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Observing these deeds from his cosmic height, the nations stained

with first bloodshed, the Sower of Stars commands the Marcher

be summoned posthaste. And Mars, who had just destroyed

Getic cities and slaughtered howling Bistonês, was

with dizzying speed racing his team up the slopes of sky,

tossing the lightning-crested gleam of his helmet, his armor

golden, grim and alive with horrific, monstrous figures;

Heaven’s dome thunders, the blood-colored light of his shield glows

ruby-red, its disk rivals and strikes the sun from afar.

Jupiter, seeing Mars still puffing from his Sarmathian

labors, his heart flooded with all the storm-bursts of war:

“As you are, my lad, just as you’ve come to me, set out

for Argos, your sword reeking, your self in a cloud of wrath.

Let them snap their indolent reins and, loathing all else,

yearn for you as they plunge in headlong, pledging to you their

hearts and hands. Sweep the reluctant on, break their treaties!

To you we gave it, yours the right to arouse war lust

in the Gods themselves – even in my dear Peace. I’ve now sown

seeds of conflict; Tydeus returns, reporting brazen

outrage, a ruler’s crime, and (primary source of vile war)

treacherous ambush – which he, and with his own arms, has avenged.

Make them believe!”


“Now, You, High Gods, who trace your bloodlines to me:

strive neither to fight in hatred against me nor to sway

me with pleas. Fate and the Sisters’ dismal spindle have thus

sworn to me. This day, appointed for war since the world

began, lies waiting and these nations were born for this battle.

But, if you object to my making this generation pay

for crimes of old, to my punishing these dire grandsons, then,

by this eternal citadel, by my entempled mind,

and by Elysian springs awesome even to me, I swear

with my own hand I’ll shake Thebes off her foundations and shatter

her walls, strew Inachian rooftops with towers torn

from the ground – or else, with my downpours, I’ll sweep them all

into the sky-blue waves, though Juno herself, toiling amidst

the turmoil, should wrap her dear temple and hills in her arms…”

- Book III, Statius’ Thebaid
Zeus’ words to Ares, following Tydeus’ ambush by Thebans
Translation by Jane Wilson Joyce

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LESCHES’ NOTES

Seven Against Thebes Quest is a spin-off quest related to the series of Trojan War Quests that were created first by Homer, and then hijacked by myself. Set in Mythic Greece – a time of brazen helms and spearpoints, of demigods and Olympians, and occurs approximately twenty years prior to the events of Trojan War Quest. We will be playing as the father of the TWQ and TWQ:DS’ main characters (Nikandros and Deianira) – the legendary Hippomedon Aristomachides of Argos, near the peak of his physical ability and fame. Please note – no prior experience in the other quests or knowledge of Mythic Greece will be necessary to play this quest – this quest is meant to stand alone as a complete and self-limiting story.

His actions during the upcoming events are quite important – not just to his compatriots as they struggle against the Thebans and their allies, but also for his future family. Gods, goddesses and spinners alike will be watching his actions with great interest, and unforeseen consequences are a certainty…

VOTING REQUIREMENTS

One-post ID votes will be ignored, unless they back-link their previous posts and claim them for identification.
Players must “register” by posting within the thread within 48 hours of thread creation; only “registered” posters will have valid votes.
Players who miss initial “registration” window may choose to provide six lines of original poetry in Homeric style OR an original TWQ meme of high quality to register. Please note that players can choose to register at any time during the thread!

I reserve the right to call upon suspicious voters to verify themselves in a manner I deem fit.

Recommended Reading:

Seven Against Thebes Quest #1: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2024/5934977/
Seven Against Thebes Quest #2: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2024/5976675/
Seven Against Thebes Quest #3: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2025/6180072/

Optional Reading:

Trojan War Quest #1: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2023/5579585/
Trojan War Quest #2: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2023/5610431/
Trojan War Quest #2: Nostos: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2023/5742360/
Trojan War Quest #3: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2023/5827930/

Trojan War Quest: Deianira’s Sidestory #1: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2023/5644134/
Trojan War Quest: Deianira's Sidestory #2: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2023/5687242/
Trojan War Quest: Deianira's Sidestory #2.1: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2023/5725902

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Hippomedon Aristomachides (Ἰππομέδων)

Level 4

Height: 6’8”
Weight: ~375 lbs/170kgs

Kleos:: Your name has graced the lips and tongue of many Danaans – to your enemies, your name is a synonym for “death”, and to your allies, the byword for the perfect soldier. You are loved by the Argive Royal Family and by the Argive people for your many contributions to their safety and security. +9 to Kleos checks. Deeds below.

