Mission Failed

The door creaks open again, and a fat man hobbles through the threshold. He has short legs, a potbelly, white hair, and green eyes. His position as the head of the guild is obvious from the lavish suit covering his pompous body, and it seems the man is an elf as Kratos' brown eyes roam over pointy ears.

The man trudges over to the chair opposite of the duo with Eina following behind him. He looks to Kratos, reaching an open palm to the God, "I'm Royman Mardeel. Nice to meet you," a rough voice enters the duo's ears, and Atreus notices that the obese man seems to be unable to smile.

Kratos accepts the gesture, squeezing the Elf's hand slightly, "I am Kratos, and this is Atreus," he says, tilting his head towards his son.

Royman raises his brows in fear as his hand is on the brink of being crushed to a bloody paste, though the god soon releases his hand, "...Ah, K- Kratos... I was informed by my lovely associate here that you wish to register your familia with the guild. Is that right?" the fat man says with slightly quivering lips, the chair begging for its life as he settles on it.

Kratos merely nods, and the Elf returns the gesture, reaching into his suit to retrieve a parchment, "Good, good... I'll just need a little bit of information and a copy of your familia symbol," Royman pulls a quill from the other side of his suit as he speaks, setting the parchment and quill down on the table, "...But first, are you aware of how a familia functions?"

Kratos nods, "Gods give a piece of their power to adventurers, and those adventurers use that power in the dungeon," he responds with quick words.

Royman returns his own nod, his grumpy expression lingering as he takes a breath, "Well, yes, those are the basics. However, it is not so simple... For example, the Hephaestus Familia is a smith-type familia, and while they dabble in some dungeon exploration, that is only for the children of that familia to reach level two and acquire the smithing development ability... I believe that being knowledgeable about these things would help you tremendously," he says.

Kratos hums, "Go on," he responds.

"Of course. Following my previous statement, there are different types of familias: exploration, smith, business, medicinal, and industrial. That brings me to my first question; what type of familia will yours be?" Royman says with the quill held loosely in his hand.

Mimir scoffs, "Exploration type easily. I don't believe these two would be interested in much else," he says.

Royman stares at Mimir with wide eyes, his mouth twisting with confusion, "W- what?" he asks.

Mimir sighs, "Oh, come now. I know you heard me," he chuckles.

Royman's green eyes linger on Mimir for a moment as he falls into that lake of confusion so many have fallen prey to when witnessing the strange state of Mimir. Though the businessman in the Elf shows through as his eyes trail to Kratos, "...Exploration type, right..." he says, scribbling on the parchment quickly. The Elf raises his head after a moment, "...Now, there is usually a hierarchy in a familia. The adventurer that is strongest or most important to that familia will be directly under the god or goddess as a captain. Then after that, there will be a vice-captain and executives. Who will be your captain?"

"That'll be me," Atreus raises his hand with curled lips.

Royman raises a brow at the boy before he looks at Kratos again. The God nods, and Royman returns to that parchment, "Alright... Atreus will be the Captain," The fat elf glances at Mimir with a slight frown, "And will this... Head be part of the familia?"

Kratos nods, and Mimir chuckles, "I'm more of an advisor," he says.

Royman raises his brows, writing on the bottom of the parchment quickly. As the fat Elf writes, Kratos suddenly snaps his vision to the window, and for a split second, the god sees a shadow leaking through. Though Kratos' paranoia is suddenly interrupted, "All I need now is a copy of that symbol, but before that, I would like to inform you about something. Something called a Denatus is held every three months. It is a meeting between gods, and other than exchanging information with your fellow gods, you can also give aliases to your children," Royman speaks with his fingers interlocked.

"Aliases?" Atreus asks with furrowed brows.

Royman nods, "When an adventurer levels up, they are given an alias based on their fighting style, personality, and achievements," he responds.

Atreus' lips curl in response to Royman's words, his eyes hovering on nothing as he enters a daydream, his future alias being whispered throughout Orario. Kratos hums, glancing at that window again before his eyes return to Royman, "I will keep that in mind... How will you create a copy of the symbol?" The Greek God asks with furrowed brows.

Royman lifts his elbows from the table with a grunt, "You'll need to take this parchment and use your godly powers to copy the ink. I'm not certain as to how it works since I am not a god, but it seems to be an instinct to other gods I've seen do it," he says.

Kratos nods, taking the parchment from Royman's offering hand. He turns to his son, "Atreus," he calls.

