Authors' Notes: "I've got it! We set fire to the sun!"
They set fire to the sun and the world was saved. Everyone (except Jason) lived a medium level of happiness for the rest of their lives.
The End.
—Parsek
PS: If you understand the reference, you get a cookie. Merry Non-Denominational Commercialised Holiday, and Happy New Year! The last chapter of Accord, and thus, Kleonauts, will be released later today, to make up for missing last week.
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GROVER
Lvl. 53 Shepherd
Thalia cut through them like they were swathes of grain.
Cavalry, indeed. She was an entire battalion in her own right, though she lacked the structure and discipline her title implied. If anything, she was a storm—an active whirlwind of bronze, bone and wood as torrential sheets of makeshift spears rained from above, multiplying in their flight and blocking out the sun streaming into the cavern. It was never-ending. Every harpoon thrown replaced by another as she seemingly pulled them from everywhere. Not hidden on her body or in a storage spell like Jason, but from their surroundings, arming herself from decrepit skeletons piled in the corners or tearing fully-formed weapons straight out of the stone walls.
And then there was Thalia herself. Her buffeting blows landed faster than Grover could follow. She'd simply appear at their sides, their retaliatory strikes never coming close before she'd send them flying across the room. Or perhaps…
Grover's knees buckled against the weight of Thalia's overhead swing, shooting stabbing pain up his thighs as they slammed into the dirt. Despite standing a full head shorter than him, the Cavalry threw around the strength of five soldiers, shattering Grover's practised guard with a minimalistic flick of her haft.
A full year of rigorous training honing his stance under the greatest Master to ever live, and Thalia had reduced it to nothing with a single overpowered hit. She drew her arms back and dispassionately, almost lazily, thrusted towards his exposed throat.
His head was jerked to the side, barely dodging a quick and painful death as a jutting spike around the base of her current speartip—another sharpened pine cone—carved a bloody line across his cheek. Thalia growled and turned towards Grover's saviour. Her fist whipped up and caught the flying dagger by the hilt, before using its blade to deflect the next two.
"These children hold you back, Annabeth. You're—what—seventeen? Eighteen? And you're the same level as this idiot?" To punctuate her point, she cracked her styrax across the Shepherd's temple as she twisted away to avoid another knife.
Grovers ears popped and a throbbing symphony of ringing exploded in his forehead. A wave of nausea rolled through his stomach. Boiling bile bubbled in his throat before he forcibly shoved it back down and spat out a glob of red mud. The whiplash from Puppetry was bad enough. A concussion was almost assured at this point. At least.
"Why are you doing this!?" Annabeth pleaded, drawing another set of knives from under her chiton. "What happened to you?"
An amused smirk tugged on the corners of Thalia's cracked lips. "Enough. Sit still this time." That was all the warning Grover got before she raised her spear with full intention of impaling him into the ground.
A vengeful Warcry was her answer. Percy charged in and hardly stuttered when the Cavalry's spear glanced off the side of his abdomen. Grover was already being dragged away by Annabeth's Skill.
"Protect Rachel!" she commanded, before scurrying off to help Percy.
The Shepherd's swept the room for their wayward Surrealist and found her crouched between the bloody cut boulder—miraculously untouched by the blast—and the curved wall.
He'd lost his staff in the explosion—and there was so much debris scattered everywhere he didn't trust his chances of traversing on foot—so he got down on his knees and started crawling. He reached her after a couple of minutes. Her head was tucked between her knees and her neck was trembling. His hearing was a bit muted from Thalia's abuse, but he could still make out the sound of her breathy whimpering.
"Rachel!" he hissed, tossing his bag in front of him and scanning her for wounds. "What's wrong?" Nothing immediately jumped out at him, but that didn't mean much. The way she was hunched over, she could have shards in her stomach or chest from the collapsing ceiling. He pulled out a pinch of pain relief and rolled it as tight as his raw fingers would allow.
She mumbled something unintelligible.
