Authors' Notes: Finals soon, might be slight delays. Also might not be. Set expectations low and feel happy when we surprise you.
—Parsek
θ
GROVER
Lvl. 49 Shepherd
Grover wasn't all that surprised when the Nemean Lion dropped its impenetrable coat. He grew up on the story. Everyone did. The pelt was almost as iconic as Herakles himself.
Its teeth, on the other hand…
Nestled in the golden fur was a single, massive incisor. It was roughly the length of Grover's forearm and gleaming a stark, even white. Neither he nor Annabeth moved to grab it. Handling the spoils of such a magical beast was always finicky, and without any foreknowledge on what its teeth did, the Shepherd wasn't brave enough to disturb it. The devastation caused by the viridescent fires of Khimaera's venom wasn't likely to leave his memory anytime soon.
Jason, of course, had no such qualms. He immediately bent down and plucked the tooth off the pelt—motioning as if he meant to set it to the side. The second the smooth bone touched his fingertips, it began to change. Its curved profile straightened out as it widened at the base and lost several dactyloi. Finally, a hole was burrowed out the now-flattened bottom, making its purpose in this new form all the more obvious.
"Huh. Well, that's disappointing." Jason brought the primitive spearhead up to his nose and stared down its length. "I don't suppose you'd want to attach a thrusting point to your staff, eh Grover?"
The Shepherd hid his staff behind his back.
"Annabeth? Ever feel like learning the spear?" he offered.
She rolled her eyes and pushed the spoil back towards him. "Keep it. It's always good to have a spare."
Percy let out a low groan from his spot on the floor.
"He won't want it either."
"Guys!" Rachel's voice barely carried out the trapdoor, layered under an eerie echo. "Is everything alright!?"
Annabeth's eyes widened dramatically. "Kèpfos!" she cursed, before running to the edge of the portal. "Rachel!" she called back down. "Are you okay!?"
Grover limped over and peered down into the hole. Several akainae below was a wide circular pool surrounded by what looked like beds. Rachel was standing on one as she yelled through her cupped hands, her flat, drenched hair giving her the appearance of a harried red animal caught in the rain.
"I'm fine! What's taking so long!?"
"Percy killed it! We're sorting through the spoils! We'll be down soon!"
Jason joined them. "It's a drop?"
Annabeth nodded. "She promised it was safe and jumped in before I could stop her."
"How are we going to get Percy down there?"
Grover's eyes drifted from the neatly folded pelt draped over Jason's shoulder to the scraps of rope scattered in the gilded sand. "I think I have an idea."
"Just a little more!"
Grover watched tensely as the bundle was lowered another pous so that the floppy tail just barely brushed the surface of the water. Percy moaned painfully from inside the pouch of lion fur they'd tucked him in and started grabbing blindly for his bearings.
"Wuzgoinon?" he slurred.
"Okay, you're clear!"
Jason let go of the rope and Percy dropped into the pool with a resounding splash.
A string of foul curses exploded from the Raider's mouth as he thrashed around the pelt. "Grover!" His screams dramatically bounced off the vaulted ceiling, only barely overtaking the Shepherd's laughter.
It turned out Grover wasn't seeing things. The rest of the room really was filled with ornate stuffed beds. Either Rachel or the Labyrinth itself seemed to be trying to send them a message, and everyone was so far past the maze's trickery—or perhaps Rachel's guidance—that no one questioned their sudden good fortune.
Percy and Annabeth were asleep in seconds, the former tucked under the lion skin and the latter using her unpinned himation as a blanket. A mix of the cool water and some of the House of Life's herbs helped to slightly soothe his brother's toil, but what he needed most of all was rest. Annabeth had simply overdone it with her first spell in the battlefield. She wasn't waking up anytime soon.
