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The Immortal Tales: Kemet

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The manor was airy, the gentle winds of the night flowed as if it was a being that was alive. Certainly one could claim it was such a thing. Its tall columns forming large expansive spaces resulting in the ceilings mimicking the skies above. Today was the night of the Festivities of Hathor, the rumoured time of the Blessed Cows birth. So, to compliment the way of her birth, the priests had dyed the barrels of beer the crimson of blood. Her clergy wore the same red, linking them to her, and her to the blood lust afforded to both Hathor and Sekhmet. This night will be the rowdiest night in a long time, and Hathor was excited. Like a child who received positive reinforcement from their father.

Talking about father. He was again speaking of marriage. That’s all he does, and it irritates Hathor to no end. Her mother, the Great Royal Wife of Ra said nothing to her daughters defense. Hathor wasn’t all that surprised. Saddened, but not surprised. She guessed she would have to protect herself until she is able to find herself a husband.

How hard can that be? Very hard. Her father wasn’t one to stand down in a small squabble like this. Especially about Hathor and especially about any future heirs she will bear for him. She is his favourite after all. Unfortunately. But she knew that in time, her womb would bear five sons. Not anytime soon.

With her retinue drinking and in good spirits, Hathor looked up to see the skies entering dawn. Her father was returning. What spectacular timing the old man had. Gathering herself, she had little time to recover when the commanding footsteps approached the courtyard. The retinue fell silent, heads bowed as they slipped backwards towards the walls. Hathor stood as she saw the bane of her unmarried life fill the room with his immediately blinding aura.

“Great Father, what do I owe the pleasure?” Hathor asked-more like demanded-of her father. He forgot that she, unlike her sisters, could see through his magnificence. To be honest, he was there to try and persuade to marry. He needed heirs, and her being unmarried was not conducive to the need of heirs. “Hathor. You know what I need.”

“And I decline your offer, Great Father.” Hathor crossed her arms, the irritated look on her face alerting him to her finality. “If you want heirs, both Bastet and Sekhmet have had sons. Choose one.”

“Don’t be so dismissive, child.” Ra rested his head on his hand. At a stalemate, as neither were willing to falter in their ways, a loud and obviously awkward cough alerted the pair that indeed there was a third party in this one way conversation. Hathor’s burning glare snapped from her father to the owner of said cough. The young son of Osiris. The one who assumed the throne after banishing Set. His complexion mimicked the shifting sands of the great deserts. Yet his face was still round and lacked any sort of defining feature. How he beat Set was well beyond what Hathor could think of. Horus did have broad shoulders and the physic of a Leader in training. It’s just the baby face that was throwing the goddess off. “Lady Hathor. I hope you are...doing well.” Hathor had no way to react to such a remark. His voice was placid enough, but too quiet for his own good.

She did not shift from her own throne. “I am doing well so far.” She answered as her scarlet lips pursed. “Have a drink, relax Brother. We are celebrating something good and great.” Attendants of Hathor pour the crimson red brew for the young Godling. Its viscose pour was similar to honey, and the scent was aggressively malty. The colour would have been a deep dark brown if it hadn’t assumed the sanguine tone. “Don’t be shy, Lord Horus. It tastes exquisite.” Hathor’s lips twitched into the slyest grin Ra had ever seen on his daughter. Maybe this poor soul has caught his predator of a daughters attention. He might get those grandchildren out of the Goddess yet.


Neith smirked as she aimed her arrows dead set on her grand-daughters chest. The golden arrow and shaft was light in the ancient Goddess’s well trained fingers. Her target rang immediately as she let the solid gold arrow fly true. It hit hard, a visibly shocked expression filled Hathor’s face. The golden arrow melted from view as soon as it hit the intended target. Poor girl, a Love Goddess who dares to alter fate with her obstinance. Neith chuckled as she disappeared into the shadows, her task done for now. If Ra wanted anything else, all he needed to do was ask.


Hathor’s cajoling plus the insane need to prove himself a proper God in the eyes of the Goddess of love may or may not had caused the Godling to immediately finish four casks of fortified beer from her own stores. Hathor hadn’t even batted a long eyelash when her own stack of empty casks were piling up. Horus had no chance against the Goddess of Inebriation.

Ra had long since left the young ones to their own soporific devices. And Hathor was happy at least one bird faced God had left her in peace.

