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"I wish to have all that I touch become as gold!"
This story begins with a massive celebration that was hosted by none other than Midas. But this Midas isn't the typical one you know of, not a human king. This man, this behemoth was a cyclops, one of the progeny of Poseidon himself, created to be the eyes of the ocean god on land. Tan, nearly orange skin stretched over a hulking build that complimented his height. In contrast, an unnatural light-blue hue filled his hair as a sign of connection to the sea he came from. A strong jaw held in sharp teeth one would expect from the man-eating cyclops told in stories, albeit Midas was certainly more dignified. As such, he was a long-lived being with no natural life span to speak of. The creations of gods always simply existed as tools, made with intent and easily discarded once their purpose had been achieved. Lucky was he then that the role of simply being a sentient eyeball for a god existing in the dark depths of the salty abyss will always be in need. There was a comfort in this, and confidence. Not only that, but the prestige of being associated with a god came with many benefits, and being a king was once such benefit. A literal god-given right to rule, Midas would be a mighty ruler that held jurisdiction between the land and sea, observing trade and the comings and goings of the vessels of mortals.
The land that he would be in charge of was none other than the great city of Atlantis, a sprawling metropolis guarded by massive stone walls in a feat of architecture that none but the gods themselves could have fashioned. It was here that those who would revere Poseidon himself would congregate, and where the commerce and trade between other lands necessitated advancements in science and mysticism both.
Existing as a sort of passive sentinel, Midas had made a name for himself as a mediator for trade and a peacekeeper against invaders. One tactic he had used was simply flexing his status as a cyclops to threaten to incur the wrath of the sea, for if none could respect the waters of trade, their lives would be forfeit. And if a personal issue had arisen, Midas was quick to challenge the aggressor to a wrestling match! Mind you, an open challenge from a cyclops, a man-eating monster standing tall in stature and wide in stance was an invitation to defeat. These all would assume him to be a monster of arrogance, and this would be correct. But he was still loved by his people, regardless of how foolishly he had guarded the shores. Those who found entertainment in his antics would be his closest followers, advisors and friends alike.
So when it came to him hosting parties, he had always made sure to hold annual celebrations dedicated to his reign. Flourishing with gold and jewels and fine wines and even finer women, Midas debauched and partied and thrived. It would eventually come to pass, year after year, that he met up with a plucky and powerful sea captain, a woman who had an eye for appraisal and a natural talent when it came to trade. She was always able to catch Midas' discerning eye, and though he admired her, it wouldn't come to be that she remain with him. Her work and passion for the sea was too great, no matter how hard he had tried to impress her or cater to her every desire. They would meet during the festivities, and they would share stories before sharing a bed.
There would, however, come a time where she wouldn't arrive. There had been complications on her travels that waylaid her travels for a time. It wouldn't be until several months later that she would arrive... With child. And there would be no question in who had sired her, for beneath her blonde bangs was a single sparkling eye of wonder and innocence. Her name was Marigold. And she was cherished. Never had Midas thought that he of all people could have been a father! And she was so tiny in his hands. For the first time, he learned that he could cry, and tears of joy would flow like the rivers from the seas he watches over.
At the same time, his beloved revealed the secret to her success. As a gift, she would bestow upon him the gift of the Oracle. This mystical artifact of legend was in the form of a magnificent jewel. Those in possession of it would see their greatest desires, that which they would come to claim or die trying. Within the reflective facets of the jewel, she had revealed to have seen every step necessary to make all the best trades, find the finest minerals and the best merchants and the finest furs. A humble abuse of the gift of prophecy in a most luxurious form. However, that she should give this up meant that she was retiring. Becoming a mother had opened her eyes to a new life of nurturing and protecting life. Rather instead of trading, she would become a naval officer, and so she would leave both Marigold and the Oracle in the care of Midas, in full faith that the walls of Atlantis and the arms of its king were sanctuaries unto themselves.
Years later, it was known that she would not return, having lost her life in a storm in the middle of a great war with other nations that Atlantis refused to participate in. Being a bastion of trade and knowledge, they couldn't afford to lose themselves in conflict. Even knowing that Poseidon, the closest thing to a "father" that Midas had known, held influence over the tides, there was little he could do. The whims of the gods were ever in flux and conflict. Midas, as a cyclops, was only made to observe. Looking to his Oracle, large jewel of swirling blue fates, he made a singular attempt to see his beloved. But in the shimmering fog, only the image of Atlantis broke through. He would keep to his duty, for that was clearly what he wanted.
To cope with the loss, he would continue his monocular vigil over his nation, and continue partying. Keeping the Oracle close at hand, he would use it casually, seeing what all it thought he wanted, what possible imagery would fill its confines. And as time passed, it reminded him of his own greed. That gold was all that mattered. More wealth for himself to distribute among his people, more luxury to surround himself and his daughter, more and more and more. And so he used it in much the same way as his departed beloved, using it to offer step-by-step solutions to his insatiable avarice. Until an idea came to his mind. The largest party that Greece had ever seen! With no expense spared, he would even make attempts to reach the gods themselves.
