Into the naval base in Patras, warships dock. At long last, the Mindless Ones are back from the Atlas Mountains. Many have brought trophies. A few have brought now-ownerless dog tags...which they've been charged with the unpleasant duty of transporting them back to their now-rightfully-owning, if not rightfully-wearing, families.
From the ships' sterns, the colors of Athens are retired. They may yet live to fly in the wind for another voyage/deployment.
Dion's back, too. He's alive...miraculously. On his back, strapped to his shield, he's brought back the head of the Dreaded Mamba-shark of Dakar. It was a fierce fight...but somehow, Dion the West Greek came out on top.
Hauling the Mamba-shark's head wherever he goes, he makes his way up to the guards' barracks. He stops before the guard who sits smoking at the front door, and rolls a bag across the ground. The bag comes undone, and its contents land at the guard's feet.
It's the head of Hannibal. He's fallen, after all.
Dion smiles. "I do believe you and your bros owe me bounty for that."
With jingling pants, Dion makes his way home. Or rather, he makes his way to freedom. He's just retired from his country's navy. From now on, he's just going to collect art...and share it with whoever would love it enough to pay a fortune for it.
Dion's got no idea what to do now. He now lacks a job and a home. And he has NO experience buying either.
Lucky for him, though, a certain headhuntress has left a paper trail for him to follow. As he wanders alone in Patras, he follows the signs...
At last, he's found a public home near the coast. Dion sighs, crosses his fingers, and enters through the front door.
From a distance, Jovica the Street Mouse spies, and watches. She flaps her hair and adjusts her top...despite having tiny boobs. She...feels unusually attracted to this client, for some reason...
Dion's new landlady shows him to his quarters. He thanks her, and shuts himself inside.
Once inside, he takes off his pack. This includes the Mamba-shark's head, which he's been hauling aback himself all this time. Grown impatient of its weight, Dion takes it, and hurls it up into his space's vaults.
Up there, it reaches its zenith. Abruptly, red ropes of Bloodforce magic appear, weave a certain pattern within the vaults, and suspend the Mamba-shark's head up there. The red ropes materialize, and begin to resemble actual rope.
Dion looks around, when he doesn't hear the head hit the floor. He looks up...and heaves a sigh, once he sees what's happened.
On a dais surrounded by three arched windows, the blood witch Kalyca teleports into view. She wears a black sleeveless top with a red letter alpha embroidered across its front. She's also got a pile of wood in her arms. She throws it away, and banishes it, with a Bloodforce spell, into his new grate. With another Bloodforce spell, she lights the logs.
"Welcome back to Athens," she flaps her red hair, "Dion of Patras."
He scoffs. "Kalyca. Been waiting and whimpering like a Dalmatian sitting at the door for me all this time, have you?"
She shrugs. "It wasn't too bad. I managed. So," she leans against a column, "when do you ship out next?"
He takes off his shirt. "I don't." He takes off his pants, revealing very revealing drawers. "I've retired."
Kalyca sighs. "Shucks. I would've loved to see you try out for chief petty officer."
"As much as I enjoyed getting promoted," he tells her, "if that's truly the reason a man joins the navy, he's no better than the greedy street rat."
She smiles. "You're no street rat. You're a fucking king. Seriously; you should run for elected monarch, sometime."
"You're too kind. But from now on, I plan to collect art." He looks around. "I still have NO idea how I found this place so fast... Even so, my work is only half-done. I need a job, too."
She still grins...despite her chagrin. "I have a new friend, you know. He calls himself Ioannes. He's a bard. He's performed for elected monarchs. I'm not yet sure what he's capable of, but...if you're into folk music, he just might have a job for you. His sets might need décor...assuming you're not big into singing."
Dion scoffs. "I assure you that my singing voice sounds like a lake littered with hardwood logs on a flooding stormy day. Thanks, Kalyca, but...I think I'd rather rely on chance to get where I'm going. I depend on humanity too much as it is. Plus, I've had past girlfriends, you not included, who seem to think that I should gamble more often."
Kalyca shrugs. "Well now that you mention it..." She shakes her head. "It was nice talking to you on your first night back. I'm sorry it couldn't have been more exciting."
"Don't take it personally. But then...I did just get back from a war. Oh, and BTW, I finally killed Hannibal, that asshat of a Carthaginian. And I've still got the bounty I got from him in the pants I just took off..."
Kalyka opens her hand, and conjures a gold coin from that bounty, summoning it directly from that pile of pants on the floor. She blows across the coin, and smiles. "Consider this a love tax," she tells him, stuffing the coin between her two great hooters. "Without luck, I just might have a scallop shell re-engraved on its 'heads' side..."
"And a shield engraved on its 'tails' side, I suppose?"
"HEY!" She points a finger. "I don't tell you how to do your job! So don't tell me how to do mine!"
Dion freezes. One thing he's learned about Kalyca over the years is that once she sets herself on fire, there's no limit to how much damage she can do that way...
Alas, she only yawns, smiles, and waves goodbye. "It's been pleasant enough, Dion." She adjusts her top, deliberately wiggling her huge hooters in the process. "Have a nice retirement, and... As usual," she winks and flaps her red hair, "come out and see me sometime!" With that, she teleports away, leaving Dion in peace.
Dion scoffs, and finishes making up his new space. "Women," he mutters. "Just when I think I've got them figured out..."