Grover—on the other hand—was relatively fine. Again. He wasn't ignorant of the growing trend, nor its source. He wasn't built for fighting on the front lines. There was only so much a good thwack from his staff could do against the worst Terrors of Tartaros. He was the Support. The Steed. It was his job to make those around him better—quite literally now that Percy had Warcry. He patched everyone up after the action and occasionally Pacified the errant monster into submission.
Rachel was up as well, clearly far too wired to even attempt a lie-down. Technically, she had it even easier than Grover did, but he could only applaud her tenacity. She was very quick to adapt to the general chaos of their life.
Despite landing one of the only significant hits on the Nemean Lion, Jason hadn't done too much either. It was all over rather quickly.
The odd trio pushed a few beds into a rough circle before starting a small fire between them, warming their weary hands in the flickering glow. The light danced under their chins as Rachel swiped a candle through the embers. Soon, the aromas of glazed ham and soft bread wafted throughout the chamber. Grover smiled gratefully as he accepted his portion, tearing a shimmering chunk off his pork.
"For the Corn Mother," he whispered, raising the offering above his forehead. He tossed it into the fire and sighed as it crumbled to ash. It was the first time since starting the quest that Grover had the chance to follow the proper rites. They seldom had the downtime necessary for a proper meal. The Shepherd blanched before rushing to rip off a handful of bread and throwing that in as well. "And for the Horned One," he added quickly. Pan, the God of Shepherds. When he first started out, Grover hadn't realised that Shepherds had a separate patron at all, assuming they served under Demeter like his father and every other Farmer class on Montauk. It was only after one of his mother's associates clued him in that he realised exactly what he'd been missing out on for most of his classed life. And where they were going? He'd need all the help he could get.
In the corner of his eye, he saw Jason and Rachel doing the same. The Lancer stuffed a few golden drachmae into his bread before throwing the entire thing into the pit. "For Father," he intoned, stoking the fire with the tip of his spear. Rachel only closed her eyes as she poured some wine over the embers.
Grover's eyes traced the burning loaf as it flaked away, joining the plume of white smoke that seemed to phase right through the cavernous ceiling, the gold nowhere to be seen. "Your father?" he asked, glancing towards his brother's prone form. "You're a demigod, then. Like Percy."
Jason's easy smile dimmed a touch. "I am," he confirmed. "My father is the King."
A mouthful of pork was sucked down Grover's throat and got lodged halfway to his stomach.
He slammed his fist against his chest and chugged some watered wine, coughing and hacking into the smoke. "I'm sorry?" he wheezed as his throat cleared.
The Son of Zeus chuckled wryly and handed him the rest of his wine. An actual child of Zeus just handed him some wine like they were peers. Ma Dia, they were peers.
Jason shifted in his seat. "I didn't think you'd react so strongly. Isn't Percy one of the Earthshaker's?" he asked, rubbing his neck.
That was fair. But Percy was Percy. And his Skills reflected his lineage…
Wait…
"What level are you?"
Whatever the Lancer was expecting, it certainly wasn't that. Things like levels were normally quite personal, but they'd nearly died together. Grover didn't think he'd mind. He blinked twice before answering, "Sixty-two."
Thirteen levels higher. Jason—far and away the most powerful mortal Grover had ever known in his life—was only thirteen levels higher than him. He thought back to what it was like over a year ago, right before healing Khiron with the Fleece. Sixteen levels ago. Compared to then, the Shepherd was certainly stronger, but the difference between him then and him now couldn't hold a candle to the difference between him and Jason. And that was with three extra levels of the difference!
Was this what it meant to be a demigod? Would Percy be like this as he grew?
"Golden Lightning, I should have known."
Grover and Jason turned towards Rachel, a faraway look in her eyes. The former was quite shocked she could ever be surprised by anything. If he'd had her abilities, he definitely wouldn't have had the restraint necessary to keep from using them constantly, Skill Fatigue be damned.
"What?" Jason asked, tilting his head.
"'An apt method of claiming.' That's what you called it. My painting. You were being claimed by your father."
