Within a candlemark, she felt clean and freshened up, her skin tingling, and she pulled herself out of the pool, shaking out her long hair, before lying down on a flat rock exposed to the sun to dry off. Besides her sat her leathers, fresh ones that she'd killed a Wolf and a Deer to get, having long since lost the original pair that she'd worn all those years ago, her sword, sheathed in a raven-black scabbard decorated with Runes of her peoples design crafted of silver, and her dagger, in a scabbard just like her swords. Both blades had bronze hilts shaped for her hands and wrapped with silver, and had been held by her so much for so long that she could have wielded them blindfolded and immediately told anyone if they were her weapons or not merely from the touch and weight in her hands. The blades were forged of silver steel mined and shaped in Asgard itself by Master Smiths, and would never blunt or break, as well as being of a razor-sharpness and a physical solidarity that allowed one to cut rock and not even scratch the blade. Her leathers consisted of a battle-skirt of short, sleeveless tunic and boots that reached up to just below her knees. They were dyed raven-black in colour, except for the dark-grey extras, and the thick fur of the wolf formed a collar about her neck that only left her windpipe completely clear, growing thicker as it passed about the back of her neck. The wolf-fur was bunched about each of her shoulders in similar design, and guarded her upper legs as well by fitting around the bottom of her skirt, guarding her knees by fitting about the tops of her boots while not being enough to interfere with her movements. A specially fitted scale-design silver-steel chain-mail shirt covered her torso when on, light enough to allow her her full range of movement while still guarding her chest, back and sides, and strips of the same silvery metal covered her skirt. The armour was not of Asgard, but had been designed for her on the Demi-God's specific request by Hephasteus, the Greek God of the Forge, so she suspected that it was almost as good. Bacchus had liked his little toy to have the best, after all, since she needed it to do his bidding, and, of course, looked good in it, to. She also had raven-black leather bracers, with the symbol of the Hawk sewn onto them, where they'd been simple clean leather before, the Hawk being sewn on in golden thread, something that she'd done herself to spite Bacchus further once he'd died and she was free of him. He had forced her to wear, on a string about her neck, a long Bacchae tooth to mark her as his, but she'd torn it off and smashed it to pieces the moment that she'd found herself free of him. His little Enforcer, as she'd been against her will for him, and she'd hated every single thing that he'd forced her to do, no matter what, while she had not had freedom of will. She spread her wings fully against the rock, flapping them once to shake out the depth of the dampness that had become embedded in them, then lay back fully and closed her eyes. The sun really did feel very relaxing as she lay there, just soaking it in...

Everything suddenly snapped back into focus, so sharply that it actually succeeded in startling her. Her unconscious mind had her on her feet and standing ready to move before her conscious mind caught up with it, then she felt a sudden blur in her mind as her memory caught up with her. She held her head in one hand for a moment, and shook it, then sighed. She'd fallen asleep under the warm sun, something she was prone to do but had been trying to avoid doing for some time, so she obviously needed to work on it some more, but what had awakened her-? Her senses were sharper than most human's, but she'd known human's with sharper ear's than hers, and others who hadn't needed a good set of ears or eyes to know that trouble was on the horizon, or worse, so she wasn't surprised when she couldn't seem to hear anything or see anything for a long moment. However, she didn't need her ears to hear threats or trouble coming her way either, she never had, and, she quickly discovered, that same "sixth sense", as she'd heard people refer to such things as, had served her well yet again. She hadn't heard anything, she'd sensed it, and now she could hear it, voices, several, carried on the breeze to her ears from not far away-heading towards her. Brilliant, she couldn't help but think, of all times for someone, or several someone's, to find and disturb her and her home, whoever it was had to choose first thing in the morning, right after she'd woken up and was getting ready for another long day. To top that, anyone out this early in the territory she was living in was almost certainly there to cause trouble, and that she definitely did not need. Anyone who cared to disagree with her could face the consequences, this place was hers and hers alone and she intended to keep it that way. She sat up quickly, stood, and walked over to her carefully piled-up gear. Pulling out her eyepatch, she pulled it on and wrapped the long dark-brown fur and hide covering about her head, expertly slipping the patch over her blind eye and the band holding it on over and around her hair, then she pulled on her light-grey shift before beginning to pull on the rest of her gear. She'd been feeling the lack of good hunting and fights recently, she knew that for a fact, maybe now she'd get the chance to remedy that at long last.

Continued in Part 4.