บท 19: Dungeons & Other Shit
Chapter 19: Dungeons & Other Shit
Dungeons & Other Shit
Mera walked calmly along the path of the Labyrinth, her hoofs resounding quietly on the cobbled path that suddenly turned into a stretch of sand.
"I still find hysterical that you named your horse 'Mera' because she's a mare." Abigail's mocking voice made me turn on one side to smile wildly towards her.
We left the 3G Ranch an undetermined stretch of time before, after receiving confirmation that the transaction with Geryon went well, and we had made use of the occasion to purchase a couple of horses: my carnivorous mare, which I had admittedly not wasted much time in naming, and a flaming horse for Abigail, that she had bonded with during my chat with Charles.
The satyr, both due to his goat legs and his natural aversion towards tamed animals that were bred exclusively to aid humans, kept up with a spring in his step that I was glad to see. It had taken a brief shouting match to make him realize that there was a good reason why Pan hadn't been seen for the better part of a thousand years. Gods were cunts, of that I had little doubt, but it was rare that they acted without reason at all. Besides, if nobody ever found Pan, I doubt that our little group would manage when I treated his retrieval as little more than a side-quest.
The only thing that apparently nobody ever thought about was trying to solve the issue of the Wild's death by themselves. And I could only hope that there was some measure of truth to the saying 'God helps who helps themselves.
"You called your horse Feb, short of Phoebus." I rolled my eyes while I looked her over. It was undeniable that she had a good bond with her horse which disliked following my mare and had attempted to bite a couple of times, only to be rebuffed sharply by the daughter of Apollo.
"How did you manage to organize his food by the way?" Charles asked as he walked by my side, his nose twitching madly while he subconsciously looked for a hint of any kind.
Abigail laughed a bit while she looked over one of the arrows she had plucked from her quiver: "Feb can eat any plant if it is on fire, it's not a big issue, but admittedly once we're settled back home we'll need to either use alchemy to prepare an ointment for the ever-burning wheat or simply buy from Geryon."
I nodded at the reminder: "Once we're done with this part, we'll need to kill Geryon."
"What!?" the startling answer from Abigail was at odds with the suddenly gleeful look on Charles' face, "Why would we need to do that?"
"Because he's a greedy bastard who will figure out a way to sell us off, with the numbers about the cattle I've purchased, once could make an educated guess about our admittedly small numbers, and while this first trade was fruitful for him and necessary for us, he was already thinking about killing us and then direct the less savoury parts of Greek Myth on our asses. For example, I bet the Lycans would rather enjoy storming our island while our guard is down."
"I thought you addressed the secrecy in the contract you had him swear to uphold on the Styx."
I nodded again while my eyes scanned the everchanging scenery in front of us, my will keeping the creeping silence of the Labyrinth at bay: "I did, but I couldn't ask for him to bind to the secret his employer, could I? He cannot offer information about us, but leaving around pieces of info is pretty easy to do, and if then he gets an extra on his following transaction, then who is he to say no?"
"But how could anyone just find the island?" Abigail questioned me, "It's not like it actually has an address, we stumbled upon it from the sea, and one cannot simply navigate the Labirynth."
"Yeah, but we just witnessed Geryon send cattle through a missive-service that requires him nothing but a little tax to the God of Thieves." I snorted, "Once he gets enough incentive, he'll just breed a super Chimaera and drop it on our asses."
"That's paranoid." the daughter of Apollo frowned at my back while I shrugged uncaringly.
"Well... you've seen how he treats animals, he's kind of an asshole." Charles obviously sided with me, "You know, a patron is exactly the kind of thing that would solve this problem."
I grimaced at the reminder: "Yeah, yeah, I know. But I don't want to start a competition between the Olympians like they did in Athens, mostly because we would make an enemy of anyone we didn't choose."
"What about your mother?" Abigail proposed, "I know that my dad would sooner burn you alive than help you, but he is a possibility, like everybody else. Founding a city isn't exactly something that happens every other day, the Gods will be falling one over another in order to gain such honour."
I grimaced at the proposal, thinking over my last meeting with Hekate, who had apparently conned me out of three golden apples in exchange for a vague promise that someday, once 'another condition was met' I would earn the frankly bullshit powerset of a true-born demigod of Poseidon. Honestly, before our raid of Circe's island, I knew jack shit about magic beyond my admittedly instinctive manipulation of the Mist, and I hadn't had the time to learn properly since then.
