Sing, uses sing to me a story of Olympus and the death of Scots who govern Earth, sea

and sky.

That is a resties as ask.

He stands upon the edge of the era of Pagus and overlooks all Athens.

Her temples, her walls, her every edifice is picked out in silver, moon like catching

in the rain that streams down roofs and pools and gutters.

He stretches out hands, feels the downpour drive against his palms like needles.

It does little to wash away Clio Mestras blood, his mother's blood.

Her resties thought he knew the price of Kinslay.

Revenge was the wet stone against which he had needed his character and he would gladly

shatter to achieve it.

But death would be a relief compared to the madness that taught him now.

The furies pursue him relentlessly.

In the temple of Apollo, he begged some relief and the oracle answered, head to Athens,

seek out the era of Pagus.

But now that her resties is here, he can find little clue as to what to expect.

The escarpment is barren, all cragged rock and patch scrub.

The only feature is a single spear.

It is plunged so deep into the rock that the bladed head is all but swallowed and stone.

Why am I here, he asks?

That is when the musers begin to sing, to dance, to play the lyre and the flute.

This is a place of trial they tell him.

...