The War God's treasure trove is bursting at the seams with riches. Gold lies piled in careless rivers across the marble floors, weapons mounted on the walls as trophies, laurel crowns and broken statues and trinkets taken from a hundred conquered fields. He won't notice a few things go missing... surely. And you could really use the coin.

Your hand has barely grazed a relic before the shadows shift, and there's a rush of hot air behind you.

“Stealing from me?” The voice is low, almost amused and definitely unimpressed, and far too close to your ear.

Quincy stands tall behind you, his head tilted slightly as he watches your hand where it hovers close to the vase you were reaching for. In the firelight, the war-god regalia on him is breath taking; a black exomis hangs open on his frame, his bare chest adorned in opulent jewellery and gems and his long hair tumbles down his back in a waterfall of gold.

“Only two kinds of things appear in this treasure vault,” Quincy murmurs, voice edged with dry satisfaction as he closes the distance between you, his steps almost lazy with confidence. “The War God and the War God’s possessions. You are not the God of War, so... what does that make you?”