The chatbox has been hidden for this page. It will reopen upon refresh. To hide the CBox permanently, select "Permanently Toggle Cbox" in your profile User Settings.
This chatbox is hidden. To reopen, edit your User Settings.
Days had begun blurring together. One day rose and fell away, and then another. Achilleas had never known heat like it. The very air was dry here, and sand and grit stuck to sweat slicked skin and made everything uncomfortable. Bronze armour reflected the sun and dazzled, but it burned against skin too, and more than one of the men had fallen to sunsickness.
The Captain trudged back to his tent, weary after another day gaining little ground. They held off the Egyptians but it was a stale battle, relentless skirmishes day after day that took them no closer to victory, no closer to being able to return home.
The men grew tired, irritable in the relentless, oppressive heat, and they bickered, tetchy with their fellow soldiers, even more so with those from their neighbouring kingdoms, who now held camps that bordered where the Taengeans claimed some land.
The Lions has been fortunate in drawing a lot, Achilleas thought. They had at least some trees at their back, some shade, and their camp was tucked away at the back of the sprawling tent city that marked the Greek armies presence. They shared their good fortune with a unit of Colchian soldiers, and the Taengeans had grown used to their more somber and serious neighbours. But the lack of progress was frustrating for everyone. Every man sought his own glory, his own honour, and there was little to be found in this lock-horned style of combat. The young Captain had just come from his Commander, the man having had word of a supporting contingent of forces only days away. More men who should turn the battle in their favour, they just had to hold ground and keep the sand rats at bay.
It was at least comforting news that Achilleas could carry back to his Lieutenants, and sure enough, he spied the rangy form of his friend Krysto waiting outside his tent. Achilleas raised a hand to him in greeting, and as the Lord stepped inside, his retainer already stepping forward to help with stripping off the armour he wore, Krysto followed him.
“What news from home?” He asked, silently moving to take the horse-haired helmet from his captain, setting it down and furnishing Achilleas instead with a waterskin from which the Lord took a swig from, swilled it around and then spat to clear the grittiness from his mouth.
Achilleas shifted to allow Tomasos to unfasten the greaves buckled around his calves, before he looked to Krysto. “Additional forces on their way. We just have to keep doing what we’re doing.Don't spea of it to the men, we are not sure yet when they arrive". He took a long pull from the waterskin, slaking his thirst this time, and then lifted his arms so the heavy moulded cuirasse he wore could be removed and set aside. The Lord was glad to be rid of the weight of it, the linen beneath damp with sweat, and he nodded his thanks to the boy who hurried off with the armour, ready to shine it for the Baron’s next foray out onto the field.
“Many injured?” Achilleas enquired, trusting that Krysto would have sought out such information whilst he had been briefed by the Commander. And then when the man had replied, the lord nodded, rolled his shoulders and finally began to decompress.
“Go to Angaeus and check he and his have all that they need” he instructed, for if the healers could not work then they would all be in trouble. They had been lucky by the sounds of it today, nothing too serious, but as Achilleas stepped outside and glanced down, the flecks of blood he wore were a reminder of how not all could claim to be so fortunate. The residual fire of battle had bled from his veins, and he was just tired as he ambled toward the river to sluice away the worst of the day’s grime.
It had been harder than he had anticipated here, by far the longest conflict he had been involved in, and this dry land with its fierce warriors was not a gentle host. The heat was almost an enemy in itself, the sand was treacherous underfoot, the landscape altogether alien compared the gentle green of Taengea. It had been disconcerting for the men, had taken longer than he would have liked for them to find their feet. And then when they had? Just day after day of meeting the Egptian’s head on, with neither side able to claim any real victory. It was wearing.
Achilleas checked warily for any sign of crocodiles as he approached the water, and only when he was sure it was safe did he stoop to scoop palmfuls over his skin, scrubbing away the red stained to brown that reminded him that he had killed that day. Cupping his hands, he sluiced water over his face too, startling slightly when he heard a sound behind him, wheeling with all the speed and grace of a warrior because the river lizards could move fast and lethal.
He relaxed though, upon seeing the approaching form of one of the Colchian soldiers, chasing the water from his face before raising a hand in greeting. There had formed a tentative camaraderie between the forces, a necessity when they were camped almost on top of one another, and Achilleas did his best to retain cordial relations with his counterpart officers. This man though, there was almost an unease, though not for any reason the Lord could put his finger on. He offered the soldier a nod as he drew near, the edge of a smile.
“I hope the day treated you well, Damocles”
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
Sept 17, 2019 22:02:50 GMT
Posted In Oil and Water on Sept 17, 2019 22:02:50 GMT
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
Days had begun blurring together. One day rose and fell away, and then another. Achilleas had never known heat like it. The very air was dry here, and sand and grit stuck to sweat slicked skin and made everything uncomfortable. Bronze armour reflected the sun and dazzled, but it burned against skin too, and more than one of the men had fallen to sunsickness.
The Captain trudged back to his tent, weary after another day gaining little ground. They held off the Egyptians but it was a stale battle, relentless skirmishes day after day that took them no closer to victory, no closer to being able to return home.
The men grew tired, irritable in the relentless, oppressive heat, and they bickered, tetchy with their fellow soldiers, even more so with those from their neighbouring kingdoms, who now held camps that bordered where the Taengeans claimed some land.
The Lions has been fortunate in drawing a lot, Achilleas thought. They had at least some trees at their back, some shade, and their camp was tucked away at the back of the sprawling tent city that marked the Greek armies presence. They shared their good fortune with a unit of Colchian soldiers, and the Taengeans had grown used to their more somber and serious neighbours. But the lack of progress was frustrating for everyone. Every man sought his own glory, his own honour, and there was little to be found in this lock-horned style of combat. The young Captain had just come from his Commander, the man having had word of a supporting contingent of forces only days away. More men who should turn the battle in their favour, they just had to hold ground and keep the sand rats at bay.
It was at least comforting news that Achilleas could carry back to his Lieutenants, and sure enough, he spied the rangy form of his friend Krysto waiting outside his tent. Achilleas raised a hand to him in greeting, and as the Lord stepped inside, his retainer already stepping forward to help with stripping off the armour he wore, Krysto followed him.
“What news from home?” He asked, silently moving to take the horse-haired helmet from his captain, setting it down and furnishing Achilleas instead with a waterskin from which the Lord took a swig from, swilled it around and then spat to clear the grittiness from his mouth.
Achilleas shifted to allow Tomasos to unfasten the greaves buckled around his calves, before he looked to Krysto. “Additional forces on their way. We just have to keep doing what we’re doing.Don't spea of it to the men, we are not sure yet when they arrive". He took a long pull from the waterskin, slaking his thirst this time, and then lifted his arms so the heavy moulded cuirasse he wore could be removed and set aside. The Lord was glad to be rid of the weight of it, the linen beneath damp with sweat, and he nodded his thanks to the boy who hurried off with the armour, ready to shine it for the Baron’s next foray out onto the field.
“Many injured?” Achilleas enquired, trusting that Krysto would have sought out such information whilst he had been briefed by the Commander. And then when the man had replied, the lord nodded, rolled his shoulders and finally began to decompress.
“Go to Angaeus and check he and his have all that they need” he instructed, for if the healers could not work then they would all be in trouble. They had been lucky by the sounds of it today, nothing too serious, but as Achilleas stepped outside and glanced down, the flecks of blood he wore were a reminder of how not all could claim to be so fortunate. The residual fire of battle had bled from his veins, and he was just tired as he ambled toward the river to sluice away the worst of the day’s grime.
