futurology | ( video ) un: achilles

[There appears the grave countenance of Achilles, son of Peleus, his princely features marred by grief. His eyes are rimmed red and below them sink dark purple hollows. His beard is untrimmed and his golden curls, once long and flowing, hang choppy about his ears, hacked off by his own hand. Yet still he stands with shoulders squared and chin held high, as befits one who speaks before the assembly, and still his voice rolls forth like the iron-grey clouds that fill the sky before a storm falls.]

I come bearing unhappy news amidst a sea of unhappy news - but for me, no news could be more unbearable than this. An honorable man lies dead, overpowered in all his power, victim to one of the flesh-hungry who strike fear in the breast of this city. This was Menoetius' son Patroclus, my dear brother in arms...my partner in life. He was not long among this crew, and thus if you have no other cause for lament, then lament that you are robbed the opportunity to know him for a friend.

Yet now you might meet him through my words, I who have known him for the better part of my life and love him as I love my own life. Among the Achaeans there never was a kinder man: he cared more for the man beside him than for himself, and what he had he shared generously with friend and stranger alike. Almighty Zeus, bright-eyed Athena, and Apollo the lord of light always received supplication and libation enough from his hands. With so worthy a man gone down to the House of Hades, the country of the living is left far poorer.

In this nation flung so far from my fatherland, strange enough that the shores of windy Ilios seem almost friendly, I have not the riches I once possessed. I cannot give so grand a funeral as I would wish, as great-hearted Patroclus deserves, like that which I gave on the headland over the Hellespont. There a thousand men harnessed in bronze bore the son of Menoetius to his pyre, each one's heart filled with a dirge, while my deathless mother and all of the daughters of Nereus rose from the sea wailing and beating their breasts - but who in this land shall mourn him so? The honors I heap upon him here shall be only a pale shadow of all that he is worth, and for this my grief grows twofold.

If you have any respect for the dead and for the laws decreed by the gods, then hear my plea. A pyre must be built that my dear friend may pass proper into the House of Hades. At present he wanders lost by death's gates, the Acheron's distant shore far out of reach. How can I rest while he who is dearest to me suffers unwearying? Thus, his pyre must be built today. There is more than space enough in Oakwood Park, which lies to the west. I need strong men to stack the timbers, whatever wood can be found, and others to assist in the slaughter of the oxen, that the rich blood may make sacred the flame. None need worry about drawing the curious eyes of the Woodhurstians, for Sieglinde the Green Witch shall shield the area from sight by her clever magic.

All who come to honor Menoetius' gallant son are welcome to feast afterward. To fill my stomach when my heart is so empty is hateful to me, but what food and wine I have I shall freely share with any who proves a friend to my dear companion even in death.

[CLIFFS NOTES VERSION: His not-at-all-platonic life partner is dead (again), so anyone who lends a hand in performing Ancient Greek funeral practices shall be fed a hearty dinner of oxen kebabs. I will post a log for the funeral this weekend, but that will mostly provide narrative for the various rituals and handle the aftermath. You are more than welcome to assume your character's involvement there or in the feast that follows. If you have any questions or would like to plot, please PM this journal or find me on Discord at aristosachaion#4902!

EDIT 3/15: I have come down with a fever and am slightly dying, but nevertheless I will do my best to persist in answering these tags. Sorry for the delay!]

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I..... I still have training to do, [She warns right away, a thread of that insecurity in her voice. She doesn't want to give him false hope] B-But I'm a spirit medium... in training. If you tell me his full name, if I know what he looks like, I... I can try to reach his spirit. So you can see him again.

[A little pause, the 'to say goodbye' is implied, here]

If.... that's what you want.

You mean to call forth his ghost? Then too did his ghost come to me, looking true to the man in life, kneeling over me that night I lay alone upon the beach weary of heart as I am now. I could hold him not in mine embrace, nor could he stay, but still I heard him speak one last time.

[There hangs not a trace of hesitance in his answer: he knows at once what he wants.]

His name is Patroclus, son of Menoetius of Actor's stock. If you will shortly meet me in the park where the pyre shall be piled high, I can bring a photograph that you can discern his shade from the countless others that clog Hades' gates, waiting for the ferryman Charon to fetch them.

[She got about half of that, but it's the relevant half!!]

[Hopefully]/small>

S-Something like that..... I can call his spirit into my body. You'd be able to um, embrace him and stuff before he, um, takes a ferry ride to unclog Hades's..... gates...... [She trails off uncertainly]

--Right! I'll meet you in the park!

Edited 2017-04-16 03:02 (UTC)

[When she arrives, Achilles is waiting. He has clad himself in the pain black suit loaned by Asher, the fit of which is not quite right. Despite his great stature he now appears somehow smaller, as if whittled away by grief. As if an essential piece of him is missing. As she draws near, he gives a somber greeting.]