"I hope so," he chuckled. Grover tilted his head curiously. Jason grinned abashedly before explaining, "Piper and I could finally get married if I bore a Hero's Label. I'd go from the bastard of a dead Actress to a proven Son of Zeus. Her father doesn't like me much, but even he couldn't protest if I was claimed."
Grover supposed it was as good a reason as any to take a quest.
Jason rubbed one of the beads on his necklace and reached his other hand into… somewhere. The flesh from his wrist to his fingertips vanished, not even exposing his anatomy or a stump, simply disappearing entirely from certain angles. His elbow swayed to and fro as he rifled around for his prize. "Aha!" he exclaimed, whipping his hand out and unsheathing a bound scroll. White smoke began to curl from between his rubbing fingers, the bead spent for now.
Rachel's eyes locked onto the roll. "Is that…?"
He unfurled the painting and turned it towards them. Most of the pigment was cast in shadow, but a jagged storm of golden lightning shone through the pervading darkness. The Lancer angled the page so the firelight would properly illuminate the brushstrokes. "It's your prophecy."
"You took a prophecy from Rachel?" Grover asked, peering at the painting. It was unlike any of the Surrealist's previous prophecies, which typically appeared as a mess of lines and coloured spots for everyone but the recipient. Instead, it appeared more in tune with the work she'd introduced herself with: Grover's triumphant ride on the Krios Khrysomallos. Technically prophetic, but the Shepherd hadn't realised it counted as an actual prophecy.
Her eyebrows furrowed together as she squinted at the piece. Her bangles clashed against each other violently as she jumped to her feet and swiped the offending parchment. "You finished it!?"
Jason grimaced and shuffled awkwardly under the scrutiny. "A few weeks ago, I realised that the weird angular lines in the background were of the Labyrinth. And it only built from there. Suddenly all of the other stylistic details started to make sense to me." He turned to Rachel for answers, but she pointedly refused to look in his direction. "It's hard to describe…"
"I understand," Grover chimed in. The sensation of processing Rachel's prophecies was strange enough. He couldn't imagine what it would feel like if the feeling appeared suddenly without warning.
"Two days later, I received a message from Khiron's network. Demigods were disappearing all over Hellas. No threats, no ransom demands, nothing. Just there one moment and gone the next. I hightailed to Delphi to commission a full prophecy, but they've closed their borders, full lockdown. Apparently, the daughter of an important Patron was abducted."
Grover nearly choked again. Rachel coughed dryly from behind the painting. Jason glanced up at them oddly but continued his story.
"I had to make do with what I had, so I hired one of the Groundskeepers attending the Grove of Dodona to fill in the gaps."
The Surrealist scoffed in derision. "You shouldn't have wasted your silver. Have you actually been using this?"
"It brought me to you guys…"
"I brought—" Rachel clammed up before releasing an exasperated sigh. "Fine." She pushed the painting into Grover's lap and flopped down into her mattress. "I'm going to bed. I suggest you two do the same."
They both stared at her back, wondering if she had truly dozed off that quickly. After a few seconds, Grover flushed as he realised they were effectively watching the woman sleep.
He turned down to the slightly crumpled parchment in his lap and smoothed it out with his knuckles. He could definitely see the parts where a second hand tried to contribute to the scene. The vague silhouette at Jason's feet was a dead giveaway, as were the messier details speckled around the margins. Rachel's uncanny realism made for a sharp contrast with the amateur's crude shapes.
Grover's fingernail traced the texture of the paint and slowed considerably when he reached the familiar geometry of Jason's golden spear. "Your spear. It isn't celestial bronze, is it?" Grover could still feel the small scars where the point had nicked him when the Lancer carried him out of the flooding Labyrinth.
Jason looked slightly bemused. "No, it's not," he confirmed as he summoned said weapon into his hand. "I'm not too sure of the specifics, but it's a special type of enchanted gold. I took it from a horde of telkhines during a quest I took two years ago."
Telkhines. The supposed inventors of metalworking and the master smiths behind Poseidon's earthshaking trident. If the stories were true, they weren't exactly a group to be trifled with.