It had been harder than he had anticipated here, by far the longest conflict he had been involved in, and this dry land with its fierce warriors was not a gentle host. The heat was almost an enemy in itself, the sand was treacherous underfoot, the landscape altogether alien compared the gentle green of Taengea. It had been disconcerting for the men, had taken longer than he would have liked for them to find their feet. And then when they had? Just day after day of meeting the Egptian’s head on, with neither side able to claim any real victory. It was wearing.
Achilleas checked warily for any sign of crocodiles as he approached the water, and only when he was sure it was safe did he stoop to scoop palmfuls over his skin, scrubbing away the red stained to brown that reminded him that he had killed that day. Cupping his hands, he sluiced water over his face too, startling slightly when he heard a sound behind him, wheeling with all the speed and grace of a warrior because the river lizards could move fast and lethal.
He relaxed though, upon seeing the approaching form of one of the Colchian soldiers, chasing the water from his face before raising a hand in greeting. There had formed a tentative camaraderie between the forces, a necessity when they were camped almost on top of one another, and Achilleas did his best to retain cordial relations with his counterpart officers. This man though, there was almost an unease, though not for any reason the Lord could put his finger on. He offered the soldier a nod as he drew near, the edge of a smile.
“I hope the day treated you well, Damocles”
Days had begun blurring together. One day rose and fell away, and then another. Achilleas had never known heat like it. The very air was dry here, and sand and grit stuck to sweat slicked skin and made everything uncomfortable. Bronze armour reflected the sun and dazzled, but it burned against skin too, and more than one of the men had fallen to sunsickness.
The Captain trudged back to his tent, weary after another day gaining little ground. They held off the Egyptians but it was a stale battle, relentless skirmishes day after day that took them no closer to victory, no closer to being able to return home.
The men grew tired, irritable in the relentless, oppressive heat, and they bickered, tetchy with their fellow soldiers, even more so with those from their neighbouring kingdoms, who now held camps that bordered where the Taengeans claimed some land.
The Lions has been fortunate in drawing a lot, Achilleas thought. They had at least some trees at their back, some shade, and their camp was tucked away at the back of the sprawling tent city that marked the Greek armies presence. They shared their good fortune with a unit of Colchian soldiers, and the Taengeans had grown used to their more somber and serious neighbours. But the lack of progress was frustrating for everyone. Every man sought his own glory, his own honour, and there was little to be found in this lock-horned style of combat. The young Captain had just come from his Commander, the man having had word of a supporting contingent of forces only days away. More men who should turn the battle in their favour, they just had to hold ground and keep the sand rats at bay.
It was at least comforting news that Achilleas could carry back to his Lieutenants, and sure enough, he spied the rangy form of his friend Krysto waiting outside his tent. Achilleas raised a hand to him in greeting, and as the Lord stepped inside, his retainer already stepping forward to help with stripping off the armour he wore, Krysto followed him.
“What news from home?” He asked, silently moving to take the horse-haired helmet from his captain, setting it down and furnishing Achilleas instead with a waterskin from which the Lord took a swig from, swilled it around and then spat to clear the grittiness from his mouth.
Achilleas shifted to allow Tomasos to unfasten the greaves buckled around his calves, before he looked to Krysto. “Additional forces on their way. We just have to keep doing what we’re doing.Don't spea of it to the men, we are not sure yet when they arrive". He took a long pull from the waterskin, slaking his thirst this time, and then lifted his arms so the heavy moulded cuirasse he wore could be removed and set aside. The Lord was glad to be rid of the weight of it, the linen beneath damp with sweat, and he nodded his thanks to the boy who hurried off with the armour, ready to shine it for the Baron’s next foray out onto the field.
“Many injured?” Achilleas enquired, trusting that Krysto would have sought out such information whilst he had been briefed by the Commander. And then when the man had replied, the lord nodded, rolled his shoulders and finally began to decompress.
“Go to Angaeus and check he and his have all that they need” he instructed, for if the healers could not work then they would all be in trouble. They had been lucky by the sounds of it today, nothing too serious, but as Achilleas stepped outside and glanced down, the flecks of blood he wore were a reminder of how not all could claim to be so fortunate. The residual fire of battle had bled from his veins, and he was just tired as he ambled toward the river to sluice away the worst of the day’s grime.
It had been harder than he had anticipated here, by far the longest conflict he had been involved in, and this dry land with its fierce warriors was not a gentle host. The heat was almost an enemy in itself, the sand was treacherous underfoot, the landscape altogether alien compared the gentle green of Taengea. It had been disconcerting for the men, had taken longer than he would have liked for them to find their feet. And then when they had? Just day after day of meeting the Egptian’s head on, with neither side able to claim any real victory. It was wearing.
Achilleas checked warily for any sign of crocodiles as he approached the water, and only when he was sure it was safe did he stoop to scoop palmfuls over his skin, scrubbing away the red stained to brown that reminded him that he had killed that day. Cupping his hands, he sluiced water over his face too, startling slightly when he heard a sound behind him, wheeling with all the speed and grace of a warrior because the river lizards could move fast and lethal.
He relaxed though, upon seeing the approaching form of one of the Colchian soldiers, chasing the water from his face before raising a hand in greeting. There had formed a tentative camaraderie between the forces, a necessity when they were camped almost on top of one another, and Achilleas did his best to retain cordial relations with his counterpart officers. This man though, there was almost an unease, though not for any reason the Lord could put his finger on. He offered the soldier a nod as he drew near, the edge of a smile.
“I hope the day treated you well, Damocles”
Some might see the whole ordeal of battling in the field of battle as one that was wrought in sacrifice and danger, but to the iron-eyed lieutenant heeding his men to order, this was not the case. He was less concerned over the affairs of men and more interested in whether or not things were concerting in accordance to his will and desires. Courage and bravery was needed, yes, for how else would one answer the call to arms and rally behind lines of blood and fire? Yet, their was only so much valor and fortitudinous labor that one could offer before being checked by reality. Courage had to be met with prudence, and the romantic, righteousness that all soldiers strived for had to be checked and balanced by the pragmatism of officers and commanders. Their was little use in denying this point, but still, he figured his musings were not precisely perfect.
Surrounded by a cacophonous welter of raised voices, gathering, repulsing, orbiting and repelling, Damocles stood firmly with his steely gaze firmly set against the chaotic mess that was the field of battle. His cold, stark stare sent frightening chills to any who dared look his way, a powerful instrument that he could of discipline and terror he could rely upon whenever he wanted to make sure that his hoplites followed suit and headed his commands in an unquestionable and absolute manner. The thunderous clash of metal against skin, and the plethora of agonized, anguished screams made his thoughts come to the back of his head. It would be poor of him to philosophize and think about the state of affairs in this encounter between men. Thus, he kept his stance, authoritatively scanning around so as to see whether or not any of his countrymen had dared to reneged against the sacred covenant formed in the heat of battle. So far, it seemed his presence alone kept his men at bay, but with a sideways roll of his icy orbs, Damocles took notice of a boy, no older than seventeen, who dared to infiltrate his person and make bold his place.