“You need-hic-to be shot w-hic...uh…” Horus dropped his goblet and the beer sloshed down his front. He was a right mess, and all Hathor could do was laugh at the red faced fool. The damp kilt didn’t stop him though, as he weakly moved to tip the goblet upright as if nothing had happened. “Your own-hic-arrows.” “You don’t say~” Hathor chuckled as she motioned for the freshly baked bread and sweetmeats towards her and her company. “I didn’t think a warrior like yourself would care so much about love.” This earned a cold blue eyed glare from the Godling. Hathor just chuckled. “Don’t mind me, Great Bull, I am just teasing you. Eat. Go on.” Hathor tore the meat and popped it in with no hesitation. The title caught Horus off guard as he tried to avert the Goddess’s penetrating gaze. It seared his skin as chuckled. It made him self conscious.

By this time, the day had passed quicker than Hathor would have liked. Horus was interesting enough to accompany her on her own Barge, the Phosphorescence that dusk. Upon this barge there was more than enough space for the pair of them. Hathor wasn't planning to use this until the last night. Her ferryman, Meena bowed as the pair embarked. Hathor was a giggling mess, the normal way she could be found. But the offish young male eyed the ferryman dangerously. It was obvious he had partaken in the Mistress’s liquor from the mere stink of beer on the pair (and the red stain on the front of his normally pristine white kilt)

“Take all the time in the world.” Hathor instructed. Meena nodded as he pushed off from the banks.

Horus collapsed on the plush pile of cushions and animal skins as the barge began to move. This was weirdly okay with the Godling. His head was rushing and he didn’t know if he was more provoked by the alcohol, or the enticing aroma the woman gave off as she stepped in and out of focus. Under the canopy of the skies, Horus hadn't noticed the equally tipsy Hathor leaning over him. Her giggles sounded like the melodic bird chirping in the morning. The cushions shifted as Horus felt himself pinned under the goddess, her bare thighs exposed as her scarlet red dress was discarded far too easily. The moon shone down on the pair, as if it knew what was to be. And Horus was too drunk to care what the damn moon and Thoth thought he knew.

“Mistress...what is the meaning of this?” Horus stuttered as she booped his nose and giggled even more. Horus watched as her chest shifted in and out with each breath, her breasts (larger than what Horus could ever assume under her normal dresswear) jiggling as she moved. Just that made him feel giggle like a child. This let off a chain reaction making the other laugh just as innocently. Instinctively his hands rested upon those flaring hips. Her own palms rested against those shoulders, forcing his body down deeper into the cushion pile

“Well, Horus. It is my festival. And as you are my entertainment, I am more than happy to do as I please.” Her breath smelt of beer and honey. A combination that Horus couldn't say he disliked. Their lips touched-chaste yet probing for more information. Horus’s hand reached up and pulled her chest down to him. He felt no stirring until her fertile heat rested firm against Horus. Upon his sensitive skin Hathor’s keen wetness only grew. “Hm? Cat got your tongue? That's sad if it did.”

Horus shook his head. It was the beer making him woozy. Seeing this, Hathor moved so he could vomit away from her. The goddess sighed and patted the Godling on the shoulder. Her mood was dead in the water, as she watched the red travel down and over the dark wood platform. That was going to be a bitch to clean up later. “I am terribly sorry Lady Hathor!” Horus gurgled uselessly. “I can normally hold my own.”

“There is no problem.” Hathor said, whilst she knew there was a large and imposing problem. She was pent up and in dire need of relaxing. With this Godling barely awake she looked over to Meena.

“Take us to shore.”

“Yes, your Grace.” Hathor hung her legs over the side of the barge. She was sobering up now, the pain of a impending hangover made her grimace. Holding her hand to her chest, she knew something had stuck her deep in her soul. And only one other knew the skills to hit a Love Goddess quite as bad. “Your Grace, are you cold?” Meena offered his own cloak. Hathor accepted it and stood. “I have sent a hawk to Lord Anubis to collect Lord Horus.” Meena continued and Hathor was grateful.

“Thank you Meena.”


Horus was groggy when Bastet and Anubis entered his view. His mouth burned with distilled spirits and regret as he was hoisted up and over both of the other deities shoulders. He was little more than a slurring piece of dead weight.

“Where is...uh…” Horus couldn’t think. And it was terrifying.

“Sister Hathor is in worse condition. But that's her fault when she wants to drink so much in a night.” Bastet whistled. “She emptied the whole storehouse of beer in Iaru, father is not happy with her.”

Anubis said nothing. Horus knew he nursed a small crush on Hathor yet he did not say anything.

“I don’t feel good.” “A lightweight as ever.” Anubis, like Hathor pointed the drunk fool away from his person where he projectile vomited the rest of his mistakes into the reeds. His gurgling noises meant that he was at least still conscious.

“Shut up.” Horus was out.

Anubis rubbed his head and Bastet rolled her eyes.