At the edge of the field near the darkened outskirts of the woods stood a figure, but the figure could not be said as just one. Ever shifting through three stages was a woman, holding sometimes a key, a torch, and wrapping serpents around her arms. Her face was like a mirage, ever shifting through vibrant youth or melting with age, sometimes in the middle with a matron's stoic visage. The woods hummed rhythmically around her, a soothing and forceful beat nearly imperceptible unless one knew what to look for. The figure stared at the slave on the slab of rock quietly, the shade in which the ominous shifting character stood almost completely masking her. With a steady, bare foot the woman began to walk through the field, flowers springing up as if to greet her and then resuming their wilted state in the heat as she passed. Without word or sound, the woman stood maybe just a few feet from the dirty slave girl, suddenly shifting into an old crone with sagging cheeks and tattered clothes as she made her presence known.

"Sweet girl, permit me to sit with you," the crone called out, hobbling pathetically. "Tell me, have you found any mint beneath the boughs of the trees? My teeth ache, I need some mint to chew," moaned the old woman, rubbing at her face and watching her dunk petals into hot wax. "I will give you something in exchange," tantalized the crone in a singsong voice, hoping to entice her. Pity me, and the world will be at your mercy, the mysterious woman thought to herself, a small grin coming to her folded face.

Of course, Hecate knew what she was doing. She did not expect the slave who worshiped her at midnight to refuse this simple request. However, Hecate had been wrong before. But this was an opportunity to bring glory and self worth to this mere human with little to live for, all in exchange for a sweet smelling weed. Hecate kept waiting in expectation, deciding the best thing to hold in her tattered old clothes was the perfect key to fit that nasty collar around the girl's neck.

A Sunny day.

A gentle breeze, rustling the leaves of the trees.

A chirp of some birds, their song flowing through the air.

The pained howl of some animal as it fell prey to a predator.

The slow breathing of a hunter as she took aim at her target with a hand-made bow she crafted herself.

And finally, the sharp twang caused by the string as she released her hold on the string, releasing the arrow and sending it flying towards its target.

The arrow flew swiftly and silently, the target only being alerted at the last second, much to late for it to even dodge the arrow. The boar gave a squeal as the arrow penetrated its hide, burying itself deep into the animal. The boar fell to the ground, dead before its dirty hide hit the ground. The hunter, let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding. She had been out here all day, and the noon sun was becoming hot. The forest had not been a giving maiden, today. At least, though, she had a suitable offering for Lady Artemis now - and dinner for the evening after she sacrificed the beast.

The hunter approached the downed boar cautiously, making sure it was dead before lowering the hood hiding her features. "Well, aren't you a beautiful thing." She said, slinging the bow across her back as she examined the boar. It looked to be an older boar, probably with only a few more years to live. "I've bet you've got some stories to tell, don't you?" She spoke, almost affectionately - or perhaps it was fondness. "Ah, if only you could talk." She smiled, removing the arrow from the boar. "I suppose you'd hate me for killing you though." She smiled softly. "But enough of that. I'll make camp."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Not long after, she had made camp. She had a fire going, and she had done most of the work for the sacrifice. She had removed the beasts entrails, and offered them up to Artemis. It was a messy business, but she didn't mind. Sacrificing to Lady Artemis was not something she was ever going to complain about doing. She would do it more often, if she had the time. Surviving in the wild usually took up more of her time than she liked, though. At least she was able to wash her hands after gutting the boar with a small skin of water she carried. She would need to find a new source of freshwater.

With the boar meat roasting over the fire, she quietly sat, legs crossed with her bow resting at her side. The entrails had been burned and were nothing but ash now. She questioned upon making a small effigy of the goddess to carry around, for use at such times. That was a pretty good idea, actually. Why hadn't she thought of doing that before? Ah well. She'd get to work on that after setting up a few snares after she cooked the boar.