"What was that?" he prompted again before popping the medicinal wad into his mouth. If she was seriously hurt, the first step was to make sure she didn't fall asleep. Keep her talking, keep her active. The more she could tell him the better he could heal her. Soothing Strains was great, but it wasn't foolproof. If he was hasty, he could risk trapping debris under a layer of skin or causing an infection.
She finally lifted her head and Grover nearly recoiled at her appearance. Half her face was caked with grey dust, giving her the appearance of a corpse. Her nose was swollen and twisted, with a dark muddy trail running down her lip. Her eyes were no better—all red, puffy and wild—coupled with a frizzy mess of hair almost bursting from her clips to really frame the unhinged look.
"Golden lightning!" she forced out between sobs. "He took this quest because of my painting! I sold him an unfinished prophecy for ten drachmae! Ten! And now he's… he's…"
Grover's hand dropped to the impression of the scroll through his bag. Rachel's more traditional works were always symbolic, representative of events without diving into the minutia. Indirect summaries. Jason wasn't triumphantly basking in his victory. The golden lightning wasn't his father laying claim to him. Metaphors were already difficult to decipher on a normal day. Without the Surrealists meticulous attention to detail, any interpretation could easily shift from the realm of imprecise directly into just plain wrong.
"It's not your fault, Rachel, you couldn't have known." His voice came out a lot less confident than he intended. In truth, Grover didn't actually know what information she was or wasn't privy to at any given moment. For all he knew, she could have.
If her ramping sobs were anything to go by, he wasn't helping. He swept the room with his eyes until they settled on the corridor they came from. A decently-sized chunk of the ceiling had fallen in the entrance, but it was nothing they couldn't squeeze past.
"We're going to get you out of here, alright?"
She didn't give any indication that she heard him, but Grover was perfectly willing to drag her away if it came down to it.
"We'll have to be quick about it. Can you stand on your own?"
His only answer was a tense silence—.
Grover stopped short. Where was Warcry?
He peeked over the rancid rock and felt his blood freeze in his veins. Thalia was grinning viciously as she lifted Percy by his neck, the Raider desperately clawing at her hand to no avail. The tattered remains of his rope could barely qualify as twine, curling around her wrist and snapping in the face of her titanic strength.
Annabeth's absence sent dread shooting down his spine, but he spotted her only after a second. Not that her state assuaged his panic any; she was pinned to the wall with a stone spear sprouting from her mangled shoulder. The sticky cloth of her chiton was dark and shiny with her blood, and her complexion was closer to her pale blonde hair than her normal bronze.
Grover dropped back behind the boulder and pawed at his chest. Something was straining to get out
"Rachel!" The Shepherd gripped her collar and shook her back to life. "Look at me! Look! I need you to focus!"
Her movements were erratic, but she had enough presence of mind to glance at his belt. Close enough. He'd take what he could get.
"Are you listening?"
Her head jerked in a passable imitation of a nod.
"What do I do?"
"W-what?" she whispered hoarsely.
Grover let out a frustrated sigh and lifted her chin so he was staring straight down her nose. The time for passive following was long over. "What. Do. I. Do?"
The Surrealist stilled. Focus returned to her dilated eyes before they were overtaken by a flickering green glow. A chorus of snakes hissed under her tongue as she spoke with the voice of another woman. A much… older woman. "Ask me again."
Grover took a deep, steadying breath before leaning in close.
"Oi!" Grover whipped a small stone at Thalia's head. She barely glanced in his direction before deftly plucking it out of the air. Her grip on his brother slackened a bit, and the Raider had just enough time to gasp painfully before she grabbed him by the hair and slammed her forehead into his nose. With a short flick, the rock flattened and stretched into a point.
"Thanks. I'm low on pine cones."
"Wud wuth thad, gràthon!?"
The Shepherd winced. He'd only meant to get her attention. Percy would forgive him soon. Probably. Maybe?
…
What was taking them so long? Surely, they weren't that far.
Thalia held her new spearhead up to the light—angling it as if checking the edge—before rearing back to drive it into Percy's heart.
A white blur of wool and aggression crashed into the back of her knees.
