Eve needs to know.
But not right now.
Hang on, Exact Words. How can we game the language of this favor?
...Well first off, it doesn't say the child has to STAY.
Just that we have to bring the child to him.
And then we can run. We are good at that.
Muta disappears and the chill in the air goes with him. You think about all that has happened and the path is clear to you. You must tell Eve. When night falls, you follow into Eve's dreams. You show her visions of her newborn, and its father, Suha. When she awakes she is troubled but also excited. She tells Suha. More excitement and more trouble. Suha refuses to let Eve continue fighting. But Eve resists and will fight anyway.
In the morning, Eve enters the ashen ring. The final fight is against Akhentef's best soldier, a tower of a man called Sese. You watch from the sidelines, ready to act should it be necessary. There is no circling this time, Sese leaps into battle. Eve rolls to the side. Sese spins his staff and bring down on upon Eve, Eve steps into the blow and smashes her staff against his left temple. Sese staggers. A blow to the left leg. He falls to one knee. Three blows in quick succession, stomach, chest, and head. The red strand of the goddess of war shines as fire upon her neck.
A last blow. Sese is knocked to the ground. There none left who can stand against her. She looks at Akhentef. All becomes silent. Akhentef stands and claps. The crowd explodes in cheers. Eve leaves without a scratch, her domination: absolute.
At night she is invited to dine with Akhentef.
"So, Eve, you have bested my men. This land shall belong to you and your people forever...or at least as long as you can hold it."
"I've played your little game -"
"We are all players, Eve. Now there is one more matter to settle, and then I and my men will leave this place."
"I will go to the Shemish Mountains and retrieve whatever lies therein."
"Good. Good. Then we understand each other."
"No. We do not. And I don't suspect we ever will. But I will do this thing to free myself and my people."
"Hahaha. Well said. Well said, Eve. Hahaha. Ahhh. Well. I suppose time is the only true proof. You may eat those words one day, Eve."
"I doubt it."
"We shall see. As for the task at hand. You'll need this." He snaps his fingers and a servant hands Eve a rolled up scroll. Eve un-scrolls it. Akhentef watches her.
"Its...a map?" says Eve. "So you can read it" whispers Akhentef. "A map, yes. The path to the entrance, which few know, and a way to the depths, which even the gods do not know. It is a long journey Eve. I do not know what dangers you may face there. It is a place even the gods cannot go. You will be alone, and must rely upon your own wits and will." Eve scrolls up the map and puts it away.
"I think I'll manage." Akhentef stares at her, and in his face you can see something akin to pity and grief.
"Go then." He says, softly.
Eve rises and leaves.
You grow pensive. You have time, Muta has given you until the birth of Eve's child. But at that moment you must choose between Eve's lover -- the father of her child -- and the child itself. You cannot follow Eve into the depths where she must go.
[Ok, I'm going to try something a little different: you now have a choice, you can either follow Eve or Arlore (both sides will be told eventually, just choose which one to hear first]
WDYD?Wow, its been so long since my last post. I'm really sorry to everyone that's been waiting, I've simply been so busy with schoolwork I just kept putting it off until I just...forgot about it.
Anyway, the fact that someone replied even now, deeply buried as this thread is, tells me you guys want resolution. And you will get it, I promise you. New post first thing tomorrow (as its quite late here, right now).
Again I apologize, but take heart! We will see this thing through to the end!
just a thought: Ever think about being a writer/storyteller, your very good at it. also take your time
Thanks man, and yes I've considered it many times. Its actually always been something like a dream of mine, but I don't know, I just don't think I'm good enough a writer to attempt it.