Owner	Pose
Zatanna Zatara	Shadowcrest unfolds into rooms leading to other countries. None of them are open to other planets or other times. That would require vast amounts of energy and spells needing constant maintenance. Guests occasionally get lost when they wander off into other countries though the family has always found them as far as they know. Best to keep a good guest list and that everyone keeps tabs on their plus-ones. Servants are on hand to lead guests to portals. One of Zee's favorite rooms opens onto a bedroom in a modest Greek house. It has cool stone floors and white stucco walls. An old carved wooden door leads to a terrace with a pool overlooking an olive vineyard and the scintillating blue of the Aegean. It is early evening. There is still a trace of summer heat in the air. Sweet smoke rises from a fire pit on the terrace, and a lamb turns on a spit over the olive wood fire. Zatanna awaits a guest who will need the assistance of a servant to find the portal. She lounges in a long chair next to one of the most modern house elements, dressed in a long blue flowing caftan with tassels hanging from its large open sleeve. The infinity pool is not large enough to swim laps in but tricks the eye into thinking the terrace adjoins the vast sea it rises over.
Angelo Tampambulos	The odd part of this all is that Angelo hadn't much idea what the plans were. Just that he was to go to the Manor and that it had nothing to do with SHIELD, demons, or any of that insanity... and that a bathing suit might.. MIGHT be in order. Perhaps a visit to some exotic beach. Perhaps a jacuzzi soak.... either way it sounded like it was something social. For that reason, he decided to bring another of those bottles of old Mead he keeps handy. What? He likes mead.     And so a knock at the Shadowcrest front door leads to the servant who indicates that he should follow said servant.     And it's a matter of minutes before Angelo steps through the doorway / portal with the bottle in hand.     His eyebrows lift, and those green eyes of his traverse about the area. "Swanky." he remarks as he steps over to a table and puts the bottle down on it. "You look lovely by the way."
Zatanna Zatara	Zee unlimbers herself from the chair to rise and greet Angelo. "Ever the courtier, Angelo. It's those old world manner that I find charming." Her sapphire eyes glint with humor as she extends her hand for him to take. "When was the last time you were near your birthplace? I've never asked you where that was. But I wager it wasn't on this island. I like the idea of being surrounded by water. I hope you brought your appetite." A side table laden with dishes native to the Aegean stands near the fire. The whole lamb turns slowly over the fire that sputters with juices and fat from under the golden exterior.
Angelo Tampambulos	"Oh, I come visit now and then. At least once every twenty or so years." offers Angelo as he greets Zatanna, taking her hand with a warm smile. "But the Kingdom of Phthia, where I was born... is pretty much right in the middle of what is current Greece. Just north of Mount Giona."     He pauses and shrugs, "I've been there numerous times. Amazing how it has changed over the eons. My childhood home was in a valley... about as far from the shore of the Aegean as it could have been." Of course, as he pronounces old ancient Greek names and terms, they have an odd sound to them. Not -current- Greek type accent... just different. He hasn't spoken Greek in a -long- time really. So Aegean sounds more like.. Achaen (Ah-cchay-an) almost like an Arabic phlegmy central syllable.     "My grandfather established the Kingdom there as a vassal state under Thessaly. My father ruled it, and my mother took me away from there when word of Sparta's loss of a Queen reached us. It seems that she knew that I would be called off to war, and worried that I would never come home." A pause... "I never did actually return to her." he adds, words trailing off absently as he approaches the table full of food. "I have memories of Chiron from before the war. Do you know how swelled a warrior prince's head can get when Chiron... immortal centaur trainer of heroes for centuries... tells him that there is nothing the great teacher can teach said prince? Man, I was such a little shit. To everyone except..." And he clamps his lips shut at that. Not really wanting to say the name aloud. His first friend. His closest friend ever.
Zatanna Zatara	When she releases his hand overly aware of how green his eyes are, she takes the bottle he brought and sets it on the table. She studies his face as he speaks, noting the laugh lines around his mouth and the faintest creases at the corners of his eyes, the legacy of wars fought in the open and someone who has seen the best and worst of mankind. "I didn't know the exact location. Most people who have studied literature know something of your story. Perhaps not the real story that was embellished by Homer. You are in a unique position to call the hero of Troy a little shit. Were you really that bad? Would Chiron have let you be insufferable or was it part of the ethos of war and Greek manhood at the time?"
Angelo Tampambulos	Pulled out of his reverie by the words of the magi, Angelo gives a tiny shake of his head, akin to trying to clear cobwebs out of it. His eyes flicker to Zatanna's, and he grins a bit. "Well, the problem is the cultural context of the term... hero. The irony is that the word itself is pretty much the exact same three plus millennia later. The original sound for it was.. heros.. though, some others pronounced it..." he pauses, closes his eyes and recalls, "tiriseroe..." he shrugs, "It did not mean... those who protect the helpless, and place themselves between the people and dangers to those people like the modern term does. In my childhood, a hero was simply a mortal... usually a demigod if you must know... but a mortal who was destined to serve as the Earthly pawn of a god or gods. The gods could not -directly- act against people. They used heroes to enforce their will."     He steps over to the table and selects two glasses, "Mead?" he asks as he reaches for the bottle and begins pouring. Then he keeps explaining. "Storytellers made heroes out to be larger than life. In the -stories- they were exactly what you think of as a hero. The truth was... life is never black and white. It is messy. And yes, I was a little shit. And Chiron's task was not to teach me to be a good person. It was to teach me to be a 'hero'... a leader of my people. Of the Myrmidons... the greatest warriors of my day."     He turns to regard Zatanna with a full glass in either hand, holding one out to her. "He watched me do my spear drills once and told me that there was nothing about fighting that I could learn from him. That I was better than any warrior he had ever seen. Himself included. Imagine a thirteen year old rich stuck up prince being told -that- huh?" he asks as he takes a sip.