"How'd you manage that?"
"Oh, it was much easier after they blew themselves up," Jason chuckled, spinning the spear around his waving fingers. "This stuff is notoriously volatile. One wrong move…" He flicked his wrist and stabbed the tip into the fire, sending a fountain of sparks several podes high.
Grover's bed went skidding back against stone as he jumped up into it, shielding his very wooden leg from the showering embers under his bag.
"Watch it!"
Jason winced apologetically and rushed to his side. "Sorry about that."
"It's alright," Grover muttered, scratching off some soot trapped in the cleft of his carved hoof. "I normally take it off to sleep anyways." He reached under his calf to do just that, but his hand froze as he realised he had an audience. "Do you mind turning around?" he asked Jason nervously, scratching the back of his neck.
He took the request in stride and sat back down in his bed to give Grover some privacy. With practised hands, he pulled loose the straps and pulled off the cup that normally held his stump. The odour tickled his nose, but thankfully he'd remembered to hold his breath. They weren't too far from the pool, so Grover was able to hobble over and dunk the rancid cup into the refreshing waters.
It took three cycles to get the worst of the smell out, and Grover even dipped his stump in to cool the slight swelling typical of leaving his leg on for too long.
When he returned to the group, he propped the leg in front of the fire to dry and set his staff against the head of his bed. After a short, slightly awkward lapse of listening to the crackling fire and Percy's sleepy muttering, Jason started speaking.
"When I was thirteen, I took a quest to slay the Ketos Troias. It was terrorising the coasts of Crete and, eventually, it made enough noise for a local Patron to post a reward for proof of its death. I was just starting out, I had no clue just how in over my head I was…" He almost seemed unaware of what he was saying as he pulled the top of his chiton down and leaned into the light. Grover recoiled instinctively at the grisly image of his chest. Where his collarbone normally would have been was instead a gnarled mess of knotted flesh. Bright violet veins filled in the webbing cracks, spreading from a circular pool over his sternum. The smooth, flat colour only highlighted the necrotic nature of his charred skin from his pectoral to the base of his neck. "Its venom was a lot more potent than we realised, and it had already eaten through the top layer of my left lung before it was purged from my body. Even with the rest of our nectar and ambrosia, I wasn't healing. I would have drowned in my own blood if it weren't for Khiron's quick thinking."
He leaned back into the shadows and readjusted the cloth to cover the worst of the scars. It didn't help. The sickening sight remained firmly in the forefront of Grover's mind. "Why?" he asked, lacking the words necessary to voice the full spirit of his question. Why would Jason show him this? Was he hoping Soothing Strains would help him? How was he able to talk, much less fight at the level he does? Even if he wasn't currently bleeding out, that didn't mean he was suddenly capable while missing a layer of his lung!
Jason seemed to get the general gist. "It's a mix of juniper berries, tree sap and a lot of magic our Master used to seal my wounds shut, replacing the missing tissue with an artificial stopgap. It works, but only barely, and in one fell swoop, my Passive became worthless. My endurance is almost entirely shot. I do my best to end fights as quickly as possible because I'd be nothing but a hindrance if I overexerted myself. My Brh hasn't risen more than two points at a time in over four years." Despite everything he was saying, the Lancer didn't seem bitter. He had the same calm aura he'd always had, acting as if they were discussing something as mundane as what he'd had for breakfast.
Grover realised he was gaping like a fish, or perhaps Pyla whenever she left the water. His mouth snapped closed with an audible click. "Your Passive?" he asked tentatively, realising he never actually learned the specifics of Jason's abilities beyond a proficiency in magic.
"My Aspects temporarily increase while holding my breath. Before my injury, I could double my Bdy before a fight after several minutes. The boost is compounding; I get a minuscule multiplier after the first minute and it grows from there. Nowadays, I can't even reach two."
