Pen and Paper - A Writers Clan

It was nightfall. The stars shone through small holes in the clouds. A young man walked by the shore, looking up at the sky. Thunder quietly roared in the distance as the waves rose and crashed both nearby and far. The man solemnly looked out at the ocean as the crashing of waves seemed to get louder. As he listened, it seemed as if he could faintly hear his mother and father calling out to him. The waves got louder. The calls got louder. “Telemachus…” “Telemachus…” “Telemachus.” “TELEMACHUS.” “Telemachus?” Telemachus yelled and quickly pulled out his longbow, stringing it in less than a second and pointing it at the voice that came from behind. His wife, Eribas, was behind him, unflinching. Ever since the passing of both his father and mother, the burden of ruling the kingdom of Ithaca had been taken off their shoulders and put on the shoulders of her and Telemachus. While he was quite capable of ruling over these people, the sudden burden of a booming kingdom had started to take its mental toll on the young king (or as young as you would count a 25-year-old to be). Eribas handed him a fresh roll of bread. “You’ve been out here for quite a long time, Telemachus,” she said. “Lacis and I have been worried about you.” Telemachus put his longbow away and sighed. “Apologies, Eribas.” he replied. “I’ve been... nervous lately.” “You don’t really think that some estranged son of Antinous is coming to try and assassinate you, do you?” Eribas said, stifling a chuckle at the thought of it. Telemachus looked at her adamantly. “I want you to remember something, Telemachus: why did Antinous come to the palace in the first place?” “For my mother’s hand.” “And why would he want your mother’s hand if he already had a son, dear? Wouldn’t that imply he had some sort of mistress then?” Telemachus looked at her. She looked back. “Maybe you’re right,” he said. “But still, it’s better to be safe than sorry. One king has already died this month. Another dying would be a disaster.” “I know dear. Now come,” Eribas said, walking towards the trail that led back to the palace. “The servants have prepared dinner for ourselves and our husband.” Telemachus followed behind, eating some of the bread his wife had given him as they travelled along the sandy forest path that led back to their pristine, marble palace. At the same time, far away from the palace, a young man about the same age as the newly crowned king of Ithaca sat at a table in his small farmhouse, a tall figure sitting right across from him. The house itself was quite small, cramped almost. The man looked at the stranger. “So you say you will help me find and kill the man who killed another man who is apparently my father by blood?” He asked. The taller man smirked. “Indeed, dear Makhaira,” He answered. “Your dear father, Antinous, was wrongfully murdered by Telemachus, the king of Ithaca. I am asking for you to come with me and join me in rightfully murdering a murderer.” Makhaira looked at the stranger, hesitant. “I can make you king, like your father should have been.” Makhaira thought about it longer, but finally stood up. “Fine. I’ll help you,” The man answered. “But what is your name, stranger?” The stranger stood up. “I have many names,” He said. “But you can call me by my true name: Poseidon.”