Word would reach the only god whose sphere of influence revolved around such occasions... Dionysus. And when the day came, the day became night, and night back into day, and into another shroud of night. Food, drinks, sex, flexing of wealth, and so many games and so much music, it achieved a divine feat in impressing Dionysus so much, he would then offer a boon to Midas. Any one wish that he could imagine, and the party god would pull the very strings of the Fates to make it happen! And so the wish was uttered without a second thought.
"I wish to have all that I touch become as gold!"
And so it would happen. Dionysus in his divine wisdom knew the implications, but so fast and loose he was with his favors that any boon could be a curse. As Midas was sitting on his throne, the very wood he touched from a single point of the armrest was transmuted into the precious metal. So too were the women who were collected around him, leaning on him, instantly altered into gold statues that were suddenly a decoration. But in Midas' drunken stupor, he could only laugh and celebrate! And Dionysus only encouraged more, and his fellow revelers lost in the throes of celebration tossed caution to the wind. Some wanted to see more, some wanted to experience it, and so the nature of greed and wild abandon would grip Midas and his friends and followers.
But naturally the one and only person who kept their wits and sobriety was Marigold, the tiny cyclops girl who Midas had been entrusted to care for. "Father! M-my lord Midas, please! Cease your revelry! Look what you are doing! The people you had been trusted to protect are throwing their lives away for your own entertainment! Please, just stop and look!" Over half the throne room was gold statues. Golden tile, gold food now inedible, gold furniture, all of it a tacky display and disorganized showroom of lavish recklessness. And Dionysus, ever fleeting, had already left Midas to his devices. The man was drunk, which was a rarity given his monstrous constitutions. The jolly king dismissed her concerns and saw her only as a childish spoilsport, and decided that it was time to put her to bed. This was no place for a child, after all. But in his lapse of judgement, he reached for her tiny hand, and the instant he made contact, she would be condemned to a death of luxurious hubris. A dark sobriety had instilled a last-second sense of clarity in Midas, his single eye wide in shock and fear of what was happening before him. "No! No, please, you... What have I done!?" The transmutation in this instance whether through his desire to reverse it or through the trauma of who it was happening to, seemed to go on for too long. The radiant shimmer of golden light crept up Marigold's arm, rigid and unforgiving. Midas held her tight, clutching her in a final, desperate embrace. "Don't go! Please! I'm sorry!" He pleaded, knowing it was too late. "Dionysus, take it back! I don't want this!" He begged to nothing, for he had been abandoned. None but the clamorous revelers around him would see him in this sorrowful state. Marigold was now a statue like the others, only her expression was that of pain and horror, her body posed in despair half-hugging the air in her final attempt to hold her father in a moment of need.
"No... What... I can fix this! I must fix this!!" He haphazardly reached for his Oracle, and miraculously his touch didn't transmute it. Rather, there seemed to be a volatile reaction. The space between the smooth surface of the artifact and Midas' cursed touch crackled with yellow light, burning hot and screeching a cacophonous tone that filled the inebriated subjects around him with a sense of dread. "Show me! How do I reverse this!? What must I do!?" But the orb only showed him what he has always seen. Atlantis, and images of gold. As if taunting him. Showing him what he had always seen. As if to imply that her restoration wasn't what he wanted. But her would deny this. "YOU LIE!!" Rage filled him, and he leaned closer, hunched as his massive eye was nearly touching the screaming jewel. But the images never changed. It knew all but it couldn't answer his question? Something was off, he knew it had the answers, he needed to know. But in his lapse of caution, drawing it ever nearer to his eye, it had made contact. The relic, created by divine hands, fought against the divine curse. Imbued with the gift of prophecy, it burned with the heat of Apollo's own charge and burned Midas' eye. Tensing in the agonizing heat, his face became disfigured from burns, but his desperation refused to let him loosen his grasp. It was drawn closer, melting away his eye and drawing inwards. His scream harmonized with the screeching, and a burst of blue and yellow light flooded the room. All in attendance could only watch in barely lucid horror, their vision filled only with that of their king in terrifying loss. When the light had finally subsided, Midas stood looking upward at the ceiling, arms dangling low, his mouth agape. The Oracle, smoking and shimmering with a brilliant blue light, was now fused to his face in place of his eye. The flesh around it was scorched, swollen and fused around it.
"I... I see..." He spoke in a whisper, his voice cracking in grief. The spectacle had sobered his subjects, many in shock at what they had seen. Gathering around him but keeping their distance, they looked on in mourning over what had happened. Their friends, his daughter, their poor ruler... But then one spoke up, having to break the silence. "...My lord? Are you... What happened?" To which Midas would respond in the same broken whisper, "I see... I see it all." With their differences in height, they could not see his face. They watched in suspense and apprehension, frightened of what might have happened to their king. But when he had lowered his gaze, the light of his eye illuminated the crowd before him, who had all reached up to cover their mouths, gasping at the sight. Midas was, against everything, smiling. His gaze was unblinking, the fresh burns hidden behind the glow of the Oracle that had replaced his eye and was now connected to his mind. Images were flashing in his psyche, drowning his waking mind in visions of gold and gods and sights yet seen. "I can see it all! It... Yes... I know what I must do." It was clear to everyone that he had gone mad, broken by the artifact that was now malfunctioning. Or to put it in more accurate terms, now working in overdrive. And in spite of this supposed madness, all in attendance felt an odd pull. Midas was now scheming against forces well beyond them all. And yet, having basked in the light of desire and bathed in the glow of his intent, there was a now a new purpose in their minds. As if reprogrammed. Their desires made to match his own. Not thralls, not hypnotized or brainwashed, nothing so wicked or purposeful, but a hidden consequence of Midas forcing the relic to project his own desires unto them. Instilling them with a drive to commit to his goals. A weaponized Oracle. And they were none the wiser, everyone fully convinced in this moment of mourning that it was all their own idea.