The youth lounged at him, jumping high at the silver-eyed lieutenant with his blade firmly held in hand as he let out a singular shout so as to cause terror to grip his unmoving enemy's line. What a foolish boy. What a stupid boy. Instinctively, without sparing a second in thought, Damocles unsheathed his own sword and raise his trusted shield high, bashing the somersaulting youth squarely on his face, before fastening his foot on his throat and slicing it apart, severing head from body. Subsequently, he kicked the still-warmed head of the decapitated boy, sending shivers down his enemy's spines. "Kill them all!" With that, he sheathed his customized sword and kept still, maintaining his composure as he saw the men of Colchis roar in confirmation to his command, rushing in great masses so as to obliterate any remaining Egyptians that had not been swayed to leave at the sight of the terrifying lieutenant.
If he could confess to his own pride, his formation was the sight of glory. At once, whenever those disgusting armor-less savages came to strike, his soldiers struck to defense and then parried away, pushing aside those ungraceful barbarians before Grecian spears pierced fast and true against their exposed chests. Redacting his base station nonetheless, it had to be admitted. For as cruel and harsh as he was, Damocles had style. It went on thusly: with the quick-draw of a shield at an instance and the faster draw of a spear to the chest or throat or arm whenever the Gods made good on their chance. Yes, it was a slow and languorous approach to battle, but that did not take away from its effectiveness. Of course, never being one for distance, Damocles had already fastened to the front lines, barking tenebrously at his industrious soldiers as they began to count on him for leadership. "Push! Forward! sStrike!" Were amongst the multiple orders he snarled at his men as they patiently, but methodically carved out their victory, making it clear that for all intents and purposes, the battle was won to the Greeks and lost to the Egyptians.
"Spare no quarter! Kill all the snaker-fuckers! Now!" And with that, his once neatly organized sub-unit dispersed and came down at the remaining , showing them what true warriors were. The desperate shouts of any final sons of the nation of Egypt were drowned in rivers of gory guts and filthy blood. Mercilessly, the Greeks decimated the pathetic soldiers of the Pharaoh, putting them to shame at the end of the spear and sword. Once it became apparent that the fight was finished, Damocles slowly, and almost reluctantly, came back to himself, his gaze setting on the spear he had so furiously gripped between his whitened, knuckled hands. Returned to the present, he took note of his rapid, ragged breathing and composed himself, finally settling on his triumph as he bore witness to the end of the fight.
Once the battle was finished, Damocles gave a final chilling order and decided that all of the fallen Egyptians will he severed from their heads, just as he had done to the boy in the beginning, and placed on spears and swords to be buried on the field of battle as testament to their ferocity and might. Nobody would make the same mistake of challenging him again, or that of his men. He may have been a mere lieutenant on that moment, but as he returned, weary and tired from the bloodletting, his men sung his praises, cheering boisterously and proudly as they marched towards a friendly camp since dusk threatened to take away from their day.
As expected, the arrival of the Colchians to the camp was met with their quintessential rumbustiousness. It was a sight to behold. Though they were tired and exhausted from battle, none of them showed signs of pause. They simply stormed the place, taking hold of any food or rations they could procure, but not before their their leader, the black-armored lieutenant, recalled those that had lived another day and those that were to meet the boatman in the Underworld. Before leaving the field of battle and arriving for the camp, he had gathered up his felled soldiers with solemnity in his face as he wished to honor their dying wishes and be met with the final passages and rites. Another man, a younger youth, was instructed to put the coins in their eyes and say the prayers, while he himself came to the river to cleanse himself, noticing a familiar face that he challenged with a grin. "It was a glorious day! Today the Gods up high and our forefathers below smile upon my men and I! How about you? What fate has befallen you today?" he inquired, smugly grinning at the man as he rid himself of marks and wounds.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
Sept 22, 2019 18:27:13 GMT
Posted In Oil and Water on Sept 22, 2019 18:27:13 GMT
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
Some might see the whole ordeal of battling in the field of battle as one that was wrought in sacrifice and danger, but to the iron-eyed lieutenant heeding his men to order, this was not the case. He was less concerned over the affairs of men and more interested in whether or not things were concerting in accordance to his will and desires. Courage and bravery was needed, yes, for how else would one answer the call to arms and rally behind lines of blood and fire? Yet, their was only so much valor and fortitudinous labor that one could offer before being checked by reality. Courage had to be met with prudence, and the romantic, righteousness that all soldiers strived for had to be checked and balanced by the pragmatism of officers and commanders. Their was little use in denying this point, but still, he figured his musings were not precisely perfect.
Surrounded by a cacophonous welter of raised voices, gathering, repulsing, orbiting and repelling, Damocles stood firmly with his steely gaze firmly set against the chaotic mess that was the field of battle. His cold, stark stare sent frightening chills to any who dared look his way, a powerful instrument that he could of discipline and terror he could rely upon whenever he wanted to make sure that his hoplites followed suit and headed his commands in an unquestionable and absolute manner. The thunderous clash of metal against skin, and the plethora of agonized, anguished screams made his thoughts come to the back of his head. It would be poor of him to philosophize and think about the state of affairs in this encounter between men. Thus, he kept his stance, authoritatively scanning around so as to see whether or not any of his countrymen had dared to reneged against the sacred covenant formed in the heat of battle. So far, it seemed his presence alone kept his men at bay, but with a sideways roll of his icy orbs, Damocles took notice of a boy, no older than seventeen, who dared to infiltrate his person and make bold his place.
The youth lounged at him, jumping high at the silver-eyed lieutenant with his blade firmly held in hand as he let out a singular shout so as to cause terror to grip his unmoving enemy's line. What a foolish boy. What a stupid boy. Instinctively, without sparing a second in thought, Damocles unsheathed his own sword and raise his trusted shield high, bashing the somersaulting youth squarely on his face, before fastening his foot on his throat and slicing it apart, severing head from body. Subsequently, he kicked the still-warmed head of the decapitated boy, sending shivers down his enemy's spines. "Kill them all!" With that, he sheathed his customized sword and kept still, maintaining his composure as he saw the men of Colchis roar in confirmation to his command, rushing in great masses so as to obliterate any remaining Egyptians that had not been swayed to leave at the sight of the terrifying lieutenant.
If he could confess to his own pride, his formation was the sight of glory. At once, whenever those disgusting armor-less savages came to strike, his soldiers struck to defense and then parried away, pushing aside those ungraceful barbarians before Grecian spears pierced fast and true against their exposed chests. Redacting his base station nonetheless, it had to be admitted. For as cruel and harsh as he was, Damocles had style. It went on thusly: with the quick-draw of a shield at an instance and the faster draw of a spear to the chest or throat or arm whenever the Gods made good on their chance. Yes, it was a slow and languorous approach to battle, but that did not take away from its effectiveness. Of course, never being one for distance, Damocles had already fastened to the front lines, barking tenebrously at his industrious soldiers as they began to count on him for leadership. "Push! Forward! sStrike!" Were amongst the multiple orders he snarled at his men as they patiently, but methodically carved out their victory, making it clear that for all intents and purposes, the battle was won to the Greeks and lost to the Egyptians.
"Spare no quarter! Kill all the snaker-fuckers! Now!" And with that, his once neatly organized sub-unit dispersed and came down at the remaining , showing them what true warriors were. The desperate shouts of any final sons of the nation of Egypt were drowned in rivers of gory guts and filthy blood. Mercilessly, the Greeks decimated the pathetic soldiers of the Pharaoh, putting them to shame at the end of the spear and sword. Once it became apparent that the fight was finished, Damocles slowly, and almost reluctantly, came back to himself, his gaze setting on the spear he had so furiously gripped between his whitened, knuckled hands. Returned to the present, he took note of his rapid, ragged breathing and composed himself, finally settling on his triumph as he bore witness to the end of the fight.