Major:
• Victorious Argive Prince (+8): You have crushed countless bandits, raiders, Heraclids, and more in the service of your uncle, King Adrastus of Argos. There are very few living Hellenes who can say honestly that they have won more duels and personally slain more foes than you.

Minor:
• Phocian Provocateur (+1): You set two warring princes of Siciunt, a minor kingdom, against one another, causing their deaths, the deaths of hundreds of their soldiers, and guaranteeing another generation of conflict in one corner of Phocis – all to please the bloodthirsty gods.

Timae: You are a very wealthy prince of Argos, even richer than some minor kings of Hellas – the gifts of your estates are so great that they cannot be easily measured in talents or livestock alone. +8 to Timae checks. Relevant possessions below.

STATS:

Strength- (21/24) (+12)
Agility- (18/20) (+6)
Constitution- (17/24) (+5)
Willpower- (14/20) (+2)
Intelligence- (13/20) (+1)
Charisma- (11/20) (+0)

Regional Alignment: Argive. Argive nobility are well-adept at navigating the intricacies of Hellenic noble politics (+3 CHA). Following King Adrastus’ example, the noblemen of Argos are expected to hold fast against their enemies, never quaking or quailing, and to stand firm (+3 WILL).

Epithets:

• πελώριος: “Gigantic” or “the Mighty”, due to Hippomedon’s size and strength.
• ἀμύμονος: “Peerless”, due to Hippomedon’s genius in personal combat.

Traits:

• (Tier 1) Giant: You are akin in size to the famed Heracles. (+4 to strength and strength cap and +4 to constitution and constitution cap. For reference, the normal cap is 20).
• (Tier 1) Gifted Athlete: You are a gifted athlete, skilled in wrestling, boxing, pankration (unarmed combat), running, swimming, jumping, chariot-driving, horse riding, discus, shotput, archery, and javelin throwing. (+3 to strength and agility, and +3 skill in all the aforementioned).
• (Tier 1) Argive Martial Tempering: You are the product of excellent Argive soldier training (+2 to STR, AGI, +2 skill in unarmed combat, swordplay, spearplay, shielding, javelin throwing, archery, and dodging).
• (Tier 1) Strategist: Basic tenets of troop discipline, camp formation, battlefield tactics and general warfare knowledge has been imparted to you. (+3 intelligence, +2 to petteia, generalship, troop combat rolls when you are in command)
• (Tier 0) Argive Combat Training: Additional instruction with a second weapons-master, stacks with the AMT trait. Further +1 to combat skills, +1 to STR/AGI.

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Flaws

(Tier 1) Offputting Impiety: Devotion to the gods has never been your natural impulse - some part of your instinctively rejects the authority that they assume over the lives of men. While you are not truly blasphemous, your casual indifference to matters of the divine is somewhat offputting as a member of the Argive nobility. (-3 to all deity interactions, up to one success per thread auto-fails, -2 to CHA)

STATUS:

HP- (13/13)

Skills:

• Petteia: +2 to the game. (Strategist)
• Command: +2 when commanding your troops personally in battle. (Strategist)
• Combat: +3 to to-hit, wound, dodge and block rolls. (Argive Martial Tempering/Argive Combat Training)
• Athletics: +3 bonus to all such contests. (Gifted Athlete)
• More skills to be uncovered as circumstances and traits necessitate.

Inventory:

• Armor of Aristomachus: Provides a mighty +4 bonus to block rolls, and additionally provides the ability to convert a battlefield unit’s failed morale roll into a success once per battle. The bronze helm is topped with triple-tiered snow-white plumes, and iron chain-mail lines the sides of the torso; a unique appearance making you instantly recognizable.

• Royal Quality Bronze Spear (1d5+STR+SKILL), Bronze Sword (1d5+STR+SKILL) and Bronze Shield (+1 to block rolls)

• Hephaestian Kopis: A divinely-wrought short sword that has come into your possession, it is unbreakable and pierces bronze like thin linens. 1d7 base damage die, negates enemy armor bonii, and increases chances of enemy spear-breaks.

Your Forces:

• Second In Command Currently not with you: Argyros, veteran of the Second Argo-Theban war. An experienced campaigner who is utterly devoted to your family. He can be trusted to command the men in your stead but is a commoner in every other sense. When he is independently commanding your troops, they receive a +3 bonus in combat and another die. His bonus (but not the die) adds to yours when you directly command.