A Passive was as much a piece of someone's personality as their demeanour. To have it rendered nearly moot? To be cut off from it? Grover couldn't imagine his life without the herd. Percy's stubborn perseverance in the face of danger was easy to see in Shorelegs. Annabeth's self-sufficiency set her apart from other Strategists. She placed herself on the front lines and enacted her own plans, rather than directing everyone else from behind a wall of gormless Shields.
"You're more than your limits," Jason intoned, facing the fire. He said this with a familiar air befitting an oft-used mantra, and for a second Grover wasn't entirely certain he was the one the Lancer was assuring. "Khiron developed the roles precisely for this purpose. To cover all our bases against stronger opponents."
The fact that Jason had already told them about many of his most recent quests and not once had he ever mentioned joining a party was never addressed.
When Grover woke up next he was chained to the bed. Because of course he was. It had been several hours since the last disaster, they were overdue another.
"No one thought to keep watch?" Annabeth asked shrilly.
"Five guests! Five! It must be my lucky day!"
His torso was held down, but he could still move his head. There, standing in the ashes of their firepit, was a gargantuan man with the face of a lizard. He was entirely hairless, and he wore nothing but a leopard-pattern loincloth that clashed violently with his grey, leathery skin. He was also grinning madly, swinging a mammoth dented iron hammer around as if performing for the summer festivals. Clanking from his waist was a double-edged brass battle axe, the edges stained with what Grover vainly pretended wasn't blood. On a normal day, all of this would have been enough to send him running for the Underwood, but his nameplate alone sent the Shepherd's heart plunging back into the freezing pool.
Prokroustes, Blacksmith.
The Stretcher.
"Welcome to my Temple of Sleep!" Prokroustes announced boisterously, throwing out a hand comparable to Goliath's head. "The final resting place for weary heroes! Aged beef, anyone?" He pulled out a tray of rotting meat from under his loincloth and offered it to a violently gagging Rachel. "No?" He whipped the dish behind him and barely twitched when it exploded against the stone wall.
"P-Prokroustes, sir?" Grover stammered out, desperately praying for some semblance of eloquence. Last he'd heard of the giant, Theseus killed him on his own steel bed. Clearly, he'd expanded his tastes somewhat. Hopefully involving a distinct reduction in murderous intent.
"Crusty, lad. Call me Crusty."
"Crusty then." Grover's tongue felt like hot sand in his mouth. He swallowed. "We didn't realise we were trespassing. We'll just be on our way—"
"Nonsense!" Prokroustes cried, hefting his hammer over his shoulder. "I can't have guests leave my temple without a good night's sleep on a bed that fits them. Your friend understands," he gestured grandly in Jason's direction. "He's the perfect height for my beds! You're a little too tall, but that's no problem. The Saboteur's going to take the most work, so we'll start with her. Maybe four or five dactyloi. You mortals are much softer than steel, so I'll switch to something subtler for this job."
The mad Blacksmith dropped the mighty mallet onto one of the beds and took out a much more sensible tool the size of Grover's thigh.
Thick, yellowish fingers wrapped around Annabeth's neck as Prokroustes lined up his swing, his palm so immense that her mouth was incidentally covered as well. She started screaming through his hand, her chains rattling as she struggled. "Now I'm gonna need you to stay still. You move too much and you'll develop a warp. I don't have the right tools to straighten you out again if that happens." Her muffled yelling only increased in pitch and volume. He raised his hammer above his head.
"Wait!" someone shouted.
Prokroustes stopped what he was doing and turned towards Grover. Katàratos, that was him?
"What's wrong, little Shepherd?"
Grover's eyes swept the room for inspiration, or perhaps divine intervention. Eventually, they settled on himself. "I need more work than Annabeth."
"What!?" Her chains rattled again.
Grover flinched. "Ignore her. I'm uneven." He gestured towards the straps around his calf and stuck his wooden hoof out from under the chains. "You see? You'd probably need to even me out again and stretch me to length."