Magic is female. Circe's words echoed in my head as we kept moving inside of the Labyrinth. What little I knew of necromancy, both from Medea's legend and the examples that Nico Di Angelo would one day provide, coupled with the generally ritualistic aspect involved in changing people into animals, led me to believe that magic was at its core an 'exchange' of sorts. I won't go far without a proper teacher. I reluctantly admitted to myself: I had an instinctive grasp of the manipulation of the Mist, due to my blood, and I could tie small illusions through small enchantments, but that was the extent of my knowledge in that field. I was much better at breaking through illusions though. If that was the result of Hekate's essence mixing with the blood of Poseidon's demigods, I didn't know.
Offers could be made for ghosts so that they could temporarily walk among the living, dragon's teeth could be imbued with the essence of war and turned into soldiers made of bone, dreams could carry one towards divining small stretches of the future... there were many examples, both of things I had personally witnessed and stuff that I had only heard about, and the only constant was that there wasn't a fixed rule that allowed someone to perform 'magic'.
"You can't trust an immortal as far as you can throw him, I'd prefer having either someone that genuinely likes us, or that owes us big. What if we agree to have a patron, and then he or she starts having expectations out of us? Or attempts to dictate what we do? The kind of people we should admit on the island? Worse, what if he starts giving out quests?" I replied to Abigail, who turned pensive, no doubt thinking over the distasteful option of Gods giving out Quests to the people of the Adamas.
By the way, we'll need a name for ourselves. People of the Adamas is kind of a mouthful. I made a mental note just as Charles let out a distressed bleating sound, causing both me and Abigail to focus on the Here and Now.
"I smell something." the satyr immediately spoke, making me tense my hands on the shaft of my still unnamed weapon, "Powerful, and old. Acid... no, there's two, both coming from the left."
I grimaced at the idea of facing two monsters at the same time, but while the Labirynth always offered another way, another path, and a different trail to follow, I was reminded of Prometheus words: 'The Labyrinth is more than a Living Maze of Stone Corridors, to choose right from left is easy enough, but meaningless, because it's not the distance you walk with your feet, but the one you cross with your mind and soul that matters'.
Basically, to get anywhere in the Labirynth, one had to survive the tasks that it placed in front of you, all the while without dying for some inane reason like lack of food and water. We had met Janus and stumbled upon Ranch 3G, where I managed to get something useful for our island and learned of the unavoidable eventual betrayal from Geryon, which led a cutthroat business based on 'if I can get away with it, I'll do it', which admittedly, was something that I could understand, even appreciate, if only it didn't put me in the viewfinder of his greed.
Apparently, now we were going to deal with a couple of incredibly powerful monsters. Could we take the first turn to change direction? Yes, could we survive long enough for the Labirynth to pose another challenge to us instead of letting my group roam aimlessly among its never-ending tunnels? I didn't wish to bet on it.
Without a word, I took the path that turned left, directing Mera with the pressure of my knees and securing the helm over my head. The good news: the left tunnel was straight with no side exits, twists, or turns. The bad news was that the path we walked apparently disappeared on our backs, forbidding us from turning back.
"Uh, Icarus... the tunnel is disappearing behind us." Abigail lamely pointed out, making me scoff.
"We're committed to this direction." I said without inflexion: there was neither the time nor the opportunity to change my approach to the Labirynth, we would face whatever head-on, running around like headless chickens was meaningless. And so, with a light tap of my heels on Mera's sides, she started to trot forward. Eventually, we ran into an enormous stone arch that shimmered slightly in the dimming light.
Just as we crossed it, I noticed that we were in a twenty-foot-square cement room, while the opposite wall was covered with metal bars. Just as I turned, I saw that instead of the opening in the tunnel that we had just come from there was a smooth stone surface, lacking any sign of the Labirynth.
"What in Hades?" Abigail looked as flabbergasted as me, while Charles tentatively tugged on the bars while covering his nose with his free hand. Through the bars, we could see rows of cells in a ring around a dark courtyard, with at least three stories of metal doors and metal catwalks.
"A prison," I said, my mind milking what little of my foreknowledge was still useful to me: "Alcatraz, I'd say."
"Shh," the satyr interrupted me, "Listen."