• Inachian Honorguard: This loyal squadron of commoner spearmen is well-seasoned in warfare and well-equipped to boot – they are Tier 3 troops, and their equipment is a cut above most Argive squadrons. Exceedingly well trained, experienced, loyal, and high morale: some of the best troops in the Argive army. (High-quality equipment – 1d4 spear damage, +2 to block rolls). 5/10 unit progress

• Hippomedon’s Army: Two thousand men-at-arms recruited from the large population of your home estate; these men along with all other Argive troops, have been passed through a punishing training program. They are now Tier 2 troops and can be trusted to behave professionally on the field. They have been equipped in the standard fashion of Argive forces: good-quality linothorax, ox-hide shields, leather helms and spears that fly true. (Good quality equipment – 1d3 spear damage, +1 to block rolls)

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In the Palace of Eurykratides, King of Trachis

Apologies for the long delay, anons. I have returned to see this quest to the end! We’ll pick up exactly where we had left off this past March.

---

But then, round Eurykratides stands to address his guests once more:

“…Now, as many of you have heard, the victor of my Oetian Games will select a priceless treasure from my personal collection. Is it not right that these valorous men should know what they compete for?!”

The μέγαρον bursts into raucous cheering - your own interest is piqued. The obese king’s prior comments about an Argive shield come to mind... Eurykratides waves his plump arms, and a team of household servants bring in a bulky object – you immediately discern it to be a weapon or armor-stand, with a heavy blanket thrown over it. Eurykratides continues his verbal flourishes for another interminably minute, ensuring all present are hanging on his word, before the heavy blanket of the stand is dramatically cast aside...

You are momentarily dazzled by the jeweled shield that rests within – a stunned hush falls over the crowd as they observe the artifact. This is clearly the jewel of Eurykratides’ collection – the shield whose existence you weaseled out of the fat king a few nights previous. You recognize it at once as a work of sublime quality, far beyond what a man of his κλέος ought to possess.

Intricately detailed and flawless – nearly the entire surface of the bronze has been worked over in flowing designs – you peer intently, as the flickering torchlight plays over the rubies, emeralds, and sapphires. The scenes depicted strike you as familiar, somehow – they are of -

Of –

You know this shield.

You KNOW this shield.

A far-flaming disc, where lived, in perfect gold,
Danaus’ Night:
In fifty guilty bridal suites glow,
The Furies’ pitch-black torches;
The father himself at the blood-
stained doors praises the heinous crime
And inspects the swords…

You last saw it as a young man – barely more than a boy… Hanging in the halls of your estate, before the mansion became yours - you spent countless hours examining the surface, amazed at the tiny details of the inlay.

And then, after your father burned upon his pyre – it was never seen again. No – the shield went missing even before the funeral pyre of Aristomachus; your father was burned with a favorite spear alone. A mystery, swallowed whole by another. Your father’s abrupt death was rarely discussed in court – his missing shield, never. You had long thought it lost forever; you rock back on your heels – you don’t remember standing. Murmurs of concern rise from the other feast attendees, beneath your notice. A thought floods your mind, drowning your senses, flooding your ears, drenching your tongue, scrambling your wits:

THE MISSING SHIELD OF YOUR FATHER RESTS BEFORE YOU!

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Shock recedes – and fury rises in its wake. How did the shield of Danaus’ Night come to Trachis?! Now, Eurykratides’ past terrified conduct makes sense – his insistence that you swear the strong oaths is cast in a new light. Treachery and thievery – it is only means by which your father’s shield could come to rest in this midden heap. The Trachians present now know that something is amiss – they stare at you with increasing alarm as your face reddens and hands curl into stony fists. Eurykratides is holding up his hands, pleading with you:

“Please, Hippomedon! The oaths, the oaths you swore! HONOR ZEUS Ξενιος!"

A friendly hand comes to rest on your shoulder - Faibokranef the Aegyptian gazes at you with concern, asking you some question in accented Hellenika - you are too angry to discern his meaning. The Sardinians, twin sons of Heracles, are standing now as well, their jaws clenched, prepared for the possibility of violence. On the far end of the table, Hyperenor remains seated - his eyes watch you wolfishly, dissecting your weakness.

>Anons previously rolled a 4,15 – double-passing Hippo’s rage check

But you clench your jaw, find your control once more. You are not some barbarian blind to obligation, willing to kill guest-friends at a moment’s notice- even the lowly Trachians benefit from Zeus' law. You sit heavily once more.