Grover wasn't sure if she was caught off guard or genuinely in pain, but either way it was enough for her to drop Percy. Obelix bleated exuberantly before streaking away from Thalia's wrath faster than the eye could blink.
Immensely faster than she could when he last saw her.
The Cavalry growled angrily and stomped through Percy's torso. Bile burned in Grover's throat as the Raider's chest caved inward with a sickening crunch, his gasps cutting short with a strangled wheeze. Viscous red fluid bubbled over the cracks in his lips.
A deep, guttural roar echoed around the chamber. The slab in front of the exit exploded into rubble as a great furred behemoth charged into the fray. Grover's heart soared at the sight of their heaviest hitter, but Thalia only scoffed and punted Percy's body under Goliath's massive paws.
The hound yelped and tripped over his tail to avoid trampling the prone Raider. In the space of an exhale he deflated—shrinking back to the same runt he was two years ago. Fortunate for Percy's survival, but he definitely couldn't do that when they left the Two Lands.
Grover felt Myrine's rough scales sliding against his ankle before he even noticed her; her typical stripes of greys had been replaced to match the surrounding dirt. She coiled around his calf and slithered up his leg—similarly mimicking his skin and chiton beneath her—to reclaim her spot draped over his shoulders.
The familiar pinch of Crow's talons settled in his scalp as the bossy parrot took roost in his hair. At least he seemed normal.
A rhythmic series of clicks rolled from his colourful beak. Grover's face fell flat when Pyla nudged her way past his legs and answered with her own cascading clicks, a bright-green, translucent shield blinking into existence in front of them. It was a bulbous shape with seven sharp ridges running down its length, and something about it was distinctly familiar.
Dark, leathery flippers swept clouds of dirt up around Grover's ankles, drawing his eyes back down to Pyla's fortified back.
Oh. Right.
Thalia's image was warped in the curvature of the floating shell, but Grover could still see her tilt her head warily as she ripped a fresh pole out of the ground and twisted it into her stone blade.
"Grover." She drew out his name as if testing how it felt on her lips. "Interesting. For a Shepherd, at least." Her eyes crackled with suppressed lightning.
She appeared several bēmata to the left and let her spear fly before Grover even registered she'd moved. Pyla hissed and strained her neck in vain. Myrine tightened around his throat and vanished. Crow let go of his hair and screeched in warning.
And then Obelix rammed into his side.
It hurt. Gods, how hard was her head? And her horns. Thank Pan they were curled backwards, but the hard, rigid protrusions almost certainly bruised—if they didn't already break—a rib. But he welcomed the pain. Pain meant he was alive to feel it. Thalia's spear was buried in the wall behind him instead of in his chest. He'd take the pain any day.
Grover's joints groaned in protest as he pushed himself back to his unsteady feet. Thalia was openly scowling, stalking towards him with a pine cone resting in her palm.
"You're stealing and killing demigods!" If she was Jason's sister, she must've been a demigod herself. Granted, based on her treatment of him, the Shepherd doubted she was particularly sentimental. "Dozens dead! Why?"
"I'm not stealing anyone," Thalia said derisively. "I'm only here because I grew bored with all the grinding. Piper steals them."
"You're a monster."
"Monsters kill for kicks. I kill because I need to."
"And I'm sure whatever itch your scratching will feel great as our blood stains the dirt." Grover and Thalia both turned to see Rachel holding Piper up by her hair, her hands tied behind her back. A triangular dagger drifted down to the Soothsayer's neck. "But you also need her alive. I find myself wondering which need outweighs the other…"
Thalia's glare turned murderous. Her pine cone began to distend and sharpen. "You aren't a killer, Surrealist. I can see your Skills."
Rachel's face could have been carved from marble. "First time for everything."
"You'll be dead before she hits the ground."
"Of course. Maybe she'll live long enough for you to kill us all out of vengeance, maybe not. I wouldn't bet on it, though. Would you?"
Seriously!? This was her plan? Bluff her way out of this?
The bronze blade flashed in the light as it was plunged straight into Piper's back. "Time's up."
Grover choked on his uvula.