The ashes at the base of the fire heated, stirred and shifted a few times imperceptibly. From the distance a pack of wolves howled in a mournful tune and the ashes were kicked up by a sudden wind. A portion of them were carried far away from the camp and into the blackness of the surrounding woods. From the ashes in seclusion behind a thicket of bushes, a body began to grow in slow, painful movements. First, a broad hand had come forth, followed by thick sinewy arms and a strong pair of shoulders. Upon the shoulders was a maiden's head, but she could not be called beautiful as in a pretty sense. Her face was chiseled with strength and power and a wild look in her glossy green eyes. Her body comes slowly after, with defined calves poking out from under her chiton and sturdy leather sandals lined with a fur of some sort. After her body comes into place the maiden reaches into the ash and draws out a bow and a quiver, then looks toward the smoke she came from. Artemis strides openly toward the camp, unafraid of returning bowfire.

"Hello there!" Artemis calls out as she nears the camp. "May I join?" calls the woman, inhaling the scent of cooking boar. "You wouldn't begrudge a fellow hunter to sit a while, would you?" Artemis says, not particularly waiting permission, instead standing on the edge of the camp. There was no doubt she was indeed a hunter with burly shoulders from drawing a bow, or intense legs from long days hunting. At her waist is a belt with a knife, and although she made no attempts to hide it, it wasn't really much more than a skinning piece and was neatly tied into place. Artemis groans and stretches, hearing a satisfying crack in her back and staring at the other with wolfish eyes.

The shuffle of feet and the clack of a spear was only heralded by the wet cough of the sick soldier. Leprosy had destroyed not only his body but also his ability to fight off other disease, phlegm filled his throat and mucus filled his sinuses as he slowly died. Bystanders were far too scared to help the man, fear overriding their sense of honor. To them the soldier was a potential threat, someone to be avoided until his body died and even then he would be allowed to rot in the sun. This was not the way a soldier should die.

Anastasius traveled the path to the great Temple of Athena and walked the stairs. It was only until he was met with the statue of his patron did his body fail, falling to a knee as his leg gave out. Looking up to his patron, Anastasius began to prey. At first he wanted answers, why did was he afflicted with this curse? Why wasn't he allowed to die on the field like a warrior? Why must he wither away into nothingness as he chokes on his own vomit? Soon enough however his questions turned to accusations, cursing the name of every gods forsaken leper and Athena herself as he lost himself in his rage. After the rage was burned away, regret filled his heart and began to apologize profusely. In the end he had no words, only tears. They fell from his irritated eyes and through his ruined flesh, every once in awhile a great cough would erupt from his chest. Upon the last cough blood fallowed, a dire sign that his time was coming to a close.

With all his might Anastasius tried to stand upon his feet but the hours and hours he stayed still brought only stiffness and pain to his already broken body. With a snap his spear shattered in two and he was cast upon the floor like a sack of vegetables. This was the last straw, he had nothing left. His military career was stricken from him, his health was fading by the second, he was looked upon with pity and contempt, finally his spear lay in splinters. Dignity was no more and he began to crawl out of the temple, not wanting to defile it any more with his festering body.

@pathfinder
From the depths of the quiet, darkened temple sat in contemplation a woman, resting against her own spear as she listened to the words of the cursing soldier. He'd spoken to her, time time again and admittedly in all the years she'd not truly answered. It was all a part of the strategy. The sickened soldier began to cry, and a twinge shot through her as if a lance had sliced through her. It was finally time. For any great blacksmith or even a simpleton could tell you whence you asked that a forge is made not from softness and loving it, it is burned in a forge and beaten until black and sharp.

The woman walked toward Anistasius, and she watched him try to stand. From under his weight the spear aged through battle and years had finally snapped. The resounding crack echoed through the temple, followed by weak hacks from the soldier. Athena reached down and gripped at his arm, dragging him to stand and face her propperly.

"Here, use mine," Athena quietly offered, holding out her own impeccable spear. "You have many questions, and I have a few answers, Anistasius." Athena held out her hand in a cupping fashion, her grey eyes boring into Anistasius' s face, not flinching away. He'd never be this way again. "Cough once more, you'll be well."

@McHaggis

Hecate accepted the mint and smiled graciously, instantly chewing the weed and sighing in relief. "Ah, thank you child," Hecate said, chewing the mint and looking at the collar. "Wouldn't your master be furious to find you out here on your own? You could run away if you ever found a key," Hecate said, stretching back and shedding years from her face until she was more of a matron, still dressed in vagrants clothes however.

"You are not a slave. You are more free than most men, child. Return here tonight when you escape," Hecate demanded, setting the key downon the slab and covering it with dried grass for Melissa to find later. "After that, I will tell you what to do next."

