Now the Fates are here on the beach, three shadows blacker than black, walking through the dunes and looking for their own. Just shadows, lamb-white hands beneath black robes spun of tears, glide among the celebrants on this night wherein the spirits of Thebes have found a home, if serendipitously.

Each soul has its appointed doom. How is it you dare to raise a mortal boy so high - high enough to flout the gods? Bring godhead where a man may reach out and take it? growls Enlil, and lightning splits a clear blue sky.

We fouled up. I did. He got hurt. Badly, maybe. And the god...is not helping him today.

Strife brings all things into being on her battlefield. This I know. I have been there many times," says Vashanka, lord of sack and pillage. "I have died before.

Shed your mortal skin and let me take you beneath the waves.

Sacred Bands and elite squadrons aren't what the mercenaries' guild is about. Field them at your peril.

Men make their own fates - it's personal, not a matter for debate.