The ferryman groaned at Maximus Aurelius Astarte. Maximus Aurelius Astarte reached into his pocket, surprised to find a golden drachma in his pocket. The ferryman reached his skeletal hand out, and Maximus dropped the coin into the hand, where it disappeared.

Maximus was terrified. At least, he thought he was. This was Hell and Damnation from the Great Lord Yahovah, he thought, a place his immortal soul was placed in peril. He peered over the edge of the rickety ferry, seeing rivers of blood, and those bloody, wretched faces. He shuddered back in the ferry, nearly overbalancing on the other side.

He recited the Lord's Prayer in Latin, much to the chagrin of the ferryman, who grunted his displeasure. Maximus paid him no attention, as he continued.

/. /. /. /. /. /.

Time passed. Maximus didn't know how long; but he could see his journey nearing its end, as a dock was rapidly approaching. On the dock was a small house made of fur and wood, with a door of mixed ebony and mahogany, inked with symbols that Maximus knew of, but didn't know their meaning. The ferryman gently paddled, reversing the stroke as he pulled close to the dockside. He clicked his fingers and a rope shot off of the dock and tied itself around a knot of wood at the front of the ferry.

The ferryman grunted and offered his hand to Maximus. Maximus took it, stepping on tithe dock which was extremely well-kept. He looked ahead and saw many others, some like him, others monstrous entities with many heads, or snakes as hair, or with fish tails and gills. Other monsters appeared to be note takers, preparing the souls for their next location.

He pushed the wooden door open, to find himself in a bizarre situation of waiting. Some of those around him were talking; Maximus found himself thankful to the Lord that he wasn't being eternally tortured.

At least, he wasn't yet.

Another interminable timespan passed, and a young, maidenly voice called out, "Next!" Her Latin was impeccable. Beside her was a stern, toga-wearing man wearing a crown that looked like ashen gold covered in murk, shimmering in and out of existence. Her face was round and welcoming, and her striped artisanal dress of a scarlet-laced pink hugged her figure, demonstrating her to advantage.

The man growled at him. "Name?"

Maximus looked into his eyes, and found nothing there; not even a flame of consciousness. He felt the answer compelled from him. "Maximus Aurelius Astarte."

The woman smiled at him. "It's okay, we know of Yahovah. We play games together, us Divines." She looked at the papyrus sat in front of her, and read swiftly. She tsk'ed, and then spoke to Maximus with much more authority than belied her youthful body. "Warrior Princeps; on a mission to avenge your family; you lost a son to Consumption whilst engaged at Macedon in a rearguard action. You never recovered, and suffered a fatal wound in the Great Games.....I see....you found love again in the Arena, after your wife died? I expected as much."

'Pardon, Mistress, but-' The woman put a finger up, stalling him. She pursed her lips, and waved the man over. "Husband, take a look at this." He peered over her shoulder, looking at the words in question. They whispered together, but it was too quiet for Maximus to hear.

After a full minute of heated whispers, the woman turned to Maximus. "You fought for your freedom or death, and were betrayed by a bookmaker - poison. Your opponent thought that you were Dishonored, and gave you his Mark of Freedom, to carry you. Yahovah couldn't find your son, but we did."

She gestured behind her, and an enormous three-headed wolf barked and moved its paw, revealing his son, as he had been before the consumption. "Papa!" The boy rushed into Maximus' arms, ethereal sobbing from both as they held each other.

The man spoke now, less of a growl. 'Maximus Aurelius Astarte, You will be taken to Elysium, where you can choose to compete in a ghostly arena, or only watch. You will have a villa all your own where you may live in peace.'

"Papa, say thank you to Yahovah! *Thank you, Yahovah!" The boy spoke solemnly. Maximus bowed his head, uncertain of what was going on.

'March,' whispered the man, and Maximus marched.....to his new home. Maximus spent the entire journey thanking Yahovah for pointing him home, with his son.

They would get to play in the fields forever.