Hecate rose and the filthy clothes shifted into a much nicer set, her face once again liquidly changing between maid, matron, and crone with each shift of sunlight, and she smiled blessedly at Melissa. "Hurry home. Your master is beginning to get suspicious. I will see you at midnight, child." As Hecate walked away, she turned and pointed at her lips. "Thank you for the mint."

@Prasinus

Corinna sat, almost meditatively as she listened to the forest and the crackling fire cooking the boar. The smell was making her quite hungry, and she was glad that it wouldn't take too much longer to cook. She had little to eat that morning - just some small game that her snares had caught while she had slept. Other than her stomach, she was enjoying the relative silence of the forest. The best part, was that there were no other people here to bother her. Just her, the forest, and its sounds.

The sound of the wind, carrying the mournful howls of the wolves.

The continued crackling of the fire, the smell of the boar being carried on the same wind.

The light footsteps of someone approaching.

And the almost inaudible sound of a far off stream.

...wait.

Corinna reacted immediately, her first instinct was to grab her bow, and threaten to shoot anyone who so much as approached her camp. She figured it was a man - possibly another hunter, or possibly a bandit of sorts. What she didn't expect, was a rather handsome woman emerge from the forest, and brazenly walk right into the area she had made her camp. The athletic appearance of the other woman, coupled with the bow she was carrying easily marked her as a hunter. Another woman that could handle herself out here in the forests if she had too. Corinna, was as they say, a bit taken with her.

Still, that did not mean she was any more trusting of her than anyone else. She removed her hand form her bow, she had barely touched it when the other woman made her presence known. Corinna wasn't going to outright refuse the other girls request for to sit for a time, but she was obviously less than thrilled by the others appearance.

"Take a seat."She gruffly replied. "Freshly killed, just put it on the fire a few minutes ago." Corinna eyed the other woman, obviously a bit curious about her despite her usual aversion to most people. It wasn't every day she ran into another hunter so far from civilization - and another woman at that.

Artemis graciously sat, looking at the pile of ash at the base of the fire and smirking ruefully but not saying a word. "So you took down this kill all by your lonesome. I think it's a fine kill, too," Artemis leaned in, inspecting the mortal wounds still left on the pig. Wolves still bellowed in the distance, and Artemis looked off in their direction. Artemis took a long look at Corinna, watching her with an intense emerald gaze and grinned. "Must be quite lonely out here in the big woods for a woman yourself. Do you have anybody waiting for you anywhere?" Artemis studied Corinna.

From the edge of the woods a hungry, skinny wolf watched them and snarled in a deep baritone. He was mad with starvation and looked ragged, thin and skeletal. Artemis felt pity for the thing, but knew what had to be done. "I don't want to startle you, but I'm sure you've noticed the omega at the edge of the camp. He's hungry, you could either throw him a bone and save him for one day or you could put him from his misery," Artemis says, laying out the choices. She looks to the wolf, then at Corinna. "I would kill him. He's going to die anyway," Artemis said blatantly.

Sorom walked into the large temple quickly taking in its familiar setting at a glance drops of sweat still visible from his workout and the glaring heat of the noon-time sun. He had practically built half the temple himself giving it much of its current glory. Sorom inhaled deeply of the prevailing scent of incense that was nearly trademark of the dark building. He strode through the building ignoring the priests that he was an everyday sight to by now and arrived at his custom room, passing by the statues and pews that were used by the everyday worshippers. He grabbed a torch that lay just outside the room and walked into the pitch black room that he used for his prayer and made his way through my memory.

He lit the four candles that stood at each of the cardinal directions before extinguishing the torch and setting it down. Then he sat cross legged on the ground and removed his short sword from his belt laying it gently on the ground next to him. Sorom silently cried out to the god of doom once again as he did every day. Why had this befallen his family? Why couldn't he stop it? Why did everyone die? Why did anyone die? And secretly a small part of him asked, why will I die?

[@Eklipse]

Moros sat on the edge of the darkness, watching Sorom for quite a while. He cried and asked questions like he usually did, and the kind of devotion shown by frequently returning should be treated with an answer. Keeping in the dark corners and edges of the room, Moros began to whisper into the mind of Sorom.