Your reaction was noticed by all, and in particular, by the Theban Hyperbius*, who eyes your birthright hungrily. You’d rather die than let a Theban carry your father’s shield into battle against you. You do your best to keep up appeareances - sipping at the mediocre wine and chewing the charred pork. Faibokranef, the Aegyptian, now sitting next to you, pats you reassuringly on the shoulder, before whispering in his accented Hellenika:

"Iz yur shield, Hippomedon?" You cannot hope to tell the full tale to the foreigner, but his gesture is appreciated - you shake your head in a friendly fashion at him. The atmosphere in the room is punctured - the men present speak in hushed tones, ther eyes sliding in your direction now and again. You've ruined the celebratory mood, unfortunately, and so you elect to head to your small guest rooms early.

---

In the morning, you perform some light exertions in an effort to keep limber. The next "Labor" in these Oetian Games was announced as the "Bulls of Crete" - you can only guess that you'll be wrestling with one of the straight-horned beasts. In the early afternoon, you rest, and in the late afternoon, you take your steeds out for a ride on the trails surrounding Trachis. Crowds of filthy Hellenes and devotees of Heracles Προμαχος alike bathe you in their admiration - always a balm to your nerves. As you return to Trachis, you note with interest that a new group of steeds are stabled there - a double quartet of well-bred beasts, stallions all.

I kept referring to the Theban prince as “Hyperenor” by mistake last thread, whoops.

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Eurykratides is nowhere to be found, and the other competitors are similar submerged in their own training regimens. You cross paths with them all over the course of the day, but nothing of import is said between you - all manful communication is to be conducted through tomorrow's event. In the evening, there is no celebratory feast. As you consume huge quantities of substance for your evening meal (all the better for tomorrow's competition), you learn that news of your participation in the Oetian Games (and your meddling with the heirs of Siciunt) has spread like wildfire in central Hellas. A princess of neighboring Locris has apparently arrived with her brother to observe the remainder of the competition - or more likely, to identify marriage prospects. You don't bother to remember her name, as she does not appear in Eurykratides' megaron - presumably, she decided to eat in privacy. In all likelihood, further spectators are likely to make their appearance as the competition continues.

In the evening, you retire early once more - you are impatient for tomorrow's tribulations. As you rest atop the cushions of your bed, your eyes flutter, and the Ονειροι pull you into a dream nearly at once.

>welcome back to SATQ, anons. This dream sequence will constitute the "interlude" of the thread. This vote will close on 10/16 at 10pm - a nice long time to settle in, re-read the old threads, shitpost about the bastard gods...

>but what to dream about, /qst/?

>You stalk a fearsome prey across a mountainous ridge, careful in your approach...

>In the training yards of Argos, you come across your cousin, Capaneus. First words fly - then fists...

>Atop a black-hulled ship, you ride with Argyros - in pursuit of Cycladian pirates...

>A blonde woman beckons that you follow her - it is twilight in the hills of Thessaly, but her hair shines...

>Your father, so much taller than yourself, carries you atop his shoulders - today, you finally ride Arion!

>>6318578
>>Your father, so much taller than yourself, carries you atop his shoulders - today, you finally ride Arion
Seems fitting, now that Hippomedon knows what he is truly competing for.

Great to have you back Lesches!

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>>6318578
>Your father, so much taller than yourself, carries you atop his shoulders - today, you finally ride Arion!

>>6318588

Kek, these meme cards are out of control.

>>6318584

Good to be back - I still think that SATQ could finish by thread 6 if all goes well and I am disciplined, so this thread will be critical to push several plot points along.

>>6318578
>Your father, so much taller than yourself, carries you atop his shoulders - today, you finally ride Arion!
Oh glorious day! Welcome back, QM.

>>6318578
>>Your father, so much taller than yourself, carries you atop his shoulders - today, you finally ride Arion!
It is only fitting to dream of our father when reminded of him so...

o shit it ain't dead? shit I guess I need to go back and do some catching up

looks interesting, suppose I'm registering and going to check out the other threads

>>6318648
>>6318625

Welcome, flowing-haired anons! Strap on your bronze, make your propitiations to the Olympians as you set out - Zeus prefers the roasted double-fold of fat on bone! Fan the flames of your resolve as you read - The Late Bronze Age is a time of heroics, yes, but also a time of grief and woe. there is much sadness contained within the poetic lines…

>>6318578
>You stalk a fearsome prey across a mountainous ridge, careful in your approach...
Just to be a contrarian.

>fatso stole pops' shield somehow
>hyperbiatch being a smug ass thinking he's gonna win it
Anger, but also A LOT MORE ANGER FUCK. This Theban prick better hope he suffers a tragic accident and dies because if we ever get our hands on him after we leave this place and our oath within it he's doomed. I also expect everyone else to get out of our damn way if they know what's good for them.