Somewhere above us, deep sobbing echoed through the building. There was another sound, too a raspy voice muttering something that I couldn't make out. The words were strange, like rocks in a tumbler.
"We're in San Francisco then." Abigail whispered between a shuddering landslide-like breath and another, making me wonder why the Labirynth seemed to like me this fucking much. It couldn't be a coincidence, could it? I met Janus, and soon later we managed to rest and get what we needed at Geryon's, and now, we just happened to stumble upon the last of the Hecatonchīres, soon after I started to look for an Immortal to help with my island's project?
Without uttering a word, I hopped off my steed and leveraged my weapon against the bars, unhinging those quickly enough for us to walk across, horses included. Both my mare and Abigail's flaming horse seemed to be nervous, but they had both been raised for war, and thusly trained to keep quiet as long as we held a hand over their snouts. I spotted a telling glint in Mera's eye and I stared her down until she submissively looked at the ground. I'm not eager to get my fingers bitten off, thank you very much.
Surely enough, Charles let out a quiet gasp, and as I looked where he was pointing, my stomach did a somersault. On the second-floor balcony, across the courtyard, was a monster more horrible than anything I'd ever seen before.
It was sort of like a centaur, with a woman's body from the waist up. But instead of a horse's lower body, it had the body of a dragon: at least twenty feet long, black and scaly with enormous claws and a barbed tail. Her legs were twisting columns of slithering snakes that hissed against each other, hundreds of vipers darting around, constantly looking for something to bite.
The woman's hair was also made of snakes, like a Gorgon's, but around her waist, where the woman part met the dragon part, her skin bubbled and morphed, occasionally producing the heads of animals: a vicious wolf, a bear, a lion, as if she were wearing a belt of ever-changing creatures. I got the feeling I was looking at something half-formed, a monster so old it was from the beginning of time, before shapes had been fully defined.
The horses remained quiet as we stilled behind a half-raised wall, the afternoon's shadows granting us some small cover. In any case, the monster wasn't paying us any attention. It seemed to be talking to someone inside a cell on the second floor. That's where the sobbing was coming from. The dragon woman said something in her weird rumbling language.
As the monster tromped toward the stairwell, vipers hissing around her legs like grass skirts, Abigail's hand clamped on my shoulders as if to yank me away, and as she asked: "What the fuck is that?", Kampê spread huge bad wings she kept folded against her dragon back. She leapt off the catwalk and soared across the courtyard.
A hot sulfurous wind blasted my face as the monster flew over, and I felt a shiver run down my spine. There was something clearly wrong about Kampê, something that screamed of ruin and pain, something that I couldn't think of as a mere Monster. No, she was the child of a Primordial, older than the first Titanomachy,
"H-h-horrible," Charles breath came in in ragged gasps, "I've never smelled any monster that strong."
"Kampê," I spoke slowly, hoping that some kind of solution would present itself, "Motherless daughter of Tartarus, high headed Κάμπη ... for all the many crooked shapes of her whole body."
I turned my head towards my pale companions, my head trying to figure out a way to dispose of the beast. "A thousand crawlers from her viperish feet, spitting poison afar, were fanning Enyo to a flame, a mass of misshapen coils. Round her neck flowered fifty various heads of wild beasts: some roared with lion's heads like the grim face of the riddling Sphinx; others were spluttering foam from the tusks of wild boars; her countenance was the very image of Scylla with a marshalled regiment of thronging dog's heads. Doubleshaped, she appeared a woman to the middle of her body, with clusters of poison-spitting serpents for hair. Her giant form, from the chest to the parting-point of the thighs, was covered all over with a bastard shape of hard sea-monsters' scales. The claws of her wide-scattering hands were curved like a crooktalon's sickle. From her neck over her terrible shoulders, with tail raised high over her throat, a scorpion with an icy sting sharp-whetted crawled and coiled upon itself. Such was manifold shaped Campe as she rose writhing, and flew roaming about earth and air and briny deep, and flapping a couple of dusky wings, rousing tempests and arming gales, that black-winged nymph of Tartarus: from her eyelids a flickering flame belched out far-travelling sparks. Yet heavenly Zeus ... killed that great monster, and conquered the snaky Enyo Cronos"
"What?" Charles breathed heavily now, as the words that left my mouth described her with the same precision of the Greeks of Old, and Abigail appeared transfixed in horror as she asked: "You're telling me that Zeus is the only one to ever kill that thing?"