Once the battle was finished, Damocles gave a final chilling order and decided that all of the fallen Egyptians will he severed from their heads, just as he had done to the boy in the beginning, and placed on spears and swords to be buried on the field of battle as testament to their ferocity and might. Nobody would make the same mistake of challenging him again, or that of his men. He may have been a mere lieutenant on that moment, but as he returned, weary and tired from the bloodletting, his men sung his praises, cheering boisterously and proudly as they marched towards a friendly camp since dusk threatened to take away from their day.
As expected, the arrival of the Colchians to the camp was met with their quintessential rumbustiousness. It was a sight to behold. Though they were tired and exhausted from battle, none of them showed signs of pause. They simply stormed the place, taking hold of any food or rations they could procure, but not before their their leader, the black-armored lieutenant, recalled those that had lived another day and those that were to meet the boatman in the Underworld. Before leaving the field of battle and arriving for the camp, he had gathered up his felled soldiers with solemnity in his face as he wished to honor their dying wishes and be met with the final passages and rites. Another man, a younger youth, was instructed to put the coins in their eyes and say the prayers, while he himself came to the river to cleanse himself, noticing a familiar face that he challenged with a grin. "It was a glorious day! Today the Gods up high and our forefathers below smile upon my men and I! How about you? What fate has befallen you today?" he inquired, smugly grinning at the man as he rid himself of marks and wounds.
Some might see the whole ordeal of battling in the field of battle as one that was wrought in sacrifice and danger, but to the iron-eyed lieutenant heeding his men to order, this was not the case. He was less concerned over the affairs of men and more interested in whether or not things were concerting in accordance to his will and desires. Courage and bravery was needed, yes, for how else would one answer the call to arms and rally behind lines of blood and fire? Yet, their was only so much valor and fortitudinous labor that one could offer before being checked by reality. Courage had to be met with prudence, and the romantic, righteousness that all soldiers strived for had to be checked and balanced by the pragmatism of officers and commanders. Their was little use in denying this point, but still, he figured his musings were not precisely perfect.
Surrounded by a cacophonous welter of raised voices, gathering, repulsing, orbiting and repelling, Damocles stood firmly with his steely gaze firmly set against the chaotic mess that was the field of battle. His cold, stark stare sent frightening chills to any who dared look his way, a powerful instrument that he could of discipline and terror he could rely upon whenever he wanted to make sure that his hoplites followed suit and headed his commands in an unquestionable and absolute manner. The thunderous clash of metal against skin, and the plethora of agonized, anguished screams made his thoughts come to the back of his head. It would be poor of him to philosophize and think about the state of affairs in this encounter between men. Thus, he kept his stance, authoritatively scanning around so as to see whether or not any of his countrymen had dared to reneged against the sacred covenant formed in the heat of battle. So far, it seemed his presence alone kept his men at bay, but with a sideways roll of his icy orbs, Damocles took notice of a boy, no older than seventeen, who dared to infiltrate his person and make bold his place.
The youth lounged at him, jumping high at the silver-eyed lieutenant with his blade firmly held in hand as he let out a singular shout so as to cause terror to grip his unmoving enemy's line. What a foolish boy. What a stupid boy. Instinctively, without sparing a second in thought, Damocles unsheathed his own sword and raise his trusted shield high, bashing the somersaulting youth squarely on his face, before fastening his foot on his throat and slicing it apart, severing head from body. Subsequently, he kicked the still-warmed head of the decapitated boy, sending shivers down his enemy's spines. "Kill them all!" With that, he sheathed his customized sword and kept still, maintaining his composure as he saw the men of Colchis roar in confirmation to his command, rushing in great masses so as to obliterate any remaining Egyptians that had not been swayed to leave at the sight of the terrifying lieutenant.
If he could confess to his own pride, his formation was the sight of glory. At once, whenever those disgusting armor-less savages came to strike, his soldiers struck to defense and then parried away, pushing aside those ungraceful barbarians before Grecian spears pierced fast and true against their exposed chests. Redacting his base station nonetheless, it had to be admitted. For as cruel and harsh as he was, Damocles had style. It went on thusly: with the quick-draw of a shield at an instance and the faster draw of a spear to the chest or throat or arm whenever the Gods made good on their chance. Yes, it was a slow and languorous approach to battle, but that did not take away from its effectiveness. Of course, never being one for distance, Damocles had already fastened to the front lines, barking tenebrously at his industrious soldiers as they began to count on him for leadership. "Push! Forward! sStrike!" Were amongst the multiple orders he snarled at his men as they patiently, but methodically carved out their victory, making it clear that for all intents and purposes, the battle was won to the Greeks and lost to the Egyptians.
"Spare no quarter! Kill all the snaker-fuckers! Now!" And with that, his once neatly organized sub-unit dispersed and came down at the remaining , showing them what true warriors were. The desperate shouts of any final sons of the nation of Egypt were drowned in rivers of gory guts and filthy blood. Mercilessly, the Greeks decimated the pathetic soldiers of the Pharaoh, putting them to shame at the end of the spear and sword. Once it became apparent that the fight was finished, Damocles slowly, and almost reluctantly, came back to himself, his gaze setting on the spear he had so furiously gripped between his whitened, knuckled hands. Returned to the present, he took note of his rapid, ragged breathing and composed himself, finally settling on his triumph as he bore witness to the end of the fight.
Once the battle was finished, Damocles gave a final chilling order and decided that all of the fallen Egyptians will he severed from their heads, just as he had done to the boy in the beginning, and placed on spears and swords to be buried on the field of battle as testament to their ferocity and might. Nobody would make the same mistake of challenging him again, or that of his men. He may have been a mere lieutenant on that moment, but as he returned, weary and tired from the bloodletting, his men sung his praises, cheering boisterously and proudly as they marched towards a friendly camp since dusk threatened to take away from their day.
As expected, the arrival of the Colchians to the camp was met with their quintessential rumbustiousness. It was a sight to behold. Though they were tired and exhausted from battle, none of them showed signs of pause. They simply stormed the place, taking hold of any food or rations they could procure, but not before their their leader, the black-armored lieutenant, recalled those that had lived another day and those that were to meet the boatman in the Underworld. Before leaving the field of battle and arriving for the camp, he had gathered up his felled soldiers with solemnity in his face as he wished to honor their dying wishes and be met with the final passages and rites. Another man, a younger youth, was instructed to put the coins in their eyes and say the prayers, while he himself came to the river to cleanse himself, noticing a familiar face that he challenged with a grin. "It was a glorious day! Today the Gods up high and our forefathers below smile upon my men and I! How about you? What fate has befallen you today?" he inquired, smugly grinning at the man as he rid himself of marks and wounds.
As the other man drew near, the Taengean Lord watched his approach, the soldier still wearing the dark armour he preferred, an unusual black that seemed to swallow the light rather than reflecting it as Achilleas own bronze armour did. It gave him a foreboding air. And he was not small, standing taller even than Achilleas himself, not a thing that the young baron often found.
The Colchian had a reputation, Achilleas was not unaware of it. He heard tales of the man’s fearlessness, of his relentless driving of his men and whilst usually the Taengean Lord and Captain would find such traits admirable, he was wary of the man.