"Metro—!" Thalia exploded forward and scooped the crazed woman up into her arms. "You idiots," she snarled, carefully hoisting Piper over her shoulder. She pulled a small bronze puck from her belt and threw it at the wall. It clicked and whirred as a glowing blue delta appeared on its face. "Don't think you're safe. Whichever hole you hide in, I'll find you. Partridge."
The disk sank flush with the stone. With a low, echoey scrape, the surrounding section slid into the ground to reveal a musty stairway.
"T-Thalia!" Annabeth coughed weakly, growing whiter every second. "Please."
The Cavalry barely glanced back and rolled her eyes. "Were you always this needy?" she asked as she began to descend. The wall closed behind her, rising back into place without a seam or the disk.
The instant she was out of sight, Rachel keeled over. Grover tried to avert his eyes as she hurled, but the sounds she was making were starting to turn his own turbulent stomach.
Pyla's shield winked out as he collapsed to his knees. He carefully poked his side and winced as fresh pain burned across his abdomen. Definitely broken. "Rachel?" he called as loudly as his ribs would allow, "I need my staff."
The Surrealist coughed and drew a few vague strokes in the dirt. With a jittery hand, she pointed at a nondescript pile of rubble. Sure enough, he could just make out the gilded veins of his staff gleaming between the rocks.
Grover tried to thank her, but he was pretty sure she couldn't hear him while adding to her impressive puddle of bile, blood and pork.
It took most of their ambrosia and nectar, Grover's entire supply of herbs and bandages and a full hour of Soothing Strains to get everyone somewhat stable.
When Thalia left, the spear pinning Annabeth to the wall fell apart. Now, Grover didn't exactly look forward to pulling her free, but it was also the only thing keeping her from bleeding out. The Exp he gained from each patched injury felt negligible compared to the years off his life spent keeping her alive.
Percy's heritage allowed the Shepherd to feed him half a phial of nectar and a full square of ambrosia. Grover felt like he could have risked more, but his brother had healed enough for Soothing Strains to take care of the rest.
Repeated use of the Skill also calmed Rachel somewhat. She wasn't shivering anymore, and while she was a bit jumpy she no longer looked ready to attack at the drop of a hat.
The other demigods were gone. According to the Surrealist, they escaped in the aftermath of the explosion. Grover felt like he should have been upset, but he really couldn't hold it against them.
He didn't bother trying with the Taster and Hunter. Their labels were gone. There was nothing he could do.
It was the same reason why he didn't go further than setting Jason's body straight and covering it with Arcturus' chiton.
Percy hunched over the Lancer's cooling body, his back to the dying fire Grover built for boiling water. "We need to do the proper rites."
"We don't have the proper materials." Annabeth's voice was much softer than Grover was used to. She refused to make eye contact with anyone but she insisted she was fine.
He knew she was lying—and she knew he knew—but he let it go. They owed her that much.
"We'll improvise. Did he have any family left?"
"Are you serious?" Rachel glowered.
"Not her, their mother."
They turned towards Annabeth.
"No. She died when Thalia was fifteen."
Grover tried to place a hand on her shoulder, but she jerked away with a fierce glare.
"We have a cloth and an artist," Percy said pointedly.
"Where am I meant to get paint out here, genius?"
"It's just a suggestion," the Raider mumbled.
Myrine's forked tongue brushed by Grover's ear. The uncomfortable wet sensation sent him reeling as he tried to escape it.
"Stop it," he hissed.
"Can't we take him with us?"
"How would we even get him out of the Labyrinth?"
"I think we're already out."
Myrine poked his ear again and curled down his shoulder.
"Quit it!"
She smacked into his still-tender rib.
"Ouch! What? What do you want?"
Silence.
The others were staring at him.
"Sorry. She's being a pain." He gestured to his bag.
"Who?"
What? Grover looked down and deadpanned. Myrine, the coward, had vanished. Well, not completely. The Shepherd could just barely make out slight warping around the viper's silhouette with her head buried in his bag. She shifted around and tugged at a peeking scroll.
Would that…? He reached around her and pulled it loose.