Prokrousted leaned over his body and peered curiously at his stump. "Huh… you're right. After I set you square, it'll take ages to draw you back out. Thanks for the tip!" He replaced his hammer and pulled the axe from his belt. "I don't need to tell you to hold still, do I?"
He frantically shook his head. "Of course not, I appreciate the importance of precision, but don't you want to mark a line first? You know: measure twice, cut once. I'd really like to avoid any mishaps. Not that I'm doubting your skill, of course, but the floors are slippery." Well, they were when Grover first fell asleep.
The Blacksmith seemed to think it over. "You know what?" he boomed. "For a careful man after my own heart, I'd be glad to! I don't have my awl with me, though. Do you have something I can use?"
"My spear!"
Grover—and, presumably, Prokroustes—turned towards Jason. What? He was stalling. Stalling was all about extending the time available to think up a new solution. Why was the Lancer speeding the process along?
"What's that, lad?"
His arms were tied, but the Lancer angled his wrist so he could point at the golden pole stuck in the earth. "It's enchanted gold. It'll cut mortals just fine."
"Ah, perfect!" The giant ripped the spear out of the ground and flipped it over to inspect the tip. "This'll do," he muttered under his putrid breath, flicking the razor edge with the pad of his thumb.
Grover whimpered.
"Alright, then," Prokroustes held the spear like an oversized pen. He pressed the tip to Grover's left shin. The Shepherd hissed with poorly repressed pain as blood welled up around the cut.
But just as the blade was starting to drag across his skin, it was wrenched away from the giant's grip. Jason stood over the bed, smiling mischievously. "Thanks for that," he said, light gathering in the whites of his eyes. He twisted around and slammed his fist under the Prokroustes' mottled chin.
The Blacksmith's head snapped back as he fell back onto three of the beds, reducing them to kindling. Jason pulled out a small piece of ambrosia and held it to Grover's lips. "Eat up. Are you alright?"
Grover popped the golden square into his mouth and groaned as his cut grew very hot, knitting back together before his eyes. "Thanks, I'm fine. Quick thinking."
The Lancer nodded and stabbed right through the bed frame. The chains came loose and Grover was able to extract himself out from under them. Jason repeated the process three more times and soon they all surrounded the hospitable beast.
Prokroustes eyed their various weapons levelled at him and raised his hands. "Hey, you're free! Well done. You've passed my test. Please, collect your prize!"
The attempt was so ridiculous Grover almost believed him. Almost.
"You've won! Congratulations! You can traverse my corner of the Labyrinth freely! Just go on through that door and leave me here to clean up—" He collapsed into a shower of golden sand, falling away around the haft of Jason's spear.
The clatter of metal was only slightly dampened by the sand as his knotted belt of tools fell to the floor, the attached leopard-print loincloth fluttering behind it. Various sizes of hammers, punches and tongs went spilling across the grainy stone floor.
"Huh." Jason kicked the mess of knots over with his sandaled foot. "Is that it? Does anyone want anything?"
Rachel made a face before picking it up. Immediately it shrank down to a more manageable size. She held it at arm's length. "I could use a new belt, but I'm not wearing this until we remove the cloth and burn it."
Grover thought that was perfectly reasonable. "Percy?"
His brother sighed and held out his hand. In seconds the knots released the loincloth widened considerably. Rachel smiled and slipped the braid over her chiton.
"So now what?" Annabeth asked, dropping at the foot of a bed, notably a different one than the one she'd been chained to only minutes prior. "We should keep moving," she suggested, though her heart clearly wasn't into it.
"Can't we just stay the night?" Grover asked, leaning heavily on his staff. "I don't think any of us got the rest we need."
"After we were just attacked?"
"We killed the thing that attacked us. We can keep a guard this time. Rotate shifts so that everyone can get enough sleep."
Annabeth smirked. "That's a great idea, Grover. Why don't you take the first watch since it was your idea?"
"Yeah, thanks Grover," Rachel slapped him on the back and jumped into her bed.