"Not alone," I grimaced, "he was helped by the Hecatonchīres, alone... I don't think he would have had a chance."
"The Heka-what?" Abigail asked.
"The Hundred-Handed Ones," Charles cut in, "They called them that because…well, they had a hundred hands. They were elder brothers of the Cyclopes. Kampê was the jailer," he said. "She worked for Kronos. She kept them locked up in Tartarus, tortured them always, until Zeus came. He killed Kampê and freed Cyclopes and Hundred-Handed Ones to help fight against in the Titanomachy."
"And now Kampê is back," Abigail said her eyes half crinkled as if to hold away the images of that unholy monstrosity.
"Yeah, and guess who is she keeping in that cell?" I smiled grimly, I knew that Kampê was beyond us. It was so far beyond our reach that it wasn't even funny, but I knew, even from I was, that I disliked the idea of letting someone, no matter how resilient, be tortured and kept in chains.
Yet, maybe for the first time since Ladon almost ate me, I felt fear. Shit tended to hit the fan when demigods sinned of hubris, and while I habitually skirted that line, I was also very careful about not stomping on the feet of people more than simply able of smithing me from afar.
I am free. Even as my mantra washed over me, I felt that it made no difference: I was freaking out. I never directly acted against the events that were yet to come to pass, not since Thalia had been turned into a tree despite my avoiding that the first time it happened.
Without another word, and feeling the stare of my companions heavy on my back, we approached the cell, hearing the weeping becoming louder and louder. When I first saw the creature inside, I wasn't sure what I was looking at. He was roughly human-size and his skin was very pale, the colour of milk. He wore a loincloth very much as Atlas did under the Sky, while his feet seemed too big for his body, with cracked dirty toenails, eight toes on each foot. But the top half of his body was the weird part. He made Janus look downright normal. His chest sprouted more arms than I could count, in rows, all around his body. The arms looked somewhat normal, even as they bulged with power that their owner didn't dare express, but there were so many of them, all tangled together, that his chest looked kind of like a forkful of spaghetti somebody had twirled together. Several of his hands were covering his face as he sobbed.
Without another word, Abigail remained on the lookout while Charles moved to seek for a way out of the dead-end in which Kampê was keeping the Hundred-Handed One.
"Briares." I spoke loudly enough that my voice could reach him without travelling outside of the cell, and as an answer, he looked up.
His faces were long and sad, even if some expressed clear surprise both about my presence and more than likely because of the flaming horse at my side. Each of his visages had a crooked nose and bad teeth, with a splattering of ichor trailing over his skin from the countless wounds his jailor had inflicted upon her prisoner. He had deep brown eyes, with no whites or black pupils, like they were made out of clay.
"Run while you can, little demigod," Briares said miserably, "I cannot help you." he immediately tried to shatter whatever hope I had about our conversation.
"You are a Hundred-Handed One, Briares," I spoke soothingly, offering a large cube of ambrosia to his nearest hand, "if you so wished, you could tear the sky asunder."
Briars wiped some of his noses with five or six hands, while tentatively, almost fearfully, he brought the ambrosia to his more hopeful face. Several others were fidgeting with little pieces of metal and wood from a broken bed.
"I cannot," Briares moaned even as the one face that tasted ambrosia smiled blissfully, "Kampê is back! The Titans will rise and throw us back into Tartarus."
"They won't win," I tried to reassure him, "the Fates run in circles Briares, you were a prisoner once, weren't you? And yet, then you were set free, and Olympus won."
Immediately, more or less twenty of Briares's faces morphed into something else: same brown eyes, but otherwise totally different features. He had an upturned nose, arched eyebrows, and a weird smile, like he was trying to act brave, but then the vast majority of his faces turned back to what it had been before.
"No good," he lamented, "I cannot be free."
"Why not?" I asked simply, "You don't need me to break either your chains or the bars that keep you from the larger world."
Briares briefly looked at me like I was an idiot, only to frown heavily and plaster his faces on his hands, as if to hide from the world: "Kampê."
"So... you'd rather stay here? Tortured until the day you forget yourself?" I tilted my head without losing sight of the face that had tasted the ambrosia I had given him. I was hoping that the small kindness would rise some spark of hope from within the formidable creature
Briares sniffled: "I have no choice."