"Don't you have a Skill that lets you reuse paint?" Grover asked.
"It doesn't work like that," Rachel grumbled. "Only the last stroke. And I can only reuse it if I catch it. It doesn't exactly slough off back into my dish."
Grover unfurled the painting anyway. Prophecies were meant to become clearer after the quests they were about. At least that's what Annabeth said. Maybe he'd be able to see details they couldn't before.
Nope. Same Lancer. Same lightning. Same Medusa he—.
Same gorgon head. Not Medusa. He'd only assumed it was Medusa because she was the obvious choice, but every gorgon had snakes for hair. Including the sisters they'd fought all those months ago on Khiron's island.
It wasn't golden lightning. Jason wasn't victorious. He never actually held a gorgon's head.
But something happened to correspond with each element. Jason hadn't come anywhere close to a gorgon while he was with them. And surely he would have mentioned if he'd met one earlier. He hadn't killed one—but the way he was brandishing the grisly spoil it was clear he'd conquered it.
"Annabeth," Grover exhaled, his eyes wide with possibilities. "Gorgon's blood. Your bag. 'Healing properties—'"
"'—Strong enough to revive the dead!'" She wrenched her bag off her shoulder and dumped its contents onto the dusty floor. She dived into the dirt and started pushing everything around. "Help me!"
Grover and Percy dropped after her. "They're not in the boat?"
"You really think I'd leave something that dangerous under a spell we know nothing about?"
"I'm sorry, what are we looking for?"
"Gorgon's blood. Our final test in Khiron's island was to clear out the local Labyrinth entrance of monsters. We found Medusa's sisters, Stheno and Euryale. We killed them and they each dropped a phial of their blood."
Rachel baulked. "And you had them in your bag? Left or right?"
"Both. We're pretty sure."
"Pretty sure?"
"Khiron said they always drop together. He would know. Aha!" She held up a ceramic phail to the light. "I found one. Where's the other?"
Percy held up his own phial.
"So which is which?" Rachel asked.
Annabeth shrugged. "We don't know. I tried Superliminal Score and went deaf for a week."
"So what use are they?"
"Well, we can't kill him again," Percy grimaced. "What's the harm?"
The hairs on the back of Grover's neck stood straight up as thunder boomed ominously in the distance. Inky clouds skirted around the edges of the standing walls. A buzz built in the Shepherd's teeth and the acrid smell of burning air filled his lungs.
As quickly as it came it was gone, but the warning was clear. If they desecrated Jason's body, they'd answer to his father.
"Okay." Rachel leaned against the wall and slid down to the floor. "So either we bring him back to life, or we invite the wrath of the King."
The three heroes exchanged awkward looks, coming to the same conclusion simultaneously. "Not 'we'," Annabeth said slowly, facing the girl.
Rachel jumped to her feet. "What? No! What!?"
"You're our only chance."
She stumbled backwards, slowly inching away from them. "I-I can't! I—"
"Rachel!"
"No! If I'm wrong I'd be… I'm not like you three!"
"You won't have to do anything," Annabeth assured. "We just need to know which is the right one."
"That's the same thing!"
Grover's eyes landed on the dead firepit in the centre of the room. While Annabeth and Percy attempted to placate Rachel, he hobbled over to it and selected a long, sturdy lump of charcoal. By the time he came back, they hadn't made any headway.
"It's all my fault," she was muttering, her head in her hands. Grover dodged past her and snatched the phial out of Annabeth's hand, drawing a large 'X' across the side before pushing the scroll and the charcoal into Rachel's hands.
"You're so worried you'll screw it up? Fine. This isn't going to be a question of your ability. We're using your Passive for this. Draw the healing phial on the back of your painting. It'll have a mark or it won't; either way we'll have our answer."
Rachel gaped down at the parchment and then at him, flitting back and forth frantically.
"You feel guilty about Jason? Good. Use that. Now do something about it. You. Not the Fates, not Pythios or wherever you draw your divination from, you."
