Panem et Circenses

[Csephion Draxus]

The Necian City-State of Demos

"The Satrap of Phressia, Cano Draxus of the Csephii! Stand aside and make way!"

A formal-dressed honorarium of sixteen guards, wearing gold-trimmed tunics and ceremonial daggers formed a palisade around the Satrap and his guests as they made their journey from the long piers in the Amethyst Harbor. At the vertexes of the box formation, a soldier held aloft a staff, with a golden aquilae visage fixed to the top, and dressed heavily with garlands. The venerable serpent birds were fixated in a regal sprawl of wings, their savage heads turned down into a sharp glare at whatever company they might be leveled down at.

Draxus wore an austere toga to the proceedings in the Capitol, the trim of which was cut with expensive dyes and material; an ostentatious splash on an otherwise plain and formal garb. Pascias, with no civic restraint put upon him, was free to be doted upon and wore purple and gold silks like an aristocrat. It was a scandalous enterprise that pleased Draxus, that he could be so fabulously wealthy to adorn even his scholar slave in ways that would make a member of one of the Old Families consider envy. To the side of Pascias was the ever-present Mako, dressed as another of the honorarium and looking a bit out of place in this splendid city. But the coveted place at the Satrap's side was occupied by his guest.

A slave approached the honorarium as Draxus stooped down to grab a handful of earth. He squeezed the dark sand in his fingers until it poured from the crevaces, holding his fists high in the air, and then depositing the sand that still clung to his hands into a bowl of insence the slave carried. It was a traditional sign of faith to Grappa, the God of the bountiful land and a thanks for bringing seafarers safely home. That task done, the entourage set forth on the paved roadway that led through the Scribes district, on their way up the stately Hill of the Beacon, and the heart of the Necian nation.

[Ariadne Fyrian]

In the week since first meeting the Satrap, Fyrian had found herself initially unsettled at his presence, and her thoughts often drifted to how she would escape his grasp. And as each day wore on, stealing away from him became a notion pushed further beyond her grasp. Like being toyed with, she discovered that Draxus had the ability to - as unknowing as he might've been of her true situation - pull her close and keep her from straying too far.

During the voyage from Tirgatia to Demos, the Glaucan woman was strangely demure, and often times quiet in the presence of so many Necians. In many ways she felt intimidated, and once alone to herself she would more often than not chastize herself for such thoughts. She was Fyrian! She had no room for fears of that nature. But Draxus had shown a kind hand. Pascias though she was mindful of. The Satrap's slave seemed to watch her with far more scrutiny than she would have liked, and Fyrian found herself agitated somewhat while in his presence.

Even now, at the Satrap's side as they walked, she kept herself tightly in check.

Fyrian wore fine silks, draped over her lithe frame with accents of silver and gold. Her fiery red hair she left down to cascade past her shoulders, and silverleaf earbobs dangled from her ears. A simple necklace of both gold and silver encircled her neck, and an equally simple bracelet to match was on her left wrist. Draxus had presented the clothing and jewelry to her before their arrival, and Fyrian had graciously accepted the gifts.

They were certainly the most elegant garments that she'd ever worn, without any doubt.

But ever-present in the back of her mind was the notion that she should have instead been in chains with the rest of her crew, not dressed up and paraded on the Satrap's arm for all to see.

Out of the corners of her eyes, she stole glances at those who stared at the procession. Many it seemed were looking at her, and it made her overly self-conscious.

"I'm not used to being looked at in such a way," she finally whispered out the side of her mouth.

[Csephion Draxus]

"Envy is an intoxicating fragrance, is it not?"

The group continued onward, as Demosians cleared the main thoroughfare and stared openly. The charade worked to garner a viral pandemic of attention onto the arriving group, and Draxus turned to Pascias in casual conversation.

"How much of the captured booty can we write off as a political investment, Pascias?"

The slave crunched numbers as he walked, staring at his feet for a few seconds as he thought it over.

"One quarter talent of small denomination would be acceptible. I would caution, Domus, less will garner you more here. You are not returning from war. You were visiting a guest and had an unexpected gift fall into your hands."

Draxus waved to onlookers and smiled as he spoke to his slave.

"One quarter then. Arrange it."

Pascias bowed deeply, and fell back into the procession.

"It will be done, Domus."

The Satrap took a feather-laden fan, allowing a few brief swats at the air to dissuade perspiration from forming in the warm air. That task done, he passed it off to a slave to continue fanning duty if he should need it. He gestured to Ariadne at a fork in the road.

"This way leads to the north slope, and the Temple district. Beyond that is the Crucible. Games, executions, erotic pantomime."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

He dared to give away her treasures?!