'Because you're not strong enough to save your parents, they died...you can't do anything right...all of this is for nothing...reliquish your beliefs...regect your patron..." Moros toyed with Sorom, waiting to see if he'd fall for these dark, unnatural thoughts. It was true he was the god of impeding doom and destiny, but now was the fulcrum point, the tipping aspect in Soroms life and he had a destiny to live. Moros just wanted to see he Sorom would survive these dark thoughts and prevail in his destiny.

Anastasius was startled at the hand that lifted him to his feet, momentary panic flooded his system as the fear of spreading this horrid plague to another came to light. He tried to resists as strongly as his ravaged body could but found his strength overpowered by woman before him. Her strength stunned him, even with his wasted body Anastasius was a large man that would give two men a difficult time moving but to her it was as if he was a child. Instead of being flustered or angry, Anastasius could do little more than feel impressed. As he grabbed her spear the women's spear for support the woman's words came as mumbles until he gazed inside her own.

In one moment her words were clear and a great cough erupted from his chest. In a hurry Anastasius moved his head away as the cough painfully moved through his body, pain... a feeling he hadn't felt in a long time. With the first cough came another, than another, each more painful than the first as his insides felt like they were ablaze until it suddenly left. No pain, no sickness, in fact he felt stronger than he ever had. Standing straight and tall for the first time in a long time, Anastasius flexed his hands and after several pops was satisfied with their strength. He was worse for ware, but he was alive.

Suddenly he turned to face the woman who lent her hand and everything became clear. This was no mere woman, nay she was a god. HIS patron, Athena. Goddess of battle and wisdom, her steely eyes pierced Anastasius to the core and in such awe was he that he could do little but kneel before her.

"Athena! I-I-I...." He stopped trying to speak, his shock far too great. Instead the warrior knelled and listened for whatever she had to say.

Sorom twitched as for the first time since he had prayed to Moros as a little child, he was answered. The dark whispers of his patron echoed in his mind and Sorom briefly had to consider, had he finally gone insane? He had heard of delusional fools thinking they could talk to the gods. He shook these thoughts out of head and responded out loud to his god, "You're right, I wasn't strong enough. Maybe I'll never be strong enough to protect anything I want, But that won't stop me. I will become strong enough to choose my own path and choose my own death no matter what you do to stop me." He said angrily his hands quivering with ill-concealed rage. All these years and this was his response? That he was too weak? If Moros or whoever it was that was talking to him thought that he would give up after a few discouraging words they were dead wrong.

@Pathfinder
Athena cooly stared at him, debating with herself whether or not to let him kneel for her, and eventually she placed her hand under his newly smooth chin and lifted his eyes to meet hers.

"Anistasius, don't kneel. Stand on your new legs," Athena ordered, lifting her fingers to motion to stand. She didn't want to stand around and be worshipped just yet, she had a task for jim. "Please. It's only expected you be upset, but it was a strategic move. Now I believe you are ready," Athena said, stepping toward the deeper reaches of the temples.

"I have watched warriors promise me their honors, and when they fall from the hands of Fate, they curse me. But only you come back, time and time again," Athena said, looking at the carvings of her in battle. "Now, I bestow the honors. Anistasius, you've lived a long life. Would you like another one, in my name?"

@Eklispe

Moros watched from the corner and let out a defeated sigh, the closest thing to a smile he could give. Moros faded into view from the shadows, sitting cross legged and looking skeletal in the long light of the candles.

"Do you want to know why your parents died, child?" Moros said, tilting his head and curiously staring at him. "Because of chance. Because life is one side of a coin. You are plenty strong and you'll show it, in time," Moros said vaguely. He couldn't just spill his mortal secrets to anybody. "You want to be stronger, Sorom? Do you want to know things? I can give you answers but I can't offer peace. That is my sister," Moros said, sighing again. "But you pray to me."

@Prasinus
Sorom's eyes widened as his patron revealed itself. For a god to reveal himself to a mortal was truely a blessing, regardless of what came afterwards. Moros had said chance, the flick of a coin. He should've expected death to be led by something so fickle. "I prayed to you for answers. But that was merely the step before the question for knowledge. I don't seek your sister's peace, I seek your knowledge and power Moros." Sorom said forcefully and awaited the god's answer.