Indeed, they had not taken a liking to one another in the earliest days of the campaign when addressing bickering between the footsoldiers had devolved into harsh words between the officers. Achilleas had stepped in when he’d heard his lieutenants complaining, had reminded them that their enemies lay beyond the camp and that their ire would be better saved for the battlefield.
But he could admit himself to having found the brash confidence of the lowborn Colchian lieutenant a little grating, and though he had grown more used to the man there was still something that put him on edge when he was near.
Perhaps it was the brutality he’d heard spoken of, a lust for blood that surpassed what was expected in battle. Even this very day, His own men had whispered of heads being spiked on spears, left as some gruesome symbol of victory on the battlefield and it turned his stomach.
Achilleas was no stranger to blood, he was not afraid of war. But amongst it all he strove to maintain some humanity. To not lose himself in the cut and thrust and savagery. Like in everything he did, he had rules, and disrespecting the fallen was breaking them, so there was a reserve to his gaze as he looked upon his fellow soldier, eyebrows lifted slightly at the man’s exuberance.
“We did not concede any ground, we have few injured, so I will take it in favour of expensive victory at this point.” Slanting a sideways glance at Damocles as he went back to his ablutions, Achilleas was offhand as he added “The men tire of this heat though. I tire of it”.
He wondered at talk of the Gods. The Egyptians were heretics it was said, had their own false Gods, so perhaps this soldier was right? Perhaps his Gods would not about wanton brutality in dispatching them all to the underworld. Hades might not even accept the souls of those so lost. Maybe it would be their own strange deities that claimed them. But the Mikaelidas Lord was frowning slightly as scrubbed at his arms, conscious of the other man’s proximity, and with questions simmering at the edge of his tongue. After some consideration, he asked lightly, without looking at the other man.
“Heads on spikes though, Lieutenant, really? We are not savages”
His tone was mildly chastising, he outranked the man anyway and they all flew the banners of Greece in this conflict. To him, it seemed a crass move, one better suited to undisciplined rebels than an army of a King. The man Damocles was common born though - perhaps it was this difference that had their opinions diverge so. Of course , he might have been acting on orders. Maybe Achilleas overstepped. The younger man pushed back to standing, shaking the water from his hands as he glanced over at the other to see how his words had settled.
At least washed of the most obvious blood and gore, he felt halfway clean again. He would have liked to have waded into the water and submerged himself , but it was tantamount to killing oneself in this hateful land, so Achilleas made do. A clean tunic and he should see the men, before he could eat and finally try and rest a little before they had to do it all over again tomorrow.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
Sept 23, 2019 18:17:09 GMT
Posted In Oil and Water on Sept 23, 2019 18:17:09 GMT
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
As the other man drew near, the Taengean Lord watched his approach, the soldier still wearing the dark armour he preferred, an unusual black that seemed to swallow the light rather than reflecting it as Achilleas own bronze armour did. It gave him a foreboding air. And he was not small, standing taller even than Achilleas himself, not a thing that the young baron often found.
The Colchian had a reputation, Achilleas was not unaware of it. He heard tales of the man’s fearlessness, of his relentless driving of his men and whilst usually the Taengean Lord and Captain would find such traits admirable, he was wary of the man.
Indeed, they had not taken a liking to one another in the earliest days of the campaign when addressing bickering between the footsoldiers had devolved into harsh words between the officers. Achilleas had stepped in when he’d heard his lieutenants complaining, had reminded them that their enemies lay beyond the camp and that their ire would be better saved for the battlefield.
But he could admit himself to having found the brash confidence of the lowborn Colchian lieutenant a little grating, and though he had grown more used to the man there was still something that put him on edge when he was near.
Perhaps it was the brutality he’d heard spoken of, a lust for blood that surpassed what was expected in battle. Even this very day, His own men had whispered of heads being spiked on spears, left as some gruesome symbol of victory on the battlefield and it turned his stomach.
Achilleas was no stranger to blood, he was not afraid of war. But amongst it all he strove to maintain some humanity. To not lose himself in the cut and thrust and savagery. Like in everything he did, he had rules, and disrespecting the fallen was breaking them, so there was a reserve to his gaze as he looked upon his fellow soldier, eyebrows lifted slightly at the man’s exuberance.
“We did not concede any ground, we have few injured, so I will take it in favour of expensive victory at this point.” Slanting a sideways glance at Damocles as he went back to his ablutions, Achilleas was offhand as he added “The men tire of this heat though. I tire of it”.
He wondered at talk of the Gods. The Egyptians were heretics it was said, had their own false Gods, so perhaps this soldier was right? Perhaps his Gods would not about wanton brutality in dispatching them all to the underworld. Hades might not even accept the souls of those so lost. Maybe it would be their own strange deities that claimed them. But the Mikaelidas Lord was frowning slightly as scrubbed at his arms, conscious of the other man’s proximity, and with questions simmering at the edge of his tongue. After some consideration, he asked lightly, without looking at the other man.
“Heads on spikes though, Lieutenant, really? We are not savages”
His tone was mildly chastising, he outranked the man anyway and they all flew the banners of Greece in this conflict. To him, it seemed a crass move, one better suited to undisciplined rebels than an army of a King. The man Damocles was common born though - perhaps it was this difference that had their opinions diverge so. Of course , he might have been acting on orders. Maybe Achilleas overstepped. The younger man pushed back to standing, shaking the water from his hands as he glanced over at the other to see how his words had settled.
At least washed of the most obvious blood and gore, he felt halfway clean again. He would have liked to have waded into the water and submerged himself , but it was tantamount to killing oneself in this hateful land, so Achilleas made do. A clean tunic and he should see the men, before he could eat and finally try and rest a little before they had to do it all over again tomorrow.
As the other man drew near, the Taengean Lord watched his approach, the soldier still wearing the dark armour he preferred, an unusual black that seemed to swallow the light rather than reflecting it as Achilleas own bronze armour did. It gave him a foreboding air. And he was not small, standing taller even than Achilleas himself, not a thing that the young baron often found.
The Colchian had a reputation, Achilleas was not unaware of it. He heard tales of the man’s fearlessness, of his relentless driving of his men and whilst usually the Taengean Lord and Captain would find such traits admirable, he was wary of the man.
Indeed, they had not taken a liking to one another in the earliest days of the campaign when addressing bickering between the footsoldiers had devolved into harsh words between the officers. Achilleas had stepped in when he’d heard his lieutenants complaining, had reminded them that their enemies lay beyond the camp and that their ire would be better saved for the battlefield.
But he could admit himself to having found the brash confidence of the lowborn Colchian lieutenant a little grating, and though he had grown more used to the man there was still something that put him on edge when he was near.
Perhaps it was the brutality he’d heard spoken of, a lust for blood that surpassed what was expected in battle. Even this very day, His own men had whispered of heads being spiked on spears, left as some gruesome symbol of victory on the battlefield and it turned his stomach.
Achilleas was no stranger to blood, he was not afraid of war. But amongst it all he strove to maintain some humanity. To not lose himself in the cut and thrust and savagery. Like in everything he did, he had rules, and disrespecting the fallen was breaking them, so there was a reserve to his gaze as he looked upon his fellow soldier, eyebrows lifted slightly at the man’s exuberance.
“We did not concede any ground, we have few injured, so I will take it in favour of expensive victory at this point.” Slanting a sideways glance at Damocles as he went back to his ablutions, Achilleas was offhand as he added “The men tire of this heat though. I tire of it”.