Faibokranef is chill though. I wonder if his son will march under Memnon in the Trojan War. So far I wish glory and wealth for his family.

~24 hourish warning until vote close

---

>>6318850

Part of the fun of SATQ is producing lots of characters and wondering what might become of them over the next ~30 years... Most of my characters have a little backstory beyond their charsheet, even if it never comes up in the quest itself, Faibokranef included.

Hail Noble Lesches, Blessed Storyteller, Returned from Far-Wanderings!

Lord Hippomedon's deeds not yet recorded, his lineage High-Born of Olympos, shall be proven in this game of Low-Born Olympics.

>>6318937
The worst part is trying to figure out which half of the characters are gods in disguise.

>>6318958
You won't believe me but Hippomedon is actually just a hippo that's been dressed up by the Argive court and made to think since birth that he's a man.

>>6318962
No shot. Next you'll tell me Capaneus is just a (particularly stinky and surly) boar that they put a hat and fake beard on and he's been bluffing his way through life.

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>>6318962
I believe you, o mad prophet.

>>6318963
No, that's Tydeus, Amphiaraus can see his true form and is being driven mad by the constant squealing and grunting.
Capaneus is actually a cross-dressing woman.

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>>6318966

>>6318578
>Your father, so much taller than yourself, carries you atop his shoulders - today, you finally ride Arion!

Awesome your alive Lesches!

Got to re read this so I remember whats going on.

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no new votes in a while, so let's get started a bit early

In the way of dreams, you forget yourself as you fall –

And you are Hippomedon Aristomachides, five-year-old prince.

You are big for your age, and Father tells you that this is very good when you see him. But Father hunts in the wilds for days and days, because it is the summer, and this is when the hunting is good. You cannot hunt yet – not until you are eight. So from sunrise until sundown, you are outdoors in the fields and forests and swamps beyond the Palace. You have servants – a gang of boys, who play Soldier and Hunter and Gods on Olympus when you want. You run and chase them until you are all tired and then you all gulp milk and honey and pressed grape – the poor boys from the common huts guzzle these like they are dying of thirst before playing more. You win every game - they are all afraid of making you sad or mad. If you send them back to their slow-wit fathers, they will work the fields and carry heavy things all day – much harder work than playing with you.

But you send most of them back to the huts after only a few days – Father says that this is good, too. “Do not let them get too comfortable, Hippomedon – the Palace is not their place.”

Some days, you glimpse Father on his chariot as he rides back from the wilds or to the City. And if you are lucky, he will see you waving and he will wave to you. You love the horses in his chariot – big and strong and fast. You want to ride with him so badly, but you cannot beg – if you beg, Father says “begging is for women, boy”, and strikes you hard. But Father knows that you want to ride, even though you did not ask this month. He always knows what you are thinking. He knows that most of all, you want to ride the god-horse - κυανοχαίτης Arion. The black-maned horse of Heracles!

And finally, Father told you two days ago that he will bring Arion to the Palace, and you will ride him!

The morning is here! You are so excited you cannot be still. You spin hoops in the courtyard of the Palace and throw rocks at the Palace walls, but it is very hard to wait. You jitter and wiggle and run and jump and hop and roll and run some more, until Helios the sun-god is riding high in the sky, towards unlucky noon.

You hear Father and his chariot far away - hooves pounding the earth like distant thunder, Father’s sharp commands cracking the air like lightning. When he arrives, you are standing too close to the road - you stumble backwards to stay clear of the wheels, as he stops. In a flash, Father sweeps you up his arms. He talks to you, scrubs his hands through your well-oiled hair, laughs with you. Today, his voice is warm and clear, and without cruelty - no need to watch his hands. Father places you atop his broad shoulders, and you are high, high, high in the air. You grasp his black hair tightly and scream with laughter as he pretends to shake you off for a minute or two.

>cont

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Father stops pretending and points to his steeds - you stare at the four lathered creatures, panting and massive, as Father names them - but you only pay attention to the stallion in the lead-horse position. Famed Arion stares back at you with knowing eyes. In the way of dreams, you are suddenly a man again, standing beside your father in the chariot - an impossibility. You ask the divinity in your man’s voice:

“Son of Poseidon, what have you seen through the decades? How many secrets do you hold?” The black-maned stallion reveals nothing, but meets your gaze steadily, whickering in apology for his silence.

