LordLuck
The Wicked Historian
- Joined
- Feb 10, 2011
- Posts
- 2,649
(closed for me and JustEl)
The greatest city in the world. The marvel of the Black Sea, the capital of the greatest of the heir states of Roma. The so called Constantinopolis, the city of glorious Constantine, was indeed the most prodigious city in the world. Baghdad, on the East, looked upon Byzantium with greedy eyes, while Rome itself stood under the rule of barbarians, a hollow shell of it's former self, envious of it's sister's magnificent glory.
It was there that the most able scholars of the land met. It was there that all the trade routes in the world now went, cluttered with merchants from every side of the globe. Be it from the frozen, barren wastes of the north, to the southernmost lands beyond the sea, from the distant barbarian kingdoms of the west towards the forgotten, unnacessible lands of Persia; it was indeed the middle of the world.
It's people, the rhomanoi, were the true inheritors of the roman culture and glory. Their greek speech, that replaced the decadent and forgotten latin, was now known by any worthwile student of the arts.
And this story, is about one such artist.
Phokos wandered the Great Market, just beside the Hippodromos. He was worried, but assured that this negotiation would only give him lucre. In fact, he walked slowly and surely. His visage was stern, a renowned figure amongst every loanshark and criminal underboss into the city. No petty thief would dare raising a knife against him, no miserable boy would dar stumbling on him to reach for his pouch. Phokos was feared, his bald, clean shaven head dread before any merchant into the town.
One such merchant of wool was his visit, this day. He was drowned in debts, and would soon meet his dagger should he not raise the money needed. In any way, Phokos would be pleased, soon enough.
It was a good day to murder. A better still, to buy.
Byzantium
Circa 522 A.D.
Circa 522 A.D.
The greatest city in the world. The marvel of the Black Sea, the capital of the greatest of the heir states of Roma. The so called Constantinopolis, the city of glorious Constantine, was indeed the most prodigious city in the world. Baghdad, on the East, looked upon Byzantium with greedy eyes, while Rome itself stood under the rule of barbarians, a hollow shell of it's former self, envious of it's sister's magnificent glory.
It was there that the most able scholars of the land met. It was there that all the trade routes in the world now went, cluttered with merchants from every side of the globe. Be it from the frozen, barren wastes of the north, to the southernmost lands beyond the sea, from the distant barbarian kingdoms of the west towards the forgotten, unnacessible lands of Persia; it was indeed the middle of the world.
It's people, the rhomanoi, were the true inheritors of the roman culture and glory. Their greek speech, that replaced the decadent and forgotten latin, was now known by any worthwile student of the arts.
And this story, is about one such artist.
***
Phokos wandered the Great Market, just beside the Hippodromos. He was worried, but assured that this negotiation would only give him lucre. In fact, he walked slowly and surely. His visage was stern, a renowned figure amongst every loanshark and criminal underboss into the city. No petty thief would dare raising a knife against him, no miserable boy would dar stumbling on him to reach for his pouch. Phokos was feared, his bald, clean shaven head dread before any merchant into the town.
One such merchant of wool was his visit, this day. He was drowned in debts, and would soon meet his dagger should he not raise the money needed. In any way, Phokos would be pleased, soon enough.
It was a good day to murder. A better still, to buy.