He wondered at talk of the Gods. The Egyptians were heretics it was said, had their own false Gods, so perhaps this soldier was right? Perhaps his Gods would not about wanton brutality in dispatching them all to the underworld. Hades might not even accept the souls of those so lost. Maybe it would be their own strange deities that claimed them. But the Mikaelidas Lord was frowning slightly as scrubbed at his arms, conscious of the other man’s proximity, and with questions simmering at the edge of his tongue. After some consideration, he asked lightly, without looking at the other man.
“Heads on spikes though, Lieutenant, really? We are not savages”
His tone was mildly chastising, he outranked the man anyway and they all flew the banners of Greece in this conflict. To him, it seemed a crass move, one better suited to undisciplined rebels than an army of a King. The man Damocles was common born though - perhaps it was this difference that had their opinions diverge so. Of course , he might have been acting on orders. Maybe Achilleas overstepped. The younger man pushed back to standing, shaking the water from his hands as he glanced over at the other to see how his words had settled.
At least washed of the most obvious blood and gore, he felt halfway clean again. He would have liked to have waded into the water and submerged himself , but it was tantamount to killing oneself in this hateful land, so Achilleas made do. A clean tunic and he should see the men, before he could eat and finally try and rest a little before they had to do it all over again tomorrow.
There were many things Damocles could admit to being positive traits in the man besides him right now. His bravery and leadership, even if it were for a Taengean feast-monger and party-spender, were still admirable, and, as was the general tradition in Greece, he still rose to the rank of captain on his own. Nominally, this meant that he was outranked at this point, but then again, his own captain had been basically decommissioned for the longest time. If he were honest to himself, he could perhaps come to even respect this man, given his prior two traits, but deep down, he still couldn't trust him entirely. Mayhaps he had risen to his captaincy by merit alone, but then again, Taengean standards for war were less rigid than Colchian ones. Besides, he was still the heir to a royal's position. Surely, as all corruptible things, nepotism had played a part in the boy's early promotion.
"If we are honest, Captain Mikaelidas. I would like to say that I count you amongst those I consider fascinating throughout this war. I admire your industry, and your bravery is still noteworthy, even if you are just a roistering, pleasure-seeking Taengean." Teased the slightly taller darker man, with a sardonic smirk on his otherwise bearded face as he finally set aside the last layer of his armor. Subsequently, he set his own naked form against their reposing water, unabashedly striding as if he owned the damned place. "Yet, while my words may be mostly lighthearted in tone. I still must ask. Why are to so interested in me?" inquired the silver eyed man as he lowered his head against the water, dousing his rippling muscles with cleansing, gentle waters.
For as long as he could remember, he had felt the Taengean’s lingering gaze fall upon him, constantly and ever-going. Of course, he was a a man worth intriguing about, yet even his worst enemies would not stand to pry so much against his affairs. Was this man interested in anything that he had to say or do? Or was their some unspoken matter that the two had not addressed before. It might be true that Achilleas’s words about internal peace and external chaos had some meaning behind them, but still, he couldn’t help but wonder why this man had been particularly inquisitive about his affairs.
"Since we’ve met, you’ve been particularly interested in my affairs. Learning about my every battle plan, my every strategy and my every move. I admit I appreciate the fanaticism, but if you just wanted an acknowledgment of my superior strategic skills, you could have simply asked them, my lord." Ruminated the black-bearded man as he pushed backwards some of the dark locks of hair that formed strands against his forehead. "The mere fact that you have become aware of my course of action, despite how briefly we’ve been grace with each other’s presence, leaves me to think that you studied my notes before I actually implemented them." Damocles ascertained as he considered the man’s interest in his affairs to be solely based off war plans.
Of course, they were enviably plans. As it were, Damocles had not lost a single battle that he had led, a clear sign of his devotion towards Ares. Needless to say however that he would not comment lightly on the other’s summation concerning his use of brutality today. "Agreed. Which is why, despite my execution of the affair, I wasn’t the originator of such a move. I may be cruel and ruthless in battle, but I only extend my barbarism and heinosity as far as the fields of Ares stretch. My signature is not unsavory murder and terrible corruption of the dead once felled. This is all the hand of a man above me." Defended Damocles, slightly offended at the accusation that he had been the original will of such a command.
Indeed, he gave the order, but that order could trace its origins beyond his captain. For now, he would leave this slight between the two of them. There was little need to escalate their tensions further when both their homelands were mutual allies. Perhaps, he could just dismiss this all as the boy’s moral idealism clouding his relative judgement. He had known of righteous men in the past, so it wouldn’t be unbelievable that Achilleas was of such behavior. "Ask yourself this, my lord. If I truly were the savage, cruel, heinous monster you think me, why did I put coins on the fallen’s eyes and allowed some Egyptians to take the bodies of their fallen?" He inquired, leaving behind a ponderous question of moral philosophy so as to test the ethics and principles of his would-be equal. “Oh, and by the way. Given my own captain’s frailty, and my position as his chief lieutenant, I have been assigned active command over my own unit. In other words, we are of equal rank and position now, Captain.” Snarkily explained Damocles, hoping that this would lower his counterpart’s subtle dismission of him as an inferior officer.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
There were many things Damocles could admit to being positive traits in the man besides him right now. His bravery and leadership, even if it were for a Taengean feast-monger and party-spender, were still admirable, and, as was the general tradition in Greece, he still rose to the rank of captain on his own. Nominally, this meant that he was outranked at this point, but then again, his own captain had been basically decommissioned for the longest time. If he were honest to himself, he could perhaps come to even respect this man, given his prior two traits, but deep down, he still couldn't trust him entirely. Mayhaps he had risen to his captaincy by merit alone, but then again, Taengean standards for war were less rigid than Colchian ones. Besides, he was still the heir to a royal's position. Surely, as all corruptible things, nepotism had played a part in the boy's early promotion.
"If we are honest, Captain Mikaelidas. I would like to say that I count you amongst those I consider fascinating throughout this war. I admire your industry, and your bravery is still noteworthy, even if you are just a roistering, pleasure-seeking Taengean." Teased the slightly taller darker man, with a sardonic smirk on his otherwise bearded face as he finally set aside the last layer of his armor. Subsequently, he set his own naked form against their reposing water, unabashedly striding as if he owned the damned place. "Yet, while my words may be mostly lighthearted in tone. I still must ask. Why are to so interested in me?" inquired the silver eyed man as he lowered his head against the water, dousing his rippling muscles with cleansing, gentle waters.
For as long as he could remember, he had felt the Taengean’s lingering gaze fall upon him, constantly and ever-going. Of course, he was a a man worth intriguing about, yet even his worst enemies would not stand to pry so much against his affairs. Was this man interested in anything that he had to say or do? Or was their some unspoken matter that the two had not addressed before. It might be true that Achilleas’s words about internal peace and external chaos had some meaning behind them, but still, he couldn’t help but wonder why this man had been particularly inquisitive about his affairs.
"Since we’ve met, you’ve been particularly interested in my affairs. Learning about my every battle plan, my every strategy and my every move. I admit I appreciate the fanaticism, but if you just wanted an acknowledgment of my superior strategic skills, you could have simply asked them, my lord." Ruminated the black-bearded man as he pushed backwards some of the dark locks of hair that formed strands against his forehead. "The mere fact that you have become aware of my course of action, despite how briefly we’ve been grace with each other’s presence, leaves me to think that you studied my notes before I actually implemented them." Damocles ascertained as he considered the man’s interest in his affairs to be solely based off war plans.