"Don't you?" I retorted, "You could fight her until your death." I shrugged at his disbelieving faces: "That's what you risk when you take everything away from someone, Kampê doesn't realize it, does she? When everything is lost, there is nothing left to lose."
Briares's hands closed into fists for a single instant before they returned to covering his faces, where he restarted with his sobbing: "I cannot win..."
"But you can!" I hissed as I walked closer to the last of the Hekatónkheires: "Where are your brothers, Briares?" I asked suddenly, turning a good forty of his faces into a mourning state I couldn't help but sympathize with.
"...gone..." his answer came into a ragged, hollow breath that made my heart cringe, I wasn't risking Kampê's fury only to inflict even more grief on a prisoner, but I needed to shake him in some way, and so, I landed a hand upon the clammy skin of the last of the Hekatónkheires, trying to push my I am free mantra into him. As I shaped the Mist with nary a thought around us, I remembered with stark clarity the weight of the sky, my vertebrae being fused together with a blowtorch, the uncaring ground making mush of my kneecaps, the sheer hopelessness of something that I had freely brought onto myself.
Being free wasn't about being happy. I realized as I shared that experience with skilful manipulation of the Mist. Being free wasn't even about being hopeful. No, it was about recognizing who you were, and what you were willing to compromise upon, versus the things you'd rather die than being deprived of. While I gained the title of Skyholder, I had simply refused to give up, to stop pushing, to fold to the whim of something that was clearly beyond me.
The possibility, remote but terrible, of being left there by Atlas, did exist. I had refused to see that at the time, but in hindsight, my foolishness should have claimed my life many times over. But in the opposite fashion of how Briares was behaving now, I had refused to simply allow the weight of the Sky to crush me. I was trying to convene what I would do if turned into a slave: "Kampê cannot torture you any more than she's already doing." pleaded him, "let's defeat her together instead, if we succeed, you'll be free, if we fail, you'll be free."
With those grim words, I turned and left: "I'll be back after the sunset, I think my friends and I can dump the top of the island over her head, it won't be a problem to you, will it? You'll be welcome to help." As I mounted over Mera, I shot a wild smile at the last of the Hekatónkheires: "In any case, you'll be free before the dawn."
"Guys," I recalled the others while I led us in in a set of cells that were out of the way: "I know that we cannot actually fight Kampê." I smiled at the relieved sighs from both of my companions, "But we can still bury her alive under the rest of the island."
As I shared with them my admittedly half-baked plan, which relied heavily both on luck and Briares, I witnessed the expressions of my companions shift from exasperated to despaired, to furious, to hopeless, only to cycle back and return to exasperated.
"You want us to rig the supporting areas of Alcatraz with Greek Fire." Abigail forced herself to breathe slowly in order to not stab me in a raptus of fury, while Charles was simply staring at his own hands like was wondering if he was strong enough to strangle me.
"And if Charles could use the Mist to prepare us a vessel to sail away from the island it would be for the best. We can even use it to take the mortals that would remain on the island with us, I wouldn't wish Kampê's rage upon anyone." I nodded thoughtfully, acutely aware that such a direct challenge towards the span of a primordial was more likely than not the most reckless thing that I ever did, and I had once defied both the gods of Sun and Moon, even if in different ways.
After a brief discussion, during which my companions may have addressed me in a less than complimentary manner, Abigail and I settled down near the horses, letting Charles sneak outside and start manipulating the mist necessary to divert the mortal from the ferry that we would be using in a few hours to escape, hopefully with Briares, from the fury of Kampê.
"I still think that destroying the island would have been our best chance." I protested once it was made clear that neither of my companions was willing to destroy Alcatraz only to the off chance of providing a distraction for our escape.
"Well, both Charles and I still think that it's a fucking dumb idea to free Briares from an above-Ladon-tier monster, but you don't see us complaining, do you?" Abigail snapped back even as she tested the tension of her bow, "And waiting for the sunset is even dumber, only because my father hates you, it doesn't mean it would fuck us up as you've put it."
I simply arched an eyebrow at her objection, letting my blatant disbelief shine plainly on my face: "I'd rather not risk it: remember the Rule Number One?"
"Immortals are cunts." she somberly replied even as her eyes darted across the small room, unwilling to meet mine.