"Wait, what?"
"Thanks, man, real generous of you." Percy didn't even bother hiding his amusement.
Jason only shrugged before following Percy.
Grover sputtered as he scrambled for a reasonable explanation for why it was unreasonable to saddle him with the job. He eventually found one, but by then everyone else had already fallen asleep.
Grover
Lvl. 49 Shepherd
Aspects
Mnd: 143
Bdy: 152
Brh: 140
Sol: 198
Rkn: 184
Passive: Head of the Herd
Grants Grover his Herd, an extension of himself.
Skills
Harvest: A dutiful farmer is blessed with a bountiful harvest.
Pacify: A skilful Farmer's soothing voice has a calming effect on even the most troubled of creatures.
Locate Stragglers: Wanderlust is common in all manners of domesticated beasts. A proper caretaker becomes quite adept at tracking them down.
Flock's Vanguard: A good Shepherd must put his flock before himself, even to his own detriment.
Soothing Strains: The sweet sounds of music after a hard day's work is always good for the Mind, Body and Soul.
Shepherd's Call: A flock will recognise their Shepherd's voice. They will come when called upon.
Glossary
Akaina — Ancient Greek unit of measurement; Analog to the story, roughly three [3] metres, Ten [10] podes per akaina.
Dactylos — Ancient Greek unit of measurement; Analog to the inch, Sixteen [16] dactyloi per pous.
Demeter — Goddess of Agriculture, Fertility, Sacred Law & the Harvest: Daughter of Kronos and Rhea; the Corn Mother.
Grove of Dodona — An ancient oracle that predates the Oracle of Delphi; Sacred to the Titaness Rhea.
Golden Drachma — Large golden coins; Currency of the divine.
Golden Fleece — The fleece of the divine ram Khrysomallos; Said to have revitalising properties.
Hellas — The Greek peninsula, and nearby archipelago; What the Ancient Greeks (Hellenes) called the Balkans.
Herakles — God of Heroes, Athletics & Strength: Son of Zeus; The most famous hero throughout all of history, known for completing twelve impossible tasks.
Ketos Troias — The Trojan Sea Monster; Killed by Herakles.
Khimaera — Gestalt: Child of Typhon and Ekhidna; A serpentine wraith that inhabits patchwork bodies birthed by its mother.
Khiron — Master: Son of the Titan Kronos and nymph Philyra; the Immortal trainer of heroes.
Khrysomallos — The divine ram by which the Golden Fleece was shorn.
Ma Dia — A generic exclamation; Literally translating to 'By God (Zeus)'.
Nemean Lion — A giant, monstrous lion with impenetrable skin and metal-shearing claws; First killed by Herakles.
Pan — God of the Wild, Nature, Shepherds and Flocks & Rustic Music: One of the oldest Gods, his origins are shrouded in mystery; Beloved by the Gods.
Podes — The pluralised form of Pous, 'Foot': Ancient Greek unit of measurement; Equivalent to the foot.
Poseidon — King of the Oceans, Poseidon is the second male Olympian and the god of the seas, storms, earthquakes and horses.
Prokroustes — Blacksmith: Prokroustes would trap travellers on his iron bed and stretch them to fit with his hammering skills; Killed by Theseus.
Telkhines — The Master Smiths of the Titanic Age; Inventors of Metalworking and the Craftsmen behind Kronos' Scythe and Poseidon's Trident.
Theseus — Champion; Son of Poseidon, Theseus is most famous for the legendary defeat of Asterion the Minotaur and the founding of Athens.
Zeus — King of the Gods, Zeus is the youngest male Olympian and the god of the sky and thunder.
A/N: Honestly, at this point it'd be weird if we weren't late. Crusty's here! And he's different! Gasp! Well actually he's closer to how he was in myth. Prokroustes means to stretch with a hammer, the same way a Blacksmith stretches out a billet.
Happy December, everyone. It's officially Christmas EveX24.
—Pincoat