The scene blurs - you are a boy once more, and now you ride atop Arion’s broad back in the pastures on the edges of Father’s land, your fingers wrapped within his flowing mane. His hide is warm, the moving muscle beneath like carven stone. The scent of horse is overpowering, and the warm breeze is tugging at your prince’s chiton, dyed dark red, and ruffling your unshorn locks. Father walks beside Arion, his right hand resting on your lower back, teaching you how to sit, how to turn left and right, how to tap with one’s heels to urge Arion on. You do so, and Arion moves to a trot - happiness bursts through your chest and you cackle wildly with glee. You are Heracles! And for a moment, an errant gust of wind brings you a foul scent - dry excrement, rotting bark, wet scales… but it passes. The scents of growing wheat and fat cattle fill your nose once more as Father jogs lightly alongside you.

Father is proud that you keep your seat as Arion trots - “A firm grip, Hippomedon! Your instincts are true!” – and he laughs himself – a booming drum that vibrates your chest too.

Is this more than a dream? you think, in your man’s voice. I remember this day...

Father turns to your boy-self, still astride Arion, and says: “Hippomedon, I named you well. A Horse-Lord of Argos!” You show him your gap-toothed grin, and he says:

“My first-born son and heir… you will inherit all that I have. You will be spared the injustice that I have suffered.” You don’t know what he means - what is an eenjestive? You don’t know the word. But he stops speaking for a time.

You come to the small stream by the west end of the pastures, and Father helps you down from Arion. There is a servant standing by the streambed with a set of foals. You kneel with Father by the waters and wash your hands and say your prayers to the naiads of this place. Father brings you to the foals and you see that each of them are wrong. The brown one has wiggly legs and takes slow, shaking steps – the black one cannot move its neck and must swing its body stiffly to look about. The foals are excited to see you – they know you are a child too! They lick your fingers and you giggle when they push you in play, trying to bowl you over.

Father taps you on the shoulder, and speaks further:

>cont - last post will come at 9-10pm tonight

>>6319178
> Father brings you to the foals and you see that each of them are wrong
Dad is going to make Hippomedon kill the foals, ain’t he?

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“Hippomedon, see their forms? These foals have been shaped poorly – they are bred of good Argive stock, but even so, such accidents of form are common and unpredictable. It is the will of the gods.”

You pat the foals gently on the noses – they nip at your fingers and their hot breath spills over your hands. Their tongues are very pink! You are strong enough to keep your footing as they push against you – you push them right back, laughing at the effort needed. After a few moments more, the servant comes to pull the foals away – they bleat happily as he does so. You like them.

“These foals are blameless, son – but if they were to survive, they would pass on their deformity to their sons, and on to their sons. In time, the whole line would suffer the effects. In truth, many of these foals cannot survive on their own. It is the same with men – a tainted spring will poison the waters. Better to block it up, let the streams run dry, than spread the poison.” As he speaks, your father presses something into your hand.

A brazen knife.

You look at Father in confusion, and he replies:

“Hippomedon, we must be strong and decisive – ready to sniff out weakness like a hunting hound and cull it at once, no matter the cost. This must be done constantly - every day.”

You nod, unsure – there is a sinking feeling in your gut. The bronze is heavy in your hand.

Father gestures to the servant and the brown foal with wiggling legs is returned. Father shows you how to grip the blade properly, how to position it against the throat.

“You must be quick, and draw up as hard as you can, as you pull.”

And with Father watching, you do it.

Black blood streams forth from the foal’s throat – much much more than you expect, and you drop the knife. The foal flops unsteadily, collapsing against you – your hands and chest are now warm and sticky. The foal’s mouth is open, its lips curling – a whisper of a shriek is escaping from its frayed throat. You know that it is in pain - crying out, you desperately try to hold the wound shut with your hands, but the blood flows like a river - hot droplets spray across your face and mouth. The foal is thrashing wildly, knocking against you as you try to save it - but suddenly falls to the earth.

Its eyes are motionless.

You step back. Your eyes are open very wide, the scent of blood invades your mouth and nose. You know at once that the foal is dead – its warm blood drying on your flesh. Father watches you close.

>okay, /qst/ - can boy Hippo keep it together? this is essentially a morale check, and will be match or roll under the check. As an Argive prince, his WILL is 4 (better than some commoner adults!). Normally, I would call for two rolls here, but Hippomedon's father is present as a stabilizing influence, so I'll grant a bonus die.
>I need THREE rolls of dice+1d20. At least one 4 means Hippomedon keeps his bearings and Father continues...

