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Wizards’ World War (s.3) Dispatch 18: Song of Ages


Tweet of the Day: Ten easy ways to confuse The Spirit Of Place

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Seasons 1 & 2Season 3 PremiereDispatch 17Dispatch 19a

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Island of Aeaea, Ionian Sea, 27 July, 06:22 hrs +3 GMT

Circe watched from the island’s highest hilltop over a vast fog bank that merged with the dawn. Beyond human sight, a vast flotilla moved south, carrying tens of thousands of demon warped men, ready to slaughter anyone who got in their way. She had seen fleets like that before, men in search of conquest and glory. Their true cargo was always death and if they passed through her realm as the new gods asked of her, they would deliver their cargo to Athens.

She had done what the gods demanded before, the old gods, the ones who drank, spoke and lusted like men. For they were men who took the mantle of the gods and ruled as divine. Yet all their endeavors where unholy, all their designs disastrous, all their deeds foul.

But not today.

Her sisters joined her at the hilltop. They sat in stone sculpted by wind and will. They were all her sisters and daughters. They were lambs who once feared lions, castoff into the sea and from whence Circe rescued them. They where keepers of ancient lore, of languages and arts long forgotten. Older than the those who planted along the Indus, the Nile and the Euphrates. Living scrolls of ancient wisdom from a time where humanity linger between thought and voice. And she was the living spirit of the Ionian. She was the wind and the waves.

And today, they would sing.

Circe raised her wand and led the choir of many voices and multiple tongues.

It was a chtonic song, an eldritch song, as powerful as any song in ten thousand years.

The fog fled.

The sun rose.

The fleet laid exposed.

What came next was an age old spectacle played with weapons new and old.

Allied forces detected the massive fleet. Greek and Turkish fighter planes caught the enemy out in the open. Hundreds of them converged on the enemy, bombing and strafing all day long. At sunset, the last remnants of the once might force slid under the waves. Tens of thousands of bodies washed on Ionian shores.

The wind carried Circe’s voice across the Ionian, “We stand with humanity, we stand with truth, which is eternal. Come ye false gods and tempt my wrath. This is as far as you go and no further. Humanity’s fate is now my own.”

Her answer came in the form of a gigantic sea serpent who rose from the waters until it came face to face with Circe. The beast bowed its head to its mistress and sped north to battle the forces of false gods.

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