Annabeth rested her palms over her nervous hands. "You can do this. You are Rachel of Delphi, daughter of Darius. Artist, Prophet, Hero. You say you're not like us, and you're right. You're bolder. We have training. Levels. Skills. You boast none of that and yet you've been with us every step of the way. And if His Majesty tries to give you grief for any reason, he'll go through me first, and even then you'd already be neck-deep in the Labyrinth out of his reach."
More rumbles rolled across the fiery dusk.
"We're saving your son's life!" she shouted at the sky. "You aren't helping!"
A smattering of rain began to fall, but Annabeth was left miraculously un-smote.
The Surrealist let out a shuddering breath and nodded. "O-okay. Okay." She pressed the charcoal down to the page and began to draw.
She drew the entire phial first, The base, the stopper, even a few texturing details around the rim. Grover didn't know if her Passive was adding things in order they were added to the ceramics or if she was simply putting it off to the last moment. Regardless, eventually she ran out of time. Her hand slowed to a halt. She closed her eyes, muttered something under her breath—a prayer?—and crossed an 'X'.
Four pairs of eyes dropped to the innocuous phial clutched tightly in his fist.
"So that's it."
"Who's going to give it to him?" Grover asked. The cure-all felt much heavier in his hand.
"You're the healer." Annabeth crossed her arms.
"But I—"
Rachel was looking at him expectantly. Her expression was clear. He'd pushed her this far; she wasn't going to let him freeze up now.
Sigh. "Right." He crouched down and pulled the cloth away from Jason's face. He seemed peaceful. Content. They'd been together for over a week—possibly, time was strange in the Labyrinth—but Grover realised he'd never actually seen the Lancer relaxed. He'd crack easy jokes. He'd tell stories. He'd smile. But something always weighed on his shoulders. Maybe his father. Maybe his injuries. Maybe it just came with the job. The only time he seemed genuinely hopeful was when he'd talk about Piper.
Ma Dia, Piper! Oh, Piper! And Thalia! His sister. They didn't even know he had a sister, and then… Would they even be helping if they brought him back? Would Grover only doom his afterlife if they defied Hades? Would he resent him for disturbing his deserved rest?
Annabeth flicked him in the back of his head. "Grover!"
The Shepherd bit his tongue and furiously prayed to every god he could think of. Pan. Demeter. Even Hades, for leniency. The phial burned a hole through his fingers as he broke the beeswax seal. His hands were shaking. Of course they were—he was only the healer, who needed steady hands?
He continued his prayers.
"Grab his head," he instructed, rubbing his palms together for heat.
Persephone, for her support in case Hades wasn't feeling particularly gracious.
Annabeth kneeled down and braced her hands over his ears.
"Tilt it back."
Apollo, for swift, unfathomable healing.
She tilted. His jaw dropped open.
"Don't move."
Tykhe, for luck.
Grover tipped the phial and poured a syrupy stream of dark ichor into his mouth, massaging his cold throat to encourage it down.
They sat around his body and waited. For a charged moment, no one moved, not even Obelix. Even the dust in the air stilled. The sky continued to darken but the clouds were silent. Grover was pretty sure he preferred the rumbling.
"His fingers!" Rachel lunged forward and cradled his hands to her chest, as if trying to project her own warmth through his skin. "No, no, no-no-no!"
The source of her panic became apparent as waves of grey flowed down his wrists and up his shoulders, clashing over his heart before spreading across the rest of his torso. His flesh hardened and became porous. His hair caked with dust and melded together. His muscles grew heavy and stiff, eternally preserving his peaceful expression and his hand clutched in Rachel's.
As quickly as it started, it was over, the silence finally broken by Goliath's howls and Rachel's fitful sobs. Jason's body had turned to stone.
Grover's breath felt shallow. He sank back, gaping blankly at the turbulent sky. He was a fool. He knew the painting was unfinished. He knew its knowledge was unreliable. He knew it and he trusted it anyway!
The purple clouds swarmed past the walls and circled over the Shepherd's head. "Annabeth, Percy. Take Rachel and the herd and go. Back into the maze. Please."
"Grover…" Annabeth started.
"No! It has to be me! I started this, I refuse to take you all down with me—"
"Grover, stop being dramatic and look at him!"
The Shepherd flinched at her reproach and instinctually obeyed. And then he kept looking. He couldn't draw his eyes away. Delicate cracks webbed up Jason's face as more and more chips fell away, revealing raw, unblemished skin underneath.
The final shells crumbled to white sand and swirled above his matted blond hair. His chest—even, smooth and whole—began to rise as his striking sky-blue eyes fluttered open. The pale cloud over his head curled and coalesced, shaping the letters that sent Grover's soul soaring.
And then they froze, spelling out the rest of the Lan… the rest of the demigod's life. Not a Lancer. Not even a Fighter—or whatever he might've settled as, Grover wasn't fully certain.
"Jason?" Annabeth whispered, poking her stiletto into her thigh. The Shepherd couldn't blame her. He could hardly believe it himself.
"Annabeth?" he mumbled, slurring the Saboteur's name.
"Your label, it's…"
White sand. Not blue. Not violet, like he'd wanted. White. Grover had been so relieved he was even getting a label that he didn't process what white sand meant.
The grains melted away and the full label lit up, not casting any physical glow but becoming perfectly readable in the evening shadows, dashing any hope it might've been an odd fluke easily corrected.
Jason, Child.
The newly minted Child looked up. "Huh. That's new."
His eyes rolled into the back of his head before he fell over in a—well, alive—faint.
Grover
Lvl. 53 Shepherd
Aspects
Mnd: 154
Bdy: 168
Brh: 148
Sol: 220
Rkn: 200
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
Ambrosia — A food eaten by the gods; In small quantities, it can miraculously heal wounds but too much will cause more harm than good.
Apollo — God of Archery, Music, Dance, Prophecy, Poetry, Healing & Disease: Son of Zeus and Leto; Slayer of Python.
Bēmata — The pluralised form of Bēma, 'Pace': Ancient Greek unit of measurement, five [5] podes.
Demeter — Goddess of Agriculture, Fertility, Sacred Law & the Harvest: Daughter of Kronos and Rhea; the Corn Mother.
Demigod — In between Mortal and God.
Drachma — Round silver coins; Currency of mortals.
Gorgon — Cursed women with metallic wings, claws and syballine hair; Sisters of Medusa.
Gràson — A derogatory expression; Literally meaning 'he who smells like a goat'.
Hades — King of the Underworld, Hades is the oldest male Olympian and the god of the dead.
Khiron — Master: Son of the Titan Kronos and nymph Philyra; the Immortal trainer of heroes.
Medusa — Heretic: Once Priestess, cursed by Athena; Snake haired, with a gaze that can turn beholders into stone. One of the three Gorgons.
Metrokoites — A derogatory exclamation; One who has relations with their mother.
Nectar — A drink imbibed by the gods; In small quantities, it can miraculously heal wounds but too much will burn through mortals like wildfire.
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.
Persephone — Goddess of Spring and the Underworld: Daughter of Zeus and Demeter; Was abducted by Hades but ultimately married him.
Styrax —The foot of a spear.
Tykhe — Goddess of Fortune, Chance & Providence: Daughter of Oceanos and Tethys; A guide and bringer of luck for mankind.
A/N: MUAHAHAHAHAHA! That's right, Bdelyroi! We've had that one in the chamber since the beginning! You thought we forgot about the gorgons' blood? NEVER!
No, not actually the beginning of KLEO, but the beginning of Accord. We realised we hadn't decided on a good monster for their first dungeon, and we needed one that was important enough to be mentioned but not so important that we'd have to change the story too much. By this point, Jason was going to die in Boots' chapter, but as I was combing through Son of Neptune for ideas, it hit me. Jason could die, and all of his levels, Skills and general OPness we would find quite annoying as writers could die with him. But with some work, we could keep his character and send him on a very unique journey where he can be both the seasoned veteran and the underperforming noob at the same time.
I hashed out the details with the others and we wrote Jason back into the rest of KLEO. ONWARD! To the next volume!
—Pincoat