Fyrian once more found it a task to not snap at him, and instead cast her eyes in the direction that he gestured. And, even through her initial anger, the Glaucan felt it soften as he spoke. During their week together, and aboard his ship as they sailed, she had come to a bit more of an understanding of the man. He was fiercely loyal and proud of his nation and people. An admirable quality and one that had begun to chip away at her own feelings of resentment toward him.

"For all of the different places that my trade takes me, I have never managed to find myself here."

She stared a bit longer, then turned her gaze up toward him.

The light in his eyes was unmistakable, and Fyrian could tell easily that the Satrap was completely in his element. He looked to be at home amid this pomp, and she suspected that the man could appear just as easily comfortable in armor and on the battlefield. It was a thought that suddenly made her wonder just how much Draxus had accomplished in his life.

[Csephion Draxus]

Draxus allowed a smile.

"A shame you have not traveled here before. With a profession of finding unusual items worthy of collection, I think you would tax brain and brawn to fill demand."

He gestured to rows and rows of insulae and to throngs of shop-keepers, hocking the widest assortment of goods from across Asga, the eastern islands, and beyond.

"Silks from Ankraarizad, Fiannic Catamites from the Far South, Spices from the Nusakaar Fringe, alchemy powders from across the Great Sea, great bronze statues from Kraton. The fruit of labor from nearly every nation comes to Demos to be sold."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Watching as those he motioned to went about their daily activities, Fyrian licked her lips.

She'd not paid much attention to the planning of their arrival, and had nearly forgotten where the Satrap would be taking her. An inconvenience, but one that she could overlook.

She shifted her grip on his arm then, moving the small finger of her hand so that it barely rested on the exposed skin of his wrist.

"Your pride in Necia is tangible."

[Csephion Draxus]

"I've seen so much of the rest of the world by comparison. My pride is well founded."

He gestured to the west.

"The myriad rabble squabble for their share in the dark, fending for their small clans. Yet they rise up to dash themselves to death in war, and for what? Against what?"

He gestured to the ever-rising marble buildings before them.

"The transcendence of civilization head and shoulders above shabbiness and base barbarism."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Following with her eyes in the direction he last indicated, Fyrian suddenly felt her stomach drop from under her. If she'd not been more aware of herself, she would have stopped. The sight of Necian government on high was more than enough to very nearly chill her blood, and suddenly she wished to be back in the sea, back beneath the waves of the oceans and in the clutches of Denetion's gently rolling waves.

But she was not so fortunate, having found herself partially attached now to the one man who would be bringing her crew to the final judgement.

While beautiful, the buildings rising before her were intimidating all the same. And as she had been so in control of her instinctive reactions during the week, Fyrian still maintained her hold. She managed a thin-lipped smile, but couldn't help verbally poking at him. Oh, there was no derision in her tone, but rather a playfulness that had begun to come out naturally while around him.

"Civilization being what it is, 'barbarism' - as you call it - and wild abandon can be just as enticing, noble Satrap."

[Csephion Draxus]

"Excursions make for a curiosity, and a moment of intrigue."

The Satrap begged to disagree with the assessment. As the group moved onward, a broad dome ahead dominated the landscape. Atop the structure stood a golden, winged Goddess - Hryathi, bare-bosomed and clutching a snake and a spear. This was the sacred place of State, the Oratorium. All major matters of Necian jurisprudence were brought to this place to be heard. Cast down from the main structure were dozens of smaller adjunctant offices and courts, for lesser degrees of bureaucracy. It was as religious a place as it was political, as both religion and politics were completely intertwined.

"Ah, it still stands."

Draxus remarked glibly at the Capitol.

"Never can be too sure. Some demagogue is bound to say the wrong thing and bring a thunderbolt upon it one day."

He looked to his guest, and a furtive smile met her.

"I should be much interested to introduce you to the other Satraps. I think you would find their company endlessly amusing."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Staring as if hypnotized, Fyrian almost didn't register the words he spoke. It was true what she'd said earlier, and had indeed never been to Demos. She could appreciate the craftsmanship, labor, and skill used to construct the buildings she now saw, and she was nearly transfixed by the statue atop the Oratorium.

It was his smile that returned her to her own mind, and she looked away from him in mild embarrassment.

"You only wish to display to them your good fortunes taken from Tirgatia," she mumbled almost teasingly.

[Csephion Draxus]

Skewered so skillfully. Though wounded, the Satrap smiled for it. How sharp she was!

"I do expect it to confound and vex some terribly."

He lingered a knowing smile on her before raising a hand in salutation as just such a friend approached.

"Cannas Trivo, my good friend!"

A heavy-bearded Glaucan gestured for his attendants to lower the litter he was riding in, and he stepped out, gazing at the pomp that Draxus had surrounded himself in.

"Csephion Draxus."

His eyes briefly moved to Ariadne, then back to Draxus.

