Michael
Location: A war camp nestled between the clearing of a Plateau. 
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Precise Location Unknown.
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Who: Ares, Ganymede
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Ganymede requests the intervention of Ares to save a life from the fate of Scythian tradition.
Christine
In this sprawling war camp, carved out of dry, sun-baked terrain, four districts converge to form a camp newly dedicated to the god of war. This settlement, stolen from enemies and repurposed into a military stronghold, features a commanding statue of a foreign god, chiseled from the same material of the structures, which stands imperiously in the center. The buildings, constructed from blocks of sun-bleached sandstone, are fortified yet austere, their flat rooftops creating geometric patterns against the stark landscape.

Ares himself, clad in Spartan-inspired armor that gleams with the radiance of polished bronze, stands below the towering statue. His armor, etched with symbols of ancient warfare, reflects his divine status and martial prowess. His existence within the area was part of a broader strategy to make more frequent appearances at war camps. Ares was on a pursuit to reroute the minds of his followers towards embodying the true spirit of battle and steering them away from the savagery of needless war crimes. An epiphany that arrived after he was forced to punish a group of soldiers by death when witnessing them take the lives of defenseless women and children in the god's name.
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In the central clearing, right around the statue, soldiers clad in leather and bronze armor spar intensely, the clang of blades and grunts of exertion reverberating through the camp. They wield long spears, swords, axes and heavy shields, each warrior training relentlessly for their next campaign. Battle plans etched on animal skins are unfurled on wooden tables, where seasoned commanders discuss strategies. They point and gesture, eyes narrowing under the midday sun as they scrutinize potential weak spots on their enemies' maps.
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Rows of tents stretch outward from the central statue, housing the soldiers who organize weapons and polish armor in the open. They also tend to horses, feeding and grooming the beasts for their next charge across the unforgiving desert terrain. Servants and slaves scuttle between the structures, carrying provisions, filling water skins, and distributing dried meat and grain to keep the army fed and ready.

Further down the camp, artisans work tirelessly on construction projects. They reinforce battlements, sharpen arrowheads, and build siege engines out of timber and rope. Exercise grounds brim with activity as warriors train their bodies through drills, lifting heavy stones and sprinting across dusty tracks.

Every path and alley is well-trodden with disciplined order, as the soldiers, armor glinting under the sun, stride through the camp, their minds focused on their god's command. The centrally placed statue of Ares casts a long shadow across the settlement, a silent reminder of the power he wields and the battles yet to come. Below the statue, Ares, mounted atop a war horse, overlooks the sparring soldiers, shouting out corrections on their form and insulting those who embarrass themselves, causing the others to laugh in mockery.
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In the distance, the war god notices a frail messenger squeezing between the soldiers, a disheartened look upon his face as if he was about to deliver some unwelcome news. Assuming that the message was connected to the current issue, Ares spoke to the small man first as he approached. "Report, messenger. What causes the delay in our provisions?" He commanded sternly.

The soldier responded hesitantly, "My lord Ares, the next delivery cart has been delayed. It encountered a basilisk attack on the eastern passage and the soldiers-."

"Nevermind that." Ares dismissed with a wave of his hand, a tinge of annoyance melting into his expression. "I'm assuming this basilisk also ravaged the cart's contents, yes?"

"Yes, my lord," The soldier continued, "As well as many of our men—"

Ares cut him off as a show of his impatience. "I don't care. How long until the next delivery arrives?"

"It should be here by nightfall, once we clear the path and rally more men to secure the—" The soldier tried to explain, but was again cut off.

"Nightfall?!" Ares interjected abruptly, sharply turning his head to look upon the man for the very first time in their exchange. The raising of his voice caused the messenger to shutter as his lips parted, vacant of words that he thought might calm the god down.

"Your will shall be done, my lord," The soldier assured quickly, sensing the urgency of the matter.

"Ensure it," Ares concluded firmly, watching the man bow in respect before departing to execute his new orders. Ares resumed what he was doing before, except his mood was now slightly soured by his growing hunger. "The next soldier I see dawdling in an opening will spar with me next, so please, keep fucking up!" Ares proclaimed from atop his horse, instilling a renewed sense of urgency in the men as they trained.
Danny
Ganymede stood amidst the ruins of Troy, the memories of his past life as a mortal prince washing over him with a wave of nostalgia. The once grand city, now laid ruin to the ravages of time and war, held stories in every fragmented wall and crumbled pillar. He walked through what was once the grand palace, where he had spent his days learning the arts of diplomacy and warfare, playing with his brothers, and dining with his family. The echoes of laughter, the vibrant colours of their banners, the aroma of feasts—all seemed to linger faintly in the air like the whispers of ghosts.

However, his reflective focus was abruptly shattered by the sight of flickering flames in the distance and the low murmur of voices carried by the wind. As he approached, he saw a group of armoured women, their forms illuminated by the torches they carried. Among them, a figure struggled, attempting to break free from their grasp. The prisoner, a young man, fought valiantly, but his efforts were in vain. With swift, brutal efficiency, the women overpowered him, pinning him against a large, flat stone slab before brandishing a knife.

His eyes widened in alarm. The scene resembled an ancient Scythian sacrificial rite, the barbaric ritual he had only heard of in old stories. The captive's fear was palpable, and the women's faces, hard and resolute, showed no mercy. Instinctively, Ganymede stepped forward, his presence causing a subtle shift in the atmosphere. The group leader, noticing the change, turned her gaze towards him. Her eyes narrowed, a mixture of suspicion and curiosity flickering across her face. **"What is the meaning of this?"** Ganymede demanded, his voice carried authority yet underlined with compassion that had always been his nature.