Of course, they were enviably plans. As it were, Damocles had not lost a single battle that he had led, a clear sign of his devotion towards Ares. Needless to say however that he would not comment lightly on the other’s summation concerning his use of brutality today. "Agreed. Which is why, despite my execution of the affair, I wasn’t the originator of such a move. I may be cruel and ruthless in battle, but I only extend my barbarism and heinosity as far as the fields of Ares stretch. My signature is not unsavory murder and terrible corruption of the dead once felled. This is all the hand of a man above me." Defended Damocles, slightly offended at the accusation that he had been the original will of such a command.
Indeed, he gave the order, but that order could trace its origins beyond his captain. For now, he would leave this slight between the two of them. There was little need to escalate their tensions further when both their homelands were mutual allies. Perhaps, he could just dismiss this all as the boy’s moral idealism clouding his relative judgement. He had known of righteous men in the past, so it wouldn’t be unbelievable that Achilleas was of such behavior. "Ask yourself this, my lord. If I truly were the savage, cruel, heinous monster you think me, why did I put coins on the fallen’s eyes and allowed some Egyptians to take the bodies of their fallen?" He inquired, leaving behind a ponderous question of moral philosophy so as to test the ethics and principles of his would-be equal. “Oh, and by the way. Given my own captain’s frailty, and my position as his chief lieutenant, I have been assigned active command over my own unit. In other words, we are of equal rank and position now, Captain.” Snarkily explained Damocles, hoping that this would lower his counterpart’s subtle dismission of him as an inferior officer.
There were many things Damocles could admit to being positive traits in the man besides him right now. His bravery and leadership, even if it were for a Taengean feast-monger and party-spender, were still admirable, and, as was the general tradition in Greece, he still rose to the rank of captain on his own. Nominally, this meant that he was outranked at this point, but then again, his own captain had been basically decommissioned for the longest time. If he were honest to himself, he could perhaps come to even respect this man, given his prior two traits, but deep down, he still couldn't trust him entirely. Mayhaps he had risen to his captaincy by merit alone, but then again, Taengean standards for war were less rigid than Colchian ones. Besides, he was still the heir to a royal's position. Surely, as all corruptible things, nepotism had played a part in the boy's early promotion.
"If we are honest, Captain Mikaelidas. I would like to say that I count you amongst those I consider fascinating throughout this war. I admire your industry, and your bravery is still noteworthy, even if you are just a roistering, pleasure-seeking Taengean." Teased the slightly taller darker man, with a sardonic smirk on his otherwise bearded face as he finally set aside the last layer of his armor. Subsequently, he set his own naked form against their reposing water, unabashedly striding as if he owned the damned place. "Yet, while my words may be mostly lighthearted in tone. I still must ask. Why are to so interested in me?" inquired the silver eyed man as he lowered his head against the water, dousing his rippling muscles with cleansing, gentle waters.
For as long as he could remember, he had felt the Taengean’s lingering gaze fall upon him, constantly and ever-going. Of course, he was a a man worth intriguing about, yet even his worst enemies would not stand to pry so much against his affairs. Was this man interested in anything that he had to say or do? Or was their some unspoken matter that the two had not addressed before. It might be true that Achilleas’s words about internal peace and external chaos had some meaning behind them, but still, he couldn’t help but wonder why this man had been particularly inquisitive about his affairs.
"Since we’ve met, you’ve been particularly interested in my affairs. Learning about my every battle plan, my every strategy and my every move. I admit I appreciate the fanaticism, but if you just wanted an acknowledgment of my superior strategic skills, you could have simply asked them, my lord." Ruminated the black-bearded man as he pushed backwards some of the dark locks of hair that formed strands against his forehead. "The mere fact that you have become aware of my course of action, despite how briefly we’ve been grace with each other’s presence, leaves me to think that you studied my notes before I actually implemented them." Damocles ascertained as he considered the man’s interest in his affairs to be solely based off war plans.
Of course, they were enviably plans. As it were, Damocles had not lost a single battle that he had led, a clear sign of his devotion towards Ares. Needless to say however that he would not comment lightly on the other’s summation concerning his use of brutality today. "Agreed. Which is why, despite my execution of the affair, I wasn’t the originator of such a move. I may be cruel and ruthless in battle, but I only extend my barbarism and heinosity as far as the fields of Ares stretch. My signature is not unsavory murder and terrible corruption of the dead once felled. This is all the hand of a man above me." Defended Damocles, slightly offended at the accusation that he had been the original will of such a command.
Indeed, he gave the order, but that order could trace its origins beyond his captain. For now, he would leave this slight between the two of them. There was little need to escalate their tensions further when both their homelands were mutual allies. Perhaps, he could just dismiss this all as the boy’s moral idealism clouding his relative judgement. He had known of righteous men in the past, so it wouldn’t be unbelievable that Achilleas was of such behavior. "Ask yourself this, my lord. If I truly were the savage, cruel, heinous monster you think me, why did I put coins on the fallen’s eyes and allowed some Egyptians to take the bodies of their fallen?" He inquired, leaving behind a ponderous question of moral philosophy so as to test the ethics and principles of his would-be equal. “Oh, and by the way. Given my own captain’s frailty, and my position as his chief lieutenant, I have been assigned active command over my own unit. In other words, we are of equal rank and position now, Captain.” Snarkily explained Damocles, hoping that this would lower his counterpart’s subtle dismission of him as an inferior officer.
Achilleas had considered that he might irk the man beside him with his question, but it was one he felt he had to ask, if for nothing else than to make the point that such behaviour was savage and unworthy of them as greeks. He had prepared himself for anger or offence, angling a glance toward the other as he knelt beside the water incase the lieutenant chose to do something foolish like make a lunge at him, but instead Achileas was met with the man’s unprompted analysis of his own strengths. He paused in his motions, a bemused expression crossing his face as he wondered what had provoked such words.
But before the lord could make any answer, he witnessed the Colchian’s brazen disregard for his own safety, as he strode into the river much as Achilleas himself had considered longingly not moments before.But he had not done it, and for good reason.
“There are crocodiles! River lizards” he called sharply,scanning the water for any sign of the foul creatures. What was the fool thinking?
It was instinctive , reaching out to catch a hold of the man’s arm to draw him back from the river, and Achilleas didn’t think anything of it until they were close and then he dropped his hold like he’d been burned, took a step backward. “You have to be careful in the water here” he said, casting his gaze across the river again so he did not have to look at the soldier.
In fact, the Lord was trying very hard not to look at the lieutenant, whose nakedness was now very apparent and very near. It was not so unusual, men at war lived, slept, sweated and bled alongside one another but Achilleas felt that same discomfort because it was Damocles. He found himself wishing the man would just disappear.
When the Colchian spoke again, the Mikaelidas lord blinked, entirely caught off guard by the question that the other threw back at him, and he forgot his not looking rule to turn a haughty look upon the other.
“You flatter yourself” he said quickly. “The men talk. A good Captain pays attention to what they speak of, that is all”. But he was rattled to think that the lieutenant had any reason at all to question him.The Colchian was not modest and Achilleas thought it was that arrogance perhaps that grated so much, that set his nerves on edge whenever the man was near. Still, he thought, glancing away and rubbing at the back of his neck, he had done nothing unusual.. He just didn’t trust the lieutenant, that was why he kept half an eye on him. It was no surprise, given their first meeting.
