Hey guys, I'm starting a new story, a Jasper one! Whoo! I'm getting over pneumonia, so bear with me here, because now that I've had it (twice now) I'm more prone to it, so it's hard to write when you're coughing up a lung every second. Not only that, but I'm prone to bronchitis. I just have air way problems, so just hang with me.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Percy Jackson series.

Yes, I have a magical machine that'll turn me into Rick Riordan...

(EDITED: 8/3/16)

Piper

Piper awoke just before the sun, bearing her usual smile and jovial attitude. With the exception of a mother long laid to rest, there was no real reason for Piper to be discontent or bitter. By force of habit, she rushed to the jagged carving in the wall that served as her window and pulled away the linens that guarded it to watch the bright sun as it kissed the horizon. It was something her father had taught her to do at a very young age; to appreciate worldly beauty before she belonged to the underworld where that no longer existed. The view of the brightening horizon took her breath away every morning as she thought how wonderful it was to live in Rome.

Piper and her father, Tristan, resided in a small village, two weeks journey from the bustling metropolis that was Rome. They lived in a small cottage, that lost a piece or two of itself every day, near the edge of their village. Piper attributed the crumbling state of their home to the fact that Tristan had built the structure on uneven land, claiming that there was no better place to watch Apollo's mighty chariot rise into the morning air. So, aside from the collapsing house, they were in fairly good shape.

With a goat for cheese and milk, and a sheep for wool to make clothing, the two of them weren't bad off for such a lowly existence. Some may say that their simple kind of life was anything but easy, but they wouldn't trade it for all of the emperor's gold. While they made not have much money, they had family and love, and that's all they really needed. Piper doubted the emperor could say the same thing.

Tristan was one of the most well known men in the village, other than the tavern keeper and local council leaders. He was a strong handsome type with a timeless face that every single women within fifty years of his age fawned over. He was a performer at the village's only tavern, where many of the villagers came to forget their worries and possibly their own names. Tristan was a musician who enjoyed his job, which was a rare, but highly sought after, quality amongst the working men.

Everyone in the town, including the youngest of the children, had listened and danced to his lively melodies at least once. And silently, everyone wondered how his music could be so happy when his life had been anything but. His wife, his beautiful wife, had died only four days after the birth of their daughter, leaving Tristan with a baby girl he had no idea how to care for.

Tristan, however, had a different outlook on life than most. Any other man who had tragically lost the woman he loved would mourn for some time and drink a few bottles dry before he was ready to continue his life. Not Tristan. He would never remarry. He knew that he could never find a wife that could ever hope to replace the one he'd lost, so he never tried. Piper had taken the place of alcohol and depression, though she was a constant reminder of her late mother. Years of made-up games and burnt meals consumed the time that had been intended for Tristan's sorrows, and Piper loved him all the more for it.

Trying to fill the role of two parents, Tristan did the best he could to be Piper's foundation and closest friend. It was he that shook her awake every morning when she was younger, just before the sun rose, so she could see its light peak out from behind the hills. Of course, it was only recently that she started to appreciate this habit that her father had instilled in her. Once the sun had parted ways with the land, Piper stretched her tired bones and moved to put on one of her longer day tunics. She didn't have many, maybe two or three at best, so she wrapped the cloth around her body with care, trying not to tear the worn fabric.

Once she was dressed, she rushed from her bedroom towards the kitchen before her father, as per usual, burned their breakfast. Seeing him sitting at their small handmade table, rather than tending to the pot above the fire that held their breakfast Piper rolled her eyes. Tristan merely smiled at his daughter, strumming his citole and humming a melody. She moved to the dropped-base fire pit that sat close to an open window for ventilation and grabbed a thick cloth and wooden spoon.

Using the cloth to remove the clay lid and the spoon to retrieve a small bit of the bubbling porridge, she tasted her father's work and didn't cringe, so it wasn't overcooked yet. She retrieved a bit of nutmeg from their spice rack (that was rather lacking in spices) and sprinkled a bit of it in, stirring carefully as she went. One more taste and she decided that it was about as good as it could possibly get.

Piper gathered two bowls and put a decent bit into each one and took them to the table. She placed a bowl before her father and took the other for herself. Taking a seat at their carved table across from her father, she ate in large hungry bites despite knowing that it would burn the roof of her mouth. The room was void of conversation until Piper began a bit of small talk

"So, I will be there to see your performance at the tavern tonight..." Piper started.

That simple sentence was all it took. Her father started off on a lengthy tangent about a new piece of music he had recently written and how excited he was to debut it that night. Cassius listened intently to his words, happy that her father was so jovial. But after she had finished her breakfast, she held up a gentle hand to stop him. She placed her dish in their washing basin and poured a bit of water over it.

She then made her way to their door, kissing his cheek on the way. She grabbed her cloak from where it hung by the door and wrapped it around her shoulder for the slight autumn chill. She would do her daily chores before going to the town square to see what the local merchants were selling for the day. Just as she was about to leave, she heard Adrian clear his throat. She turned to him and he wore his usual playful smile.

"Hey Pipes? Is there any porridge left?"

She returned his smile, as she did every morning, "By the fire."

In the small village in which Piper and Tristan lived, there was a single tavern that rarely accommodated travelers, instead vying for the attention of locals.

With an impressive amount of cheap ale, it was the favorite gathering place for locals to gather together, have a good time, and not remember what happened in the morning. Tristan had been the main act, or rather the only act, that performed at the tavern on a nightly basis, and therefore it wasn't uncommon for Piper to often show up at the tavern, even though it was late.

That particular night, Piper had walked into the tavern a little later than usual. She was welcomed with the smell of alcohol and loud drunkards yelling at each other. Her father had already begun playing his old citole and winked at her as she walked in. Piper smiled in return before she went to the bar, deciding to sneak up on two old friends of her father, but as she got closer she realized it may not be a good idea to do so. She considered the possibility of giving them a heart attack in their drunken state and instead sat down to their right and started with a hello.

"Greetings, Gleeson." Piper smiled at the older man next to her and nodded to the other. "Mr. D"

Gleeson was a small pudgy man, similar to his lifelong friend Mr. D. No one knew the first name of Mr. D, just that he didn't tell anyone for any amount of bribery. Gleeson's cheeks were rosy with merriment as he tossed his head back and took another swig from his bottle. Both wore togas that were stained with inexpensive wine and blurry expressions, as if their brains were trying to focus on her face and recall her name.

Gleeson got it first. "Well, hellloooo, Piper." His words were long and slurred.

"Ah yes, Penelope," Mr. D. addressed her, always refusing to get anyone's name correct. "How are you this fine evening? Gregor and I were simply enjoying the refreshments." Although Mr. D's words were much clearer that Gleeson's, his were much more louder and abrasive.

"I am wonderful." Piper laughed at both of them. "Thank you for asking."

Mr. D took another sip of his drink, "You are most welcome." Then he looked at his cup of ale, "Oh, where have my manners gone to? Would you like some ale?"

"No, thank you." Piper shook her head. "I do not drink." And after watching these two, she had good reason not to.

"Whaaaaat?" Gleeson looked shocked in his daze. "I'm surprised no boy has offered to buy you a drink with your coming of age so close, if my memory serves me well."

Even in a drunken state of mind, Gleeson had remembered correctly. Piper would soon turn fifteen, in the coming week, in fact. It was an important milestone in her life, in which boys of her age and older would try for her hand in marriage. Piper wasn't terribly excited for her birthday, as most of the village boys she had met came across as rude or arrogant. She would have to marry one of them eventually; this was a fact she knew, just not one she was overjoyed with.

After giving an ignored warning of light drinking, Piper bid a goodbye to both of the men and left them to sit at a table closer to her father's performance stage, where she could better hear his music. She was at the table for all of three minutes when Gleeson's drunk musings became an unfortunate reality. A young man, maybe a year or two ahead of her, had his sights set on her from across the room. His chest was strong and sturdy. He looked as though he could be a decent laborer, but watching him stumble across the tavern towards her with a drink in his hand concerned her.

Piper sighed and shook her head. It was a matter of no importance. She had not yet come of age, and any advance could easily be curved from her with this excuse. She'd deny him of any real attention and would hope that would deter him from any further pursuit of when she did turn fifteen. In a matter of a few long seconds, he was standing before her in all of his bumbling glory.

"Hello." His voice was raspy from the alcohol and Piper fought the urge to roll her eyes.

"Hello." She responded plainly, not wanting to be rude.

"Can I buy you a drink?"

"I am not of age." Piper said simply, ending the conversation.

Not even giving him any explanation why, Piper stood from her table to walk away. She planned to leave, probably out the side door that only the owner, her father, and other employees used, because he would not be allowed through the bar and out that way. But as she tried to brush past him, he lashed out and grabbed her arm in his strong grip.

"Let me buy you a cup of ale."

Piper turned to look him in the eye, so he knew she was serious. "No, thank you. I do not drink."

His clouded eyes turned dark and stormy. "I do not take 'no' as an answer."

Piper felt nervous and unsure of herself now. "Well, you will have to make an exception this time. Now let go of my wrist. I'm leaving." She looked up at father on stage and hoped to get his attention, but he had his back to her, absorbed in the notes of his song.

"I don't take 'no' for an answer." He repeated, his voice and grip harder this time.

Piper hissed in pain. "You are hurting my wrist! Please let go of me."

He twisted her wrist into a strange position that put her in an excessive amount of pain, but she refused to cry out and give him the pleasure of her agony. Coolly, he took a sip from his drink and looked at her, silently taunting her.

"Please." Piper begged. "Please stop."

"I don't take 'no' for an answer."

He pushed her wrist farther and Piper felt a pop. She didn't feel enough pain for it to have broken, but she was sure that would come soon if he did not stop. Piper bit her lip down in pain and looked pleadingly at the man, hoping that he'd find the humanity to free her. But she could feel the tension in her bone and the tightening clench of his grip; he was about to break her wrist.

"Is there a problem here?" She heard another man speak behind her.

Piper craned her neck to see him, but couldn't tell much. His face was covered by a mysterious purple cloak that cascaded down his body, and though he was well concealed, Piper could tell he was muscled with force of a talented swordsman. Piper couldn't discern whether she should be enthusiastically grateful for this stranger's intervention or the opposite.

"No." The man with a grip on Piper's wrist insisted. "I was just going to buy her a drink."

Piper's eyes shot towards the stranger and pleaded differently, hoping that he would see through the obvious lie. The cloaked man glanced at the death hold on Piper's wrist and raise an eyebrow at the dangerous strain on her bone. He looked back to Piper's attacker.

"I do not believe your words." He said, casually pushing back his cape to reveal a sharpened sword in a polished scabbard. "Release her. Immediately."

The man did as told, fearing a fight, and stalked away, grumbling. Piper gingerly rubbed her sore wrist and gave the man a thankful smile, too frightened to even speak. If it had not been for this man, she could have suffered much more than even a broken bone.

"Are you all right?" The man asked, though strangely he sounded more saddened than concerned.

"I am fine," Piper said, breathily, "just a little shaken, I guess."

"That is good, but I'm afraid it is time for me to take my leave." The man bowed to her and walked away, the cloak still concealing his face, as Piper waved a goodbye in return.

Piper turned back to her father's performance, ultimately deciding to not tell him about the incident, but she found herself becoming much more aware of her surroundings. She would be prepared this time, should that man return to hurt her once more. She felt her nerves melt away as Tristan began playing a lively tune. People, both drunk and sober, stood and began to dance. They danced alone. they danced with each other. Others stood off to the side and simply clapped to the beat. This was how it should be.

Piper felt an uneasy sensation growing, as, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed more men shadowed by cloaks entered the tavern. She doubted anyone else paid much attention to this as they were all having such a wonderful time, but Piper felt a chill run down her spine. This was unusual. She did not recognize any of men's cloaks, as they were all made from fine silk. And their body forms were all rippled with muscle, setting Piper even further on edge. She was from a village where everyone was familiar, sometimes even more than she's like. But these men, they were not from her village, and she knew that.