Zatanna Zatara	After taking the glass from him with a dip of her head, her eyes linger on his face, a faint smile lifting the corners of her mouth as he underlines being rich and stuck up. She looks out on the sea, its color deepening as the sun lowers to a color matching her eyes. "Chiron must have seen more in you. But, as you say, it was not his role to form your character but ready you to be the best in war. Hardly the place to develop empathy or grace. So, what changed for you? What saved you from being just a pawn of the gods led by your ego?"
Angelo Tampambulos	"For a long time, nothing. But...." a pause and he shakes his head, "Again, there are not instant changes... single events that change a person entirely but.. the first cracks in my confidence came in the form of Iphigenia.." he says. Then he repeats the name more softly, "Iphigenia. Who showed more courage than any warrior I have ever seen."     His eyes cast out over the Aegean for a moment as he takes a sip. "I was sixteen years old, and in command of five -thousand- Myrmidons. The fleet was stuck at shore without any wind. The priest called for a sacrifice. He called for the High King Agamemnon to sacrifice his own blood. And so the King... who craved glory more than anything else...." he pauses and shakes his head, "Some storytellers will say that he made the sacrifice unwillingly. That he did what was needed to serve the people. Those storytellers are wrong. That man cared for nothing and no-one more than himself. Than his own ambitions and immortal glory. He summoned his daughter.. and told her that she would be marrying me. Mind you.. he neglected to inform -me- of this until she arrived."     Another gulp is taken and he sighs. "I was caught off guard, but if the high king wished me to marry his daughter... that was good for her... good for me.. good for Phthia... for everyone. So I agreed. Little did I know it was all a sham."     He gulps at the mead once more, draining the glass almost angrily before he pulls it from his face and sighs, "He had her grabbed by his men. She realized then what he intended, and it was Iphigenia herself who told the guards to release her, and who stood before her father and agreed to be sacrificed. Like I said... courage. A warrior expects death from a blade. A princess who has grown up protected? Courage is not the lack of fear. It is facing your fear and going on. She accepted her fate... and I watched an innocent girl show courage in the face of a demand from the gods that a father kill his own daughter. That was the first time I thought that perhaps... I might not be the naive pawn the gods desired."
Zatanna Zatara	Zatanna sips her mead slower, her eyes shifting from the deepening blue of the sea to his face. "The gods were merciless at times." She shakes her head ruefully, adding, "I would have brought their ire down on my head for uttering those words." Zee had suspected that something profound had changed the vain boy into the man capable of looking at the world more clearly but she had not anticipated Iphigenia's story. Sympathetically, she observes after a pause, "Women are brave but no one sings their glory in songs. It would take courage to be oneself as a Greek woman in those times, I think. Tell me about her. Did you have time to know her before she sacrificed herself?"
Angelo Tampambulos	Shaking his head, Angelo sighs, "Sadly, I did not. I looked into it later, after I faked my death. I wanted to honor her." He sets down his glass and shrugs his shoulders, "That was the beginning of the cracks in my facade, so to speak."     He turns and rests his elbows on the edge of the railing. He leans back and takes a deep breath, "I always did love the sea air on the Aegean. There is no place in the world like it." he adds with the hint of a smile.     "But to give your earlier question a full answer... the rest of my soul broke free of the shackles of destiny after a combination of events. Penthesilea... Hector.." he pauses and shakes his head, "What I did to Hector was not only harsh, but pure evil. I could claim that I was reacting out of grief and rage, but there is -no- excuse for parading his dead body around his city, just to torment his grieving father and wife."     Another pause and he adds, "It was not Hector's death that broke me. It was his nobility. His own courage and sacrifice. And the pact he -wished- to make with me before we fought. A pact that I refused.... for the winner to treat the loser with respect."     After my actions of that day, I knew that I could never look even Chiron in the eyes. He did not try to make me a good man, but he would know that I had been an evil man. I may have lost the best friend that I ever had.... the first lover that I ever took. Hell, my first love, truth be told." A pause, "But that does not excuse a descent into darkness and evil. But.. it was when Priam, king of Troy snuck into my own tent and -begged- me for his son's body that I decided that I had had -enough- of that war. Ten years... and nothing changed, right up until Odysseus's cleverness got the Greek forces into the city."
Zatanna Zatara	The glass she holds is empty. She leaves her place at the railing next to him to bring the bottle to fill both their glasses. Then, she goes to take a look at the lamb sizzling into the fire. "We are not far off from it being done. I don't want to interrupt your story." Rejoining him, she is silent as she imagines Achilles emerging through the dust of battle with a bloodied corpse dragged behind his chariot and his dawning horror at the man he had become in service to the gods. Service or slavery, she wonders. "Ten long years of death and battle and broken pacts. That is enough to break most men."