The boy nods as the chair scrapes the floor. Atreus lifts his tunic once again, turning his back to his father as he folds his arms and begins to shiver slightly. Kratos lays the paper over his son's back, his fingers sliding over the rough parchment as he feels the boy's spine poking through his skin. With one hand on Atreus' back, Kratos imagines that same power he had felt when creating the tattoo, and despite his lack of experience, a blue light shines subtly after a moment.

Like a photo burning in reverse, the symbol leaks onto the parchment until the Omega symbol and that small bag are fully created, leaving the numbers and letters behind. Kratos peels the parchment from the boy's back, patting his shoulder lightly, "I am finished," the father mutters, and Atreus nods his head in response, the tunic sliding over his body.

Kratos offers the parchment back, and Royman accepts with a meaty hand, his eyes studying the symbol. The fat Elf raises a brow, lifting his vision to the Greek God, "You're from the greek pantheon? Are you a war god?" he asks.

Kratos grunts, waving a disinterested hand through the air, "...Unfortunately," he responds.

"Interesting..." Royman mutters with a hand to his chin, suddenly setting the hand to the table, "...Well, I believe that is all I'll need... If you have no other questions, then we can send this through to Ouranos, and your familia will be registered with the guild," the elf says.

Mimir scoffs, "That's all? No trials to prove ourselves worthy or old hag to tell us we're in grave danger?... Well that's a proper let-down," he chuckles.

Kratos stands, scoffing as Mimir continues to chuckle by himself. He picks up the head and straps him to the hip, "We will be leaving then..." Kratos says, suddenly halting as he remembers something. The god looks to Royman with furrowed brows, "...When will this Denatus be held?"

Royman stands with some effort, the chair screeching as his gut clips the table, "Ah, that... I believe the next will be held about a week from now," the Elf responds, tucking that parchment back into his suit.

Kratos nods, humming as he walks past Atreus and steps towards the door, "Come, boy," he says, nodding to Eina as his rough fingers grip the doorknob. Eina returns the gesture, a smile reaching from ear to ear as she waves to the boy following behind his father, "Bye Atreus! Stay safe in the dungeon!" she says.

Atreus musters a slight smile as he waves back to the Half-Elf, "Thank you, Eina. See you later!" he responds.

The duo slip through the threshold of the door, drifting about the guild lobby with that familiar chatter filling their ears. The double doors swing open, and the chatter skyrockets as the stone street slide under the duo's feet. Atreus looks up at his father as they travel through the streets, "Well, our familia is registered... Should we look for a home now?" the boy asks.

Kratos nods, his eyes hovering on the many adventurers and civilians passing by them, "Yes... We have about 760,000 Valis at the pub. That should be enough, and if not, then we must enter the dungeon again," he says.

Mimir scoffs, "If that's not enough, then- excuse my language, but we're being taken for a bunch of fuckin fools, brother. If my knowledge of economics and currency exchange still serve me, then from what I've seen in this city, an average home here should be anywhere from 300,000 to 500,000 Valis. It's a good thing you're stingy with your money, brother," he says with a chuckle.

Kratos hums, "I will take your word for it then, head..." his voice rumbles, "...And mind your tongue around the boy."

The trio continues their trudge through the city with that yellow ball of fire high in the sky. Atreus' vision is filled with homes stacked atop one another, it seems the architect behind this part of the city is not the most sane person. The boy sees a large green sign on the side of the street, and he squints, "Dae... Daedalus Street... Huh, I feel like I've heard than name somewhere," Atreus mutters to himself.

Kratos walks along with his son beside him, his eyes focused continuously on the path before him. The people surrounding them wear rags and stained garments, and the street is not as clean as it is around the tower of Babel. Suddenly, Kratos' attention is called to his backside as he feels something approaching. A black blur zips through the crowd, and as it gets closer, The Greek God realizes the strange figure's destination.

"Father?" Atreus calls with furrowed brows, noticing that his father has stopped and turned suddenly, "Wha-" his words are interrupted by a figure appearing directly before him, lifted from the ground as Kratos holds the unknown person by their throat.

Much like that rude werewolf, the man has black ears surrounded by same color hair. His wriggling body is covered by a skin-tight black suit, and he has a long spear on his back. The Ghost of Sparta stares up at the man with a clenched jaw as that deep and treacherous bloodlust flows from him, "Who... Are you?" his words thunder into the man's ears.