Gentle-hearted Maya, I can scarce say how grateful I am that you would venture out in these times of plague and strife.

[From his pocket he produces the photograph, which captures a moment of Sieglinde's birthday party, a cheerful afternoon which now seems so long ago although only a month has passed. This he holds out to Maya. He and Patroclus lean into one another shoulder to shoulder with Sieglinde beaming proudly before them. It was a story they had fabricated, yet what they shared felt nothing short of kinship.

[She's changed, herself-- into comically oversized clothes (if this works, she's going to be channeling a dude, after all), and meditated quickly and as hard as she could while traveling. It's snowing gently, and it's cold, but that's nothing compared to the rushing springs of a waterfall. She just hopes she trained enough.]

[In contrast to his muted, mournful disposition (she only met him once, but it's so jarring to see him like this--) Maya clasps her hands together and bows her head by way of hello.]

Hi, Mr. Achilles! Anytime!

[She's a little too cheerful for a funeral, but this is pretty toned down by Maya's standards]

[She takes the photograph from his hand and looks it over, committing his details to memory, her voice softening a little.]

...You two were really close, huh?

[Even as Maya takes the photograph from him, his gaze lingers on the form of Patroclus, the warmth in his smile, the life in his eyes, and in his chest grows a cleaving pain as he remembers with sharp clarity how it had been to feel that warmth and hear his laughter. Tear gather to cloud his vision, for neither the first time today nor the last time.]

Beyond all my comrades I loved him, and beyond all my comrades he devoted to me the deepest loyalty man can give.

[The words fall quietly, but each one possesses a great weight.]

[She looks at the picture at Achilles down, burning the face and name into her memory. Patroclus, son of Menoetius of Actor's stock.... whatever that means. Well, her memory's sharp.]

[But can she really do this?]

...I lost somebody important to me, too.

[More than one, actually, but Mia's death is still pretty fresh in her mind. She wishes she could reach her spirit, even if just for a second. If he lets her, she'll take his hand briefly to squeeze it gently, before offering him back the picture]

Are you ready, Mr. Achilles?

[She's going to kneel and twine her hands together in a praying motion. There's more of a ceremony, involved, usually, but Maya just wants to succeed at this. The pomp doesn't matter. Only summoning his spirit does.]

[That she understands the burden of loss makes her all the better suited for such an undertaking as this. Hers too is a heart that yearns for those who have slipped through death's hated gates, and thus her voice shall all the more insistently call forth Patroclus' shade.]

I hope that you too shall be reunited with those who were dear to you in life and are dearer still in death.

[Solemnly he nods.]

In my heart I have been ready since the very moment I was burdened with the grievous news. I beg of you, in all your piety - call forth the shade of my dear friend that I may speak with him once more here in the country of the living.

... Thank you.

[Will she ever see her sister again? Well, now's not the time to dwell on it. She closes her eyes, focusing on the man's name and his picture, which has now been burned into her mind]

[She closes her eyes and starts to chant something undecipherable under her breath, calling out--- drawing his spirit into her.]

[Patroclus, son of Menoetius of Actor's stock -- return now, to the world of the living!]

[For a moment, nothing seems to happen. But then... something changes. She changes. If Achilles blinks, he'll miss it]

[When Maya rises again, she isn't herself. It's Patroclus, in her skin, looking almost exactly like himself, size, stature, and all -- the only thing that still remains Maya is her hair.]

[His heart jolts in his breast as if awakening from hibernation, and at first Achilles is shocked into silence as he beholds his dear companion risen from the House of Death, whose gateway unhappy shades do clog as they wait to cross to the far shore. But for the peculiarity of Maya's hair perched atop his pate, he looks every inch the man Achilles knows so well, his second self. Then the words come all at once, and he scarce knows what first to say.]

Patroclus, pleasure of my heart - how I ache to clasp you once more, yet how I fear to find that there is naught around which to circle mine arms. Once before your shade appeared before me only to dissolve like smoke when I purposed to seal you in mine embrace.

[Nevertheless he steps forward, reaching for his friend's shoulders - and when he feels how solid they are, how sturdy beneath his trembling hands, he pulls him into his chest. Patroclus is miraculously warm, for it is Maya's life-warmed body that serves as his vessel. Achilles cheeks grow hot with tears, but what babbles from his lips is akin to laughter, so great is the joy that for this ephemeral moment cleaves through his grief.]

Such is how it might have been had Koltira's godcraft restored the life to your limbs... O, how I have longed for you since that day when away from my sight you fell again.

[Yet such joy wilts fast under the harsh truth that this reunion cannot long last.]

( video ) un: achilles

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