Quoted By:
Rolled 19 (1d20)
Myrethuia may feel that she is the most cunning woman in the room, but she has badly misjudged you from the beginning. You are not so foolish as to reveal your true self, but you allow Pylia’s mask to slip…just a bit.
“You know as well as I do that Damachides is dead, Myrethuia. Perhaps the discus broke something within his head, or the blow was simply too much for a man of his age.” Your gaze becomes spearlike – painfully sharp, in the flicking torchlight – you imagine that your gold-flecked eyes are glowing in the torchlight.
“This οἶκος will die alongside him – perhaps tonight, perhaps this week, perhaps next month. But it [bold]will[/bold] die. You have stolen Charima’s mind – she is not fit to lead.” Myrethuia’s mouth opens in shock – clearly, she had not expected you to glean this insight. You relentlessly continue, your tempo building, but you keep your discipline – you are assembling a tower of thoughts, stone by stone, and it must be as resolute and unassailable as the implacable walls of Ilion itself. You continue:
“If you expect to survive Eris’ visitation here – the fighting, the riots between slave and servant and spearman, you must escape with us tonight. We must be stadia and stadia clear of this conflagration when it comes – and we must be stealthy leaving these grounds.
We must leave before any suspect that things are amiss.
We must leave tonight!”
Myrethuia’s mouth closes slowly as you speak, and you see a cold, calculating light shining through her eyes - the perceptive eyes of a fox as it steals into the farmer’s hut, prowling and snuffling for an easy meal through the open doorway…
“It is not enough to escape with our lives,” you continue. “We must be adequately supplied – able to travel far away from this place – to buy ourselves the security of armed guard, and then the freedom and luxury that we deserve. Timae enough to stay a while in Argos, perhaps, or even Mycenae... Perhaps even find a husband amongst the foolish who have answered Agamemnon’s call.” Myrethuia’s eyes gain a dreamlike quality here – and you notice that the fingers of her right hand twitch absentmindedly in a strange pattern – dancing left, up, left, right, down.
“We must take what we can from his vault, lest we risk vagrancy and molestation, and make our way far from here…”
Myrethuia is frozen – calculating. Her eyes dart towards yours, her delicate chin rises defiantly.
“Swear a strong oath to the immortal gods that you will not harm me, now or forever, and you will leave this place with Timae.” The girl surprises you – it’s something you might have done. You quickly amend the proposal:
“Let us both swear strong oaths – that neither of us will harm the other, or order the other harmed through servant or companion.” Myrethuia allows herself a cold smile – and you provide her the same courtesy.
<span class="mu-i">The girl might make for a good witch…</span>