Rolled 14 (1d20)

>>6319178
>Father taps you on the shoulder, and speaks further:
>>cont - last post will come at 9-10pm tonight
Holy shit, dad can speak in greentext? Incredible.

>>6319330

Rolled 4 (1d20)

>>6319330
Cold to teach it this early, but understandable.

>>6319307

nice work, now find all the fun tie-ins and other clues scattered through this interlude

Rolled 7 (1d20)

>>6319330

>>6319335
>>6319344
>>6319348

>4
>Hippo very narrowly escapes flaming out
>players have won another clue!

Nice work, anons - I’m traveling this weekend, so update timing will be hard to predict. Shooting for at least two more before Monday, which should be enough to wrap up the interlude and resume the quest proper.

>>6318543
Is it still possible to register without having to jump through hoops?

>>6319358

You already have through this post, you’re within the ~48hr registration window (or close enough).

I only set-up the registration thing originally because I was worried that I would get trolled to oblivion by anti-Homer-QM people and that never really happened (although I later kept in place to make samefagging votes arduous, which has worked reasonably well). Ironically I had more to fear from Deianira-stans deluging my threads with an infinite supply of softcore drawings of topless priestesses…

>>6319373
>I had more to fear from Deianira-stans deluging my threads with an infinite supply of softcore drawings of topless priestesses…
That sounds to me like the opposite of a problem.

>>6319380
Some men drown while others desiccate.

File: hippolytus.png (527 KB, 1024x714)

527 KB PNG

You stand there, looking up at Father, and fire licks at the inside of your heart. You feel unsteady on your feet, your head swims, your eyes water. A tear rolls down your cheek, but you stifle your sobs. You look to the bright blue sky, hear the buzzing of insects, smell the copper scent of horseblood in the air. Father is speaking to you calmly:

“Peace, Hippomedon – peace. This is a difficult thing – to firm your resolve and act. Strength must be won and held firmly.” Father approaches to kneel, and brings his face to yours – the nose and angular features that you know so well, the faint lines of his forehead only just beginning to reveal middle-age. Dark circles ring under your father’s eyes, marring his face. He says soothing words with his mouth, and places a reassuring hand on your shoulder, but his eyes are flat, and his mouth twists strangely as he speaks. You don’t trust his hands - he watches you, measures you. You resist the urge to sob or run or empty your breakfast onto Father’s sandals, and only just barely manage to do so.

After a long minute, your head clears, and Father rises again, seemingly satisfied.

“Hippomedon – Horse-Lord - one day, Arion and his sons and grandsons and great-grandsons will all be yours to command - and a crown will rest upon your head.” You are baffled by this - only your uncle King Adrastus has a crown. Will everyone get a crown? He points to the brazen knife, in the dirt, and after a second’s hesitation, you pick it up. Father motions to the servant once more.

The black foal seems to sense the danger – it bleats in outrage and terror as the servant drags it closer. Its eyes meet yours, betrayal indelibly pressing the moment into your mind. Your man-self watches from above, powerless to stop the memory, knowing that your Father is in the right. Again, Father helps you hold the knife against the black foal’s throat, even as it bucks and rocks stiffly from side-to-side. It begins to scream – a yowling cry like a baby. Your hands are shaking – your fingers are numb.

“Now, Hippomedon!”

The blade slashes of its own accord – black blood sprays, and this time, you step back quickly. The foal topples to the ground, and its hooves scrawl wild loops into the earth. You watch as it strains to right itself, wracks its body, tries to hold the wound shut against the dirt.

All fruitless efforts – it lies still.

Father places a hand on your shoulder, and you turn to him – his eyes search you again, as you grapple with the deed...

>okay, /qst/ - another set of THREE dice+1d20 rolls. Hippomedon survived the first morale test here, and the killing of the second foal is less shocking as a result, so I'm assigning a +2 context bonus. So 6 and under is the number to beat.

Rolled 13 (1d20)

>>6319490
Kingly ambition?

Rolled 2 (1d20)

>>6319490

>>6319490
>>6319501
My ability to roll low has come in clutch.

>>6319501
>>6319502
>>6319494

Well done, anons. I do need another roll to see if child Hippo manages to impress his dad a little

Rolled 18 (1d20)

>>6319580

>>6319494
Nah dad just believes all men are kings. Sadly, mom believed if he breathes; he's a thot.

>>6319618
>all men
Not peasants.

>>6319619
Well that's cause peasants aren't even people. That's like comparing cows and ducks, man. Be reasonable.

Update tomorrow (probably morning EST).