He was glad when the subject moved on, though the answer that Damocles gave had him glance up in surprise. Why did he feel so glad to hear that it had not been the man’s choice to behave as he had done on the fields of battle? He had still done it, though Achilleas knew well enough how a soldier had to obey the words of those above. He swallowed, sensing the man had taken some offence at his words but not easily able to snatch them back now. It felt rude not to look at the man as he said made his reply, but the Colchian had not even attempted to reclaim any of his discarded clothes and Achilleas found it more than a little disconcerting. Yes, that's what it was. Disconcerting.
“Perhaps” he began carefully, not wanting to aggravate further as he glanced quickly at the man and then resettled his gaze somewhere safer. “If you do not wish people to believe that of you then you should not be so gleeful in your work. Though that was good of you to let the Egyptian’s collect their fallen. I commend you for that Lieutenant” He conceded the last in what he thought was an act of generosity, a position he felt able to take given his seniority to the other soldier. It restablished things, readdressed the balance after the Colchian had thrown him off with that earlier question.
Which is why Achilleas set his teeth at the next, the smile he offered in return to Damocles pronouncement a little strained. “Is that so? Then I must offer my congratulations to you, Captain.”
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
Nov 30, 2019 22:40:11 GMT
Posted In Oil and Water on Nov 30, 2019 22:40:11 GMT
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
Achilleas had considered that he might irk the man beside him with his question, but it was one he felt he had to ask, if for nothing else than to make the point that such behaviour was savage and unworthy of them as greeks. He had prepared himself for anger or offence, angling a glance toward the other as he knelt beside the water incase the lieutenant chose to do something foolish like make a lunge at him, but instead Achileas was met with the man’s unprompted analysis of his own strengths. He paused in his motions, a bemused expression crossing his face as he wondered what had provoked such words.
But before the lord could make any answer, he witnessed the Colchian’s brazen disregard for his own safety, as he strode into the river much as Achilleas himself had considered longingly not moments before.But he had not done it, and for good reason.
“There are crocodiles! River lizards” he called sharply,scanning the water for any sign of the foul creatures. What was the fool thinking?
It was instinctive , reaching out to catch a hold of the man’s arm to draw him back from the river, and Achilleas didn’t think anything of it until they were close and then he dropped his hold like he’d been burned, took a step backward. “You have to be careful in the water here” he said, casting his gaze across the river again so he did not have to look at the soldier.
In fact, the Lord was trying very hard not to look at the lieutenant, whose nakedness was now very apparent and very near. It was not so unusual, men at war lived, slept, sweated and bled alongside one another but Achilleas felt that same discomfort because it was Damocles. He found himself wishing the man would just disappear.
When the Colchian spoke again, the Mikaelidas lord blinked, entirely caught off guard by the question that the other threw back at him, and he forgot his not looking rule to turn a haughty look upon the other.
“You flatter yourself” he said quickly. “The men talk. A good Captain pays attention to what they speak of, that is all”. But he was rattled to think that the lieutenant had any reason at all to question him.The Colchian was not modest and Achilleas thought it was that arrogance perhaps that grated so much, that set his nerves on edge whenever the man was near. Still, he thought, glancing away and rubbing at the back of his neck, he had done nothing unusual.. He just didn’t trust the lieutenant, that was why he kept half an eye on him. It was no surprise, given their first meeting.
He was glad when the subject moved on, though the answer that Damocles gave had him glance up in surprise. Why did he feel so glad to hear that it had not been the man’s choice to behave as he had done on the fields of battle? He had still done it, though Achilleas knew well enough how a soldier had to obey the words of those above. He swallowed, sensing the man had taken some offence at his words but not easily able to snatch them back now. It felt rude not to look at the man as he said made his reply, but the Colchian had not even attempted to reclaim any of his discarded clothes and Achilleas found it more than a little disconcerting. Yes, that's what it was. Disconcerting.
“Perhaps” he began carefully, not wanting to aggravate further as he glanced quickly at the man and then resettled his gaze somewhere safer. “If you do not wish people to believe that of you then you should not be so gleeful in your work. Though that was good of you to let the Egyptian’s collect their fallen. I commend you for that Lieutenant” He conceded the last in what he thought was an act of generosity, a position he felt able to take given his seniority to the other soldier. It restablished things, readdressed the balance after the Colchian had thrown him off with that earlier question.
Which is why Achilleas set his teeth at the next, the smile he offered in return to Damocles pronouncement a little strained. “Is that so? Then I must offer my congratulations to you, Captain.”
Achilleas had considered that he might irk the man beside him with his question, but it was one he felt he had to ask, if for nothing else than to make the point that such behaviour was savage and unworthy of them as greeks. He had prepared himself for anger or offence, angling a glance toward the other as he knelt beside the water incase the lieutenant chose to do something foolish like make a lunge at him, but instead Achileas was met with the man’s unprompted analysis of his own strengths. He paused in his motions, a bemused expression crossing his face as he wondered what had provoked such words.
But before the lord could make any answer, he witnessed the Colchian’s brazen disregard for his own safety, as he strode into the river much as Achilleas himself had considered longingly not moments before.But he had not done it, and for good reason.
“There are crocodiles! River lizards” he called sharply,scanning the water for any sign of the foul creatures. What was the fool thinking?
It was instinctive , reaching out to catch a hold of the man’s arm to draw him back from the river, and Achilleas didn’t think anything of it until they were close and then he dropped his hold like he’d been burned, took a step backward. “You have to be careful in the water here” he said, casting his gaze across the river again so he did not have to look at the soldier.
In fact, the Lord was trying very hard not to look at the lieutenant, whose nakedness was now very apparent and very near. It was not so unusual, men at war lived, slept, sweated and bled alongside one another but Achilleas felt that same discomfort because it was Damocles. He found himself wishing the man would just disappear.
When the Colchian spoke again, the Mikaelidas lord blinked, entirely caught off guard by the question that the other threw back at him, and he forgot his not looking rule to turn a haughty look upon the other.
“You flatter yourself” he said quickly. “The men talk. A good Captain pays attention to what they speak of, that is all”. But he was rattled to think that the lieutenant had any reason at all to question him.The Colchian was not modest and Achilleas thought it was that arrogance perhaps that grated so much, that set his nerves on edge whenever the man was near. Still, he thought, glancing away and rubbing at the back of his neck, he had done nothing unusual.. He just didn’t trust the lieutenant, that was why he kept half an eye on him. It was no surprise, given their first meeting.
He was glad when the subject moved on, though the answer that Damocles gave had him glance up in surprise. Why did he feel so glad to hear that it had not been the man’s choice to behave as he had done on the fields of battle? He had still done it, though Achilleas knew well enough how a soldier had to obey the words of those above. He swallowed, sensing the man had taken some offence at his words but not easily able to snatch them back now. It felt rude not to look at the man as he said made his reply, but the Colchian had not even attempted to reclaim any of his discarded clothes and Achilleas found it more than a little disconcerting. Yes, that's what it was. Disconcerting.
“Perhaps” he began carefully, not wanting to aggravate further as he glanced quickly at the man and then resettled his gaze somewhere safer. “If you do not wish people to believe that of you then you should not be so gleeful in your work. Though that was good of you to let the Egyptian’s collect their fallen. I commend you for that Lieutenant” He conceