Penthu and Neoptolomos 'Paul' Polychronopoulos

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Penthu

It was tough. Buying supplies, and keeping up to date with the latest knowledge. Whether it was great engineering works or warfare - the services of a physician were necessary but sometimes taken for granted. Nevertheless I did that which I loved. Using the tools the gods gave us to heal the sick and help the wounded.

But the precarious balance of investing in information and equipment was not always to balance in my favour. Eventually I found myself in debt and it seemed that whatever work I was able to find would only result in more debt for my family. I had a responsibility to them, so I made an arrangement with my creditors. They would cancel my debt for my exclusive services, and the services of my son.

Slavery was not at all bad - indeed it turned out to be the finest decision I had made. It was no longer my concern whether I could afford to acquire the latest knowledge or pay for the right herbs or salves. Furthermore, my creditors had fine contacts and soon I found myself in the service of a physician who tended to the noble - even to those of royal heritage, mixing unguents and preparing for surgery. Since nobility only wanted the finest care, and were willing to pay for it, I was able to teach much to my son.

Pragmatic and well traveled, Penthu has a fine understanding of human affairs, both internal and external. He enjoys a good joke, but is nevertheless often in a sombre mood. His life is for the benefit of his family, he is not vain or selfish. However, his family loyalties can blind him to his greater duties, and if anyone wanted to corrupt him, promises of comfort or happiness for his wife and children would be the way.

Neoptolomos 'Paul' Polychronopoulos

There are many reasons to enjoy body modification. And there are even reasons to do it that are nothing to do with enjoyment. I was always in the latter group. My body didn't strike me as a canvas, but instead as a monstrosity. Too fat, too pasty - it was generally disgusting.

Just because I'd go for days without eating, or throw up when I did - my friends thought I should seek medical attention. They were trying to take away from me the only pleasure I had: looking at my body and seeing something different than I'd grown accustomed to. Whether it was seeing myself weigh less today than I had done for years, or if it was a new design, or the whisky that blurred the lines and made everything seem more acceptable.

I had discovered my talent for art at high school, but it wasn't until I'd had my first tattoo, a rather innocent and quaint Tazmanian Devil on my ankle, that I knew it was to become my vocation. And life was basically bearable once I had left the judgement-fest that was high school. I opened up my own shop, first in Chios but as my reputation grew I moved to the big city, Athens.

With the money from owning a shop in the main centre of Athens, I was able to travel a lot more - go to conventions and learn so much about my art. As with many tatooists I started piercings and implants as well as other more unusual body mods. I enjoyed my life, but I still hated my body.

I guess I knew when I walked in, but I didn't care. I was going to get a cool toe tat done, make it look like the nose of a WWII plane with the teeth and stuff. The place was filthy, dark and damp. Any person that cared about their own personal safety would have run a mile the moment they took a look at the place. What the fuck though, they couldn't make my body any more abhorrent could they? It turns out the artistry was rather good, and as a freebee I got a local pattern done on my other ankle.

It's difficult to know for sure. Maybe it was my drinking habit, maybe it was hep C, but eventually my disregard for my own health lead to liver failure and death.

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Not exactly brilliant (low on detail, places, dates etc) but it's as good as I've been able to get it.