Piper was about to speak up, when a man burst into the tavern, interrupting the fun, and beating Piper to spoken words.

"The Romans are here!" He yelled.

Romans?

Piper was not given time to think, as the cloaked men through back their concealment, revealing Roman soldier uniforms. One soldier, still concealed in his cloak, stepped behind the man who had warned everyone, and roughly dragged his sword across the man's throat. Blood sprayed from the open wound as the man gurgled and gasped for air, but instead choked on his own blood. The soldier ripped off his cloak and raised his bloodied sword. He yelled a ferocious battle cry, before running out of the tavern and off into the town, followed by a few others, while some soldiers stayed behind.

One soldier fixed a hungry stare at Piper, similar to the man who had assaulted her earlier, and she knew he did not crave blood. One elderly man accidentally knocked over a chair in the corner in his attempt to make quiet escape, distracting the soldiers. All of them went to seize the man, leaving the front entrance open to the others. Many tried to run for it, but none made it through. They were all forced to their knees. They would pay the price.

Piper snuck behind the bar and out the back entrance, forgetting about her father in a fit of panic. The dark night was ablaze with flames as many homes were lit with torches and burned to the ground. Piper's adrenaline pumped through her as her brain went into an overdrive mode. She darted through the village, finding small places to hide until it was relatively safe to run the next spot. Soon she had made it to the hill, where she had watched the sun that very morning. She ran down the other side of it, and shrouded by trees, she was safe.

Piper had nothing but the clothing she was wearing, and the dull knife she used to shed sheep of their wool. She wished she could return to her home, just to grab blankets and food, but she'd considered herself favored by the gods if it hadn't been turned to rubble by now. From her cover, she noticed a group forming at the edge of the village, towards the path that lead to Rome.

In the Romans' firelight she could see that the group was made only of adults and older children. They were taking prisoners, and Piper didn't know what for, but so many horrible ideas flew through her head. Slaves. She had heard of how the Romans would force slaves to fight in a sick game of death. At the last of the group, there was a man ushering three children in front of him, bravely taking a whip, blocking them with his body.

Piper's breath caught and a knot formed in the back of her throat. They had her father.

Piper turned into the woods, and ran, taking a backside path to follow the Romans back to their city. She'd rescue her father, and the other villagers. She had to, she just had to.

Back at the village, a circle had formed.

The circle was wide and made of about thirty soldiers, with the Captain, the leader, in the center with his sword drawn. An elderly man was roughly pushed into the circle and thrown to his knees. His hands were shaking, and not merely from his age. He slowly stood to his feet, but was shoved down to his knees, biting back the pain that arose when his old skin was peeled back against the hard ground. There was no escape, but through ruthless armed soldiers. The Romans laughed and talked amongst themselves, like some sort of sick demons.

The man was held down at his knees by his shoulders as the Captain slowly strode in front of him, waving his sword about, as if boasting his power. The Captain raised his weapon, as the other soldiers cheered, mocking a thumbs down motion. As force and gravity turned brutal and brought down the weapon, the cheering grew louder amongst the soldiers and the fear grew larger amongst the villagers.

Then the next person, a young girl, holding a small doll made from leftover yarn and fabric, was brought forward. A confused expression was on her face, but that didn't stop her tears from falling as she wailed for her parents. And her mother and father, still at the edge of the village, shared in their daughter's painful final moments as they recognized her screams. The poor girl held tightly to her doll until her hands went limp, then the next person was pushed forward into the circle. There was a long line of small children and elderly people holding babies, praying to whatever god they believed existed, waiting for death.

It was like hell had decided to unleash it's worst.

So? What'd you guys think of chapter 1? It got a little dark there at the end, and I hope that was okay with you guys.

Read and Review!

(EDIT: I literally just doubled the word count. XD)

You guys are such Awesome Possums! :oD