Years would go by. King Midas, plagued with visions etched in every waking moment, studied and took to research. With his curse, he would trade golden relics for knowledge. Far-reaching attempts to study his curse, to master it, to control it, would take up several decades, possibly centuries. It was impossible to tell now. And those who had been in attendance, at the party that had several of Greece' most influential families and even those of foreign soil, would pass on their wills and faith in their mad king. Over the course of time passing, a movement within Atlantis would form. A small cult developed, and would be waiting for a special event. One which would spark depending on how a certain meeting would go. Midas would commune with Poseidon, the very god who brought him into this world.
"Lord Poseidon! I have come before you, with a humble request." The cyclops was dressed in familiar attire. A red hood and cape hid his face, with only the glow of the Oracle visible through the shroud. Purple harem pants held up by a belt, the buckle designed with the image of a gemstone eye. Feet in leather boots accented with gold plating over the toes and heels. Arms in gold hands, and a gold ring on each finger. He took the time to dress up, but Poseidon himself could see something more. The blue hue of his hair had faded to a silvery white, as if his connection to Poseidon had faded. And the ocean god could sense a certain madness boiling deep within the core of the king. "What... What had happened to you, Midas? What twisted darkness has overtaken you?" But then the gem-eyed cyclops would respond with a smile creeping through the veil of darkness, pearly whites and a single gold tooth. "No darkness, Father. Quite the opposite! I've experienced... Illumination. I learned that gods, in their divine wisdom, can also be as petty as mortals. That they feel no remorse for their antics, fully convinced that they have the right to punish and prank and push around those they see as beneath them! But you, mighty god of the sea, are not like them... You remain passive! You do not bother yourself with the lives of others, that is why you made me, and others of my kind, to be your eyes and to be your voice! But now I must ask you for once to act... Help me, Father! You surely must know what transpired that night. Help me take revenge against Dionysus! Flood his revelers, storm over his temples!" But the ocean god would refuse. "You are a tool! You are barely mortal, you only exist to uphold my authority, or be cast aside! What you had suffered was a consequence of your foolish greed."
And so this communion would cease, and Midas would throw away his duty. But not his responsibility. No, this was what he was expecting, and knew that if he wanted to get his revenge on the gods, he would need to act outside of the realm of Poseidon's influence. And the cult that had been waiting would come to form a foothold for Midas, named for his curse that he had eventually learned to master and control. The Gold Standard.
And what better way to get back at his uncaring father than to take that which he cherished most? Midas had lost his daughter, now he will take the city. Touching the immaculate stone walls of the nation, the entire structure spanning miles and miles was transmuted into massive sheets of gold. With a flex of his muscles and focusing his mind, those same walls broke the earth beneath them. Forming a circle on a continental scale, Midas displayed a most divine feat of control called "Aurumancy", the ability to control the precious metal with a mastery only a god could achieve. The walls would spin and rotate, excavating the very foundation of Atlantis! From atop his palace, Midas watched and carefully motioned as he took control. The walls sank, then turned over, then segmented, then orbited. Runes were carved into the surface and within, arcane sigils the length and depth of these walls would take root in the very space of the nation he was terraforming. Until eventually the entire nation began to rise up from the earth. Sections of the land would be left behind, and the great work of the Gold Standard would be revealed as golden chains nearly equally massive in construction tethered the masses of land together. The walls of Atlantis formed a spherical orbit, magically encapsulating the nation as it was carved away from the world below. Higher and higher it ascended, with residents having been born and raised and passed on with zealous fervor for Midas' scheme. Poseidon's nation was torn from the earth and hidden in the skies, faith in the ocean god converted into worship of Midas.
Stories will tell of how Atlantis disappeared, of how Poseidon sank the landmass in a sudden fit of rage. The truth was that Atlantis was stolen.
Stories will tell of how Midas was lost to madness over his curse. The truth was he overcame it, and made it his own.
In time, this bastion of wealth and knowledge would become a hub of luxury and greed and disdain for the other gods.
In time, Atlantis would fade, and the Gold Standard would give it a new name in mockery of its former glory: Sitnalta.
In time, Midas would forsake his name and leave all former loyalty behind. To match what Sitnalta had become, he would embody that which everyone desired.
Treasure Baron would be a symbol of wealth and revenge. And a new creed would be established. His disdain for what the gods had done to him would extend to anything and anyone capable of granting wishes. No more will anyone be made a victim of their own hubris.