"I must be remiss, is there a festival to be had? You seem to be in the midst of celebrating something I am unaware of."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

She watched the arrival of this Cannas Trivo, as Draxus had called him. The bearded Glaucan was a sight to see in his own right, carried upon a litter. She had heard the name before, aboard the Chiron. The crew often talked of the Necian Satraps in rather vulgar ways; even Draxus had not been spared her men's jokes and crude words.

Fyrian stood a little straighter though, her previous embarrassment wiped away in the wash of Draxus' smile.

She watched Trivo, entwining the fingers of her hands together in front of her while casting another quick glance to the Oratorium.

[Csephion Draxus]

"I had the good fortune of meeting an ally, and brought home our enemies in chains. Hryathi smiles on good favor, and I honor her."

Draxus gestured behind at the mule carts which contained shackled dozens of men and glaucans.

"The Fyrian pirates?"

Trivo looked surprised, not expecting such a decisive ending to the chase, and from such a source.

"These were captured by a barbarian king and not by our Imperator? Then what of him?"

It was an interesting question.

"No doubt searching the far reaches of Asga for Fyrian himself, and the Lantern."

Trivo fell in with the entourage, speaking with all as they traveled to the Oratorium. He looked at Ariadne with more curiosity.

"I do not believe we have met. I am Cannas Trivo, Satrap of Kraton."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Ah, and there it was! He'd not disclosed the true reason for his passionate fervor in finding who he last remembered Fyrian to be, but now that Draxus had let slip mention of the Lantern, Fyrian felt herself more easily able to approach him when the time would undoubtedly come for the two to settle accounts. Draxus himself of course knew nothing of this, and while Fyrian suspected such a clash to be inevitable, there was a budding feeling of sympathy for Phressia's Satrap.

As much as it seemed that she'd charmed him, he was ever so slowly having that very same effect upon her.

Trivo's introduction jolted her from her thoughts, and Fyrian nodded to him graciously.

"I am Ariadne, noble Satrap."

[Csephion Draxus]

"I am not familiar with your family, then. What city are you from?"

Draxus cut all such questions off at the pass.

"Trivo, she is a friend and fellow intellectual from Tirgatia. She has some mind on the betterment of our trade situation with the Asga kingdoms, and how to deal with this pirate menace."

The Glaucan Satrap meant to continue the conversation, but Draxus smiled impassively and continued walking. He finally regained his train of thought, once his eyes had deviated from Ariadne's bewitching form.

"What, may I ask, do you propose of the pirate scourge? I had imagined that no less than crucifixion would suffice."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

"No family name to speak of; I hail originally from the Kestrels."

And again, talk of death.

Fyrian found it so amazing that men who declared themselves civilized would deviate to thoughts of pain and death ever so quickly. It was not so removed from the barbarism that Draxus himself had claimed Necia to be, in her mind.

How to answer the Glaucan Satrap though.

Fyrian bowed her head as she stayed close to Draxus' side. She found it strange, that even though Trivo was a Glaucan, she felt more at ease in the Phressian's close proximity.

"It is nothing, Satrap, but the simple ponderings of a simple merchant."

[Csephion Draxus]

Simple merchant? Trivo's mind began to race at the thought. Draxus consorted with a common shipwright? Was this to confound the entire assembly? What was he planning?

"I would be interested in these ponderings, Ariadne."

He eyed Draxus warily. This had to be a stratagem. There was not a moment of Draxus's life that he wasn't scheming or bending himself over upon the anvil of ambition.

[Ariadne Fyrian]

"Many would be, Satrap."

Emboldened somewhat, Fyrian angled her head downwards while tracking her eyes to the side. She was still very conscious of the fact that many eyes were stuck upon the procession, and while it unnerved her to something of a large degree, she held herself in tight control.

That her crew was being led in chains behind them was no small matter, and she ground her teeth.

"Patience is a virtue that the Gods look well upon."

She squared back her shoulders and gave a brief sidelong look to Draxus for help in diverting any more questions that Trivo might rain down on her shoulders.

[Csephion Draxus]

"Ariadne believes that Fyrian's pirates can be wooed by mercy and an appeal to their avarice. It is a notion that I am willing to give serious consideration to."

Trivo seemed less than convinced.

"Why must we be in a position to mete out mercies? We have at our disposal the means to make a powerful statement to those that would defy the will of Necia?"

Draxus grimaced at this notion. It was one that he'd considered, but he had long moved on from it.

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Fyrian scowled at that.

"Whatever position you feel yourself to be in at this moment in time, what sort of position do you think those men are in?"

If she could have, the Glaucan woman would have bared her teeth.

"Put yourself in their chains, and tell me what it is that you would be more inclined toward."

Perhaps she was more trite with Trivo, but Fyrian found herself with less patience for him than she had with Draxus. And again, she had to stop her thoughts from reaching any sort of inevitable conclusion from that fact.