Fun fact: I’ve been reading Apollonius Rhodios’ Argonautika and it’s possible that he wrote a pretty good epic poem when it is was out of style as an elaborate “fuck you” to his poetic mentor. I found this very reassuring since I started QMing out of pure spite myself

>>6319686
kek

>>6319686
My favorite thing is that super ancient graffiti they found and it was a bunch of crass jokes and dumb bullshit that you see today. It reassures me that likely in the future a thousand years from now there will be more jokes about taking mad shits on their neighbor's porch written on strange futuretech crystal memory sticks or whatever weird crap they make. Humanity truly never changes.

A burning sensation spreads within your chest – like you’re holding your breath. Again, you feel the blade slip from your fingers – the bronze tip lands neatly in the earth, and the knife stands upright. The goals are motionless now - how strange that only a minute ago, they played with you as a friend. Droplets of fresh blood splash into the dirt besides the ruddy bronze. Again, your guts twist and writhe – but you hold back your vomit, only barely. You wince as pain singes your fingertips – somehow, you had cut them as you released the black foal’s lifeblood.

Father notices this, and kneels to inspect the cuts – his hands are gentle, but firm.

“Ah – the cost of duty, Hippomedon. Even when we are strong, when we are decisive, there will be pain. But we must never relent in the face of discomfort. We have common ground with Adrastus there, at least.”

“But you must know, Hippomedon, that even strength, honor, fame and duty is not enough. Others will strip from you what you deserve - smiling thieves will rob you of your birthright before you are even born… The only response can be to tilt the future in our favor – to strike out, no matter the cost. And failure must never be tolerated.”

At this last statement, Father turns to the servant – a balding commoner man of middle years. His face is blanched white.

“Lasthenes, is it not so that you have betrayed me and my interests?” Father asks. The man coughs and splutters a bit, before responding.

“Y-yes, it is so, Prince Aristomachus.” Your man-self stirs in confusion – [i]did this truly come to pass? The the moment with the foals, yes, but I do not recall this interrogation…[/i]

“And what the nature of this betrayal?”

“I gambled away the wealth and substance of Argos, meant for Athens. I was weak, and the women of Corinth were willing. When it came time to return to Argos, I instead fled to Sicyon.” Your boy-self is confused again – what women?

“And what is the justice required for this betrayal?”

“To g-go down to the Lord of Many, Prince Aristomachus.”

Father turns to you and speaks slowly to you –

“Do you see, Hippomedon? This man is deformed in the spirit, and in the mind – not in the flesh. He could not fulfil his duty as a result. His weakness must culled before it can infect others. Bring him the knife.”

Your limbs move – you feel nothing as you float over the earth and hand him the blade. The man is weeping silently, still white with terror.

“If you have the strength to save your family, Lasthenes, then use it now,” your Father intones calmly.

>/qst/, I need your help for these morale rolls – you will be rolling for Lasthenes. I need TWO rolls of dice+1d20. Normally his will is 5 (worse than the average commoner), but there is a significant context bonus of +5 (which may become clearer later). So anyways Lasthenes is trying to roll under a 10 twice.

Rolled 17 (1d20)

>>6319872

Rolled 10 (1d20)

>>6319872
Well he failed already kek

Rolled 6 (1d20)

>>6319724

>>6319898
>>6319901

>17, 10
>extremely narrow pass for Lasthenes

Amazing how the dice conspire for greater drama. Next update (which include a vote) will be tomorrow, probably in the evening EST. We’re making good time and are on schedule!

>>6319903
What happened to your old trip?

>>6319903
>pass
>So anyways Lasthenes is trying to roll under a 10 twice.
Hm?

>>6319904

Eh now that you mention it, I think I misremembered by my old trip pass (even though I swear I know it by heart…). Should be able to check my original notes and verify by tomorrow morning. I doubt that 4chan changed their trip algorithm but maybe they did after the basedjak hack incident?

>>6319906

Bad phrasing on my part - morale checks are a “meet or roll below” test. Our guy had a 5 WILL and +5 context bonus = 10 or below morale check.

>>6319912
But he still didn't roll ten or below -twice-.

>>6319912
>I doubt that 4chan changed their trip algorithm but maybe they did after the basedjak hack incident?
They did, because many passwords and tripcodes were exposed.

>>6319927

>twice

Ah, apologies for being unclear, I just meant that there would be two rolls of dice+1d20, each roll attempt being to match or roll under 10. Bad wording on my part. Anyways I was mostly looking for some direction for the scene and Tyche Αυτοματια has provided it!

Where is hippo's momma anyways? A lake, wetland, or river?