The leader stepped forward, her grip on the sword tightening. "This is no concern of yours, stranger," She replied, her tone firm before attempting to plunge the sword into the prisoner.

Without hesitation, the youthful god called upon his divine power, summoning a physical manifestation of love. The air shimmered with a radiant, golden light as it took form, a powerful wave of energy that radiated warmth. With a gesture, Ganymede directed the force toward the group of armed women. The energy surged forward, hitting them with a palpable intensity that was gentle and overwhelming. The leader's sword was knocked from her hand, and she, along with her companions, was forcefully thrown to the ground, their armour clattering as they fell.

The prisoner, wide-eyed and trembling, watched in awe and disbelief as the scene unfolded. The women, momentarily stunned and disoriented, struggled to rise, their expressions a mix of shock and confusion. "This has only just begun." The group leader venomously spat out, then fled with her fellow companions.

**"You are safe now."** He reassured the man, a faint smile grace his lips. The air seemed to calm down, and the night grew quiet once more.

Upon discovering the prisoner was a descendant of his family, captured as a prisoner of war, shocked Ganymede and would explain why he felt the sudden urge to protect the mortal from harm's way, ensuring he was safe for now. This is why the youthful god found himself searching for the God of War, understanding that the sacrifices were in his name; if there were one person who could stop this rite, it would be Ares. However, the group leader's words ran through Ganymede's head like a broken record. What did she mean by that?

It appeared to be like any other day for them; soldiers clad in leather and bronze armour sparred intensely. However, some men noticed rose petals blowing in the breeze. Suddenly, golden light shimmered in the air, casting a warm glow over the immediate area. Amid this beautiful display, Ganymede materialised before them all. Though little was left to the imagination, the youthful god wore a pristine white toga lined with gold. His upper arms were adorned with golden bracelets, and atop his head was a golden wreath nestled in his brunette curls.

Momentarily, his eyes shifted around the area, noting a few of Ares' soldiers looked at Ganymede with devilish eyes, a recognisable desire he knew far too well. However, the god was here on business, not pleasure. His eyes snapped back to the God of War. **"I must urgently speak with you, Lord Ares."** He softly spoke, and a warm smile followed after.

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Christine
The god Ares sat with his fist balled into his neck. Eyes scanning carefully over each warrior as they lunged at one another, alternating between different fighting stances and battle scenarios. Their lack of passion bored him greatly, it was as if you truly needed to take that of which they loved in order to ignite in them the kind of vicious bloodlust that the god of war seemed to possess so innately. For a god such as Ares, it was more than merely knowing how to strike and defend. It was more than being brave and courageous. It was about the wanting, almost lustful look in your eye that yearned for the spilling of blood. Like a ravenous tiger finally finding its prey within a destitute expanse. But just when he'd thought the greatest highlight of his night could at least be his late-arriving dinner, something very unexpected transpired...

The already orange badlands were intensified in a glowing coat from up above. It was as if the sun was sighting them through a magnifying glass, the way the solar energy brightened their bodies and blinded their eyes. Ares slowly removed his fist from his neck as he sat up in his seat, eyebrows furrowing in confusion as he stared directly upon the skyward gleam when none other could. Not even this light could illuminate the abyss within his eyes as his gaze remained stout.

"MEN!" The war god bellowed powerfully, the sound of a thousand sheathes could be heard as the soldiers rallied a battle stance in unison. Their feet pressed into the ground like roots of a tree as they prepared themselves. Ares stood from his seat, his iconic spear lay over his shoulder as he stepped down from the pedestal and descended the steps at a leisurely pace. The whole time, his gaze still remained unwavering. None knew what to expect from the beam. A beast? A god? Something in-between? Well, what would materialize in front of them in the moments following was certainly the very least of their expectations . . . 
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Down came a flamboyant boy who appeared no older than many of the men's sons. Not just a boy, but a god. In subtle shifts, the mass majority of the brigade began to soften their stances, believing themselves clear from a threat. Even if that was true, they knew that Ares would have their head for such a trusting perception. Ares too had not looked as nearly as threatened as he had before. He stopped in his tracks upon seeing the boy, standing stiffly around a group of soldiers. His eyes followed the boy throughout his entire approach. His chin raised slightly to accentuate an inflated sense of self worth. In truth, Ares did not immediately recognize the boy, but knew that he was familiar.

It was only when he began to speak, did Ares completely recall . . . "The cupbearer?" He said with a face that depicted the words 'you can't be serious.' He looked as if he wanted to break out into a laugh, but stifled it in order to continue speaking. "They view me as small as to send me the cupbearer as a messenger?" Ares says in a chuckle that is joined by the surrounding soldiers in feigned laughter. As he walks past the boy, he deliberately bumps his shoulder as their paths cross. Ares grabs the reins of his war horse and tugs them upwards to make the horse lift its chin, peeking under to check the firmness of its helm. 
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"Cupbearer . . " He utters again, quietly muttering to himself. He sounds much more serious. It's as if he is trying to suppress his frustration from the building annoyance that he feels from such an implication. Was the god of speed too busy? Or did they truly view him so lowly as to send a boy to his war camp, all by his lonesome. The warriors around them resumed their training, indistinct chatter refilling the momentarily quiet air. They acted as if nothing had happened at all. Which is exactly what he wanted them to do. This was no matter of importance.

"What do you need, boy? Speak as if you're about to explode. Waste my time and I will waste your life." He said while refusing to face the boy in a show of respect. As he spoke, he emphasized certain words with an undertone of scorn. To be fair, it was rare that he hadn't sounded this way. But it was much more conspicuous here. Ares is almost entirely separated from their exchange. Mentally, he wonders if Aphrodite would truly allow such an offense as this.