I settled down near my horse, my back resting against her flank while I waited for the opportune time for us to strike, distantly hearing the soft music of Charles, who was busy slowly but surely evacuating the island.
Barely three minutes into my impromptu shut-eye time, my eyes snapped open as Mera hastily rose to her feet, making me follow suit when I spotted Abigail already seated on her horse, her knees lightly pressing against the flaming-equine's sides, spurning him forward with caution.
I immediately followed suit, my mouth shut lest I made an inopportune noise and attracted the attention of what Abigail was evidently trying to sneak up upon, while I let my eyes look freely for the source of her decision to leave the relative safety of our hiding spot.
The soft clops of the horses echoed across the unnervingly quiet prison, and soon enough we returned to a position from which we were capable of spying the vast expanse of Kampê's back, something that I wouldn't wish on anyone, let me tell you. While my eyes moved up and down the scorpion tail that jittered in the air, finally my ears managed to pick up the rumbling and unnerving sound that was Kampê's tongue,
"She has captured Charles, I guess she plans to interrogate him, or he'd be already dead." Abigail's eyes pierced the dim light of the courtyard like lasers, and she informed me of the situation.
Well, it was nice to believe we had a reasonable plan until it lasted. I grimaced as I recovered two small jars of greek fire from the saddle's bag: "Try to blind her while I keep her away from you? Then we free them and flee?"
I wanted to sound sure about my plan, but even as I looked over the monstrous form of our soon to be opponent, I felt my determination waver, causing my plan to come out as a tentative proposition. Then I heard the crackling of a whip, and the unmistakeable composite sound of Birares fifty-voices hiss in a combination of pain and fear. I gritted my teeth at the sound, looking over the pale visage of Abigail, who gulped.
I am free. My mantra managed to keep me going as I spurned my horse forward, and attacked what was likely onle of the Big Nopes existent in the Greek World.
AN
Yeah, fucking Briares! In the books, he makes a talk about repaying his debt to his saviours, and I've already introduced a certain goddess that pairs with him, I wonder if you've spotted it even when Icarus didn't.
I've been thinking, since there is a Giant in Alaska already, awaiting slowly for Gea, why can't Briares already be under the care of Kampe dearest?
Besides, I wanted to snag him, if nothing else, to silence the nay-sayers that have somehow determined that I'm going to follow canon. How did you (you know who you are) reach that conclusion after reading 100k words about a Self Insert looking for a way to fuck up Fate?
AN about horses
Ok, to those that object to the possibility of horses fitting in the environment of Alcatraz... well, Kampê is fucking huge, and I don't hear you complaining about her with Riordan, do I?
To the guy that commented about the terrible smell of carnivore animals' shit, referencing to my using it to fertilize the island... dude, they're flesh-eating horses raised by a three-headed asshole, for an imaginary island conquered by demigods, and your problem is about the kind of smell they give off? Why are you reading fantasy again?
AN Patron for the city
No, I'm not going to limit the name of the city because of the eventual patron, ideally, the city name would be in greek, meaning something that makes sense with Icarus' character, but without blatantly inviting the fury of either gods or fates (so nothing along the lines of 'forever free' or 'invincible') and the one that PMd me... White Harbour is kind of cool, but I dislike shit being named with a colour in it, never mind white. There is already a White House, a White Moon, and the standard White population in Camp, that Riordan adjusted in the second series, adding a native American half-blood.
I've already said no to Primordials as patrons, and obviously, titans that actively fought Olympus are off.
Rhea really doesn't click.
Hybris is more a spirit than a god, so maybe I'll have her make an appearance, but she's more something that kind of influences mortals. She was a spirit (daemon) or goddess of insolence, violence, and outrageous behaviour, which is admittedly well spot on, but hardly something that Zeus wouldn't strike down out of outrage.
Persephone is actually cool, and she'll have a part in the city, but I'm not willing to disclose more.
Desponia is just a bit too obscure, even for me.
Komos is fucking cool, I agree, but a god of anarchy as the basis for a city? It doesn't sound so smooth, does it?
Aglaea is a daughter of lawful conduct, that in Greek Mythology is obviously directly linked with Zeus, who is a paranoid bastard.
Thank you all for the suggestions, and I've picked one among several, adding my spin to it, eventually, I'll reach the point in which the Patron will actually be declared, you'll see!
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