Master Post OOC/Signups Aeneid’s Author awoke mere moments before the shining vermillion hue of Algol could seep into his window frame, remembering once more, that his damnation had ceased to be eternal. His breath followed in the wake of his racing heart, and the decrepit scribe shuffled out of his bed of silk and other linens. With anxiety etched upon his grim visage, the Roman poet struggled to unfasten the locks on his rustic door. Frustrated, Virgil pounded on the iron knob with his walking staff, freeing himself from the confines of his own home. Now old and apt to forget, the poet, with all his elderly might, ran forth towards the docks. Lined with dusty cobblestones and smoothened skulls of both Damned and demon alike, the avenues of the Damned Polis, hidden by a thick quilt of cold mist, greeted Virgil with not so much as a good morning. The poet turned left, and right, in and out of both the shadowy alleyways and the chapped bridges, as if following a route that seemed erratic and unknown. Because it was dusk, not a single Damned was awake to help old Virgil run, and even if there were, they would much rather escort the once wise leader of the mortal rebellion back to the Hall of Kings. It was true; his mind had slowly failed him, hence, so too did his lunacy fail the people of the Polis. But, on this very day, despite the poet’s enfeebled mind, Virgil felt something amiss. Passing the large statue of the Crusader Dante, whose hand held a cross that irradiated a calming blue light, Virgil arrived at the docks, where a lowly bard awaited the coming of the Demon Star. The young man’s platinum locks were quite dishevelled, having been ruffled by the freezing winds of the coastline, as well as his arboresque horns. The young Greek musician plucked the strings of his lyre, composing a forlorn hymn that accompanied the solemn silence of the night. With an icy sigh, he withdrew his instrument and wrapped it around filthy rags, enshrouding his face with the shadows of his hooded mantle. “Where are you going, Orpheus, my son?” Virgil enquired of the elegist, his voice crackling with weakness and despair. The old man stepped forth, but once he did, Orpheus recoiled. He could no longer live in the Polis, for the hope it once brought began to wane. “You are not my father,” the young bard’s words were daggers to Virgil’s heart. Orpheus, who was through with his adoptive father’s inaction, desired to spite at him. “What did we do, Virgil? What did we do, when Dante entombed our “Lord” into the Cocytus?” With contempt in his eyes, the young bard stepped forth. “While Satan’s forces dispersed like fools at the loss of their God, and ours were at their most powerful, what did we do, then?” He gripped the old poet’s shoulders, shaking him violently, “While Eurydice waited for me, I stayed here, waiting for naught! We should’ve done something the moment Satan fell! We should’ve voyaged—“ it was then, that the young man was slapped. The bard was speechless, and he stepped back. He boarded the small raft, and began untying the ropes. “Eurydice and I will reunite, Virgil. Even if I have to brave the Burning Hells without you, unlike our hero. You disappoint me…” “We did many things, my son. We bolstered our defences, erected homes for the Damned, and after eons, Limbo became not a piece of perdition, but a beacon of hope! We’ve introduced forgiveness and repentance to these people, so much, that Julius Caesar has learned to forgive Brutus and Cassius. Don’t you see, Orpheus? We have literally done the impossible! A war is brewing between us and the creatures of the Inferno, yes, but the oppressed needn’t more violence. You do not understand. Even with Satan gone, many demons still operate under the cover of darkness. In fact, Hell is even more dangerous.” Virgil loosened the grip of his staff, and while it strained him heavily, knelt down to hold the rope. “Do not leave, Orpheus, I beg of you! There’ll be a time for redemption, but now is not that time. It is the time for preparation, and we need you t—“ gripping his heart, Virgil fell. With widened eyes, Orpheus leapt off the boat and clenched his sickly father. It was then, at this moment, that Algol peeped from the horizon, illuminating Limbo with a darker form of day. Orpheus carried his father and ran to the home of Hippocrates, the first doctor. A week later, in the late King Minos' chambers, turned into a lyceum for public hearings and gatherings… The rising Algol lingered behind the misty and mountainous verge of Limbo, reluctantly, perhaps, to show its face on a cold, crisp morning. “He is gone, but not forgotten,” a powerful voice erupted, speaking to an assembly of an almost immeasurable amount of mortal Damned. “For how could we forget the one who taught us hope, kindness, and forgiveness, even in the Inferno? How could we forget the one who, despite having Paradise before him, returned to Hell’s beginning to appraise us that salvation is, in fact, a possibility?” Julius Caesar’s voice, unlike Orpheus’ only moments ago, succumbed not to sorrow. The Roman Emperor remained levelheaded, and although he was greatly bereaved, showed no weakness, as it would only demoralise the denizens of Limbo. It was most unfortunate for them, as a second death in the afterlife will reduce one to nothing. Virgil was gone forevermore. While Julius delivered his speech, Orpheus disappeared from the crowd. Guised underneath the hood of his greyish blue mantle, the bard paced along the empty streets of Limbo. He stopped by Dante’s Monument in the centre of the Polis, where a new, albeit smaller statue of his father, Virgil, was erected beside it. He wept silently, brandishing his lyre and playing the last tune Virgil heard him play that fateful night at the docks. “Forgive me, father… I will leave tonight,” he touched the statue’s arm. Although he still desired to be with his beloved Eurydice, Orpheus wished to tell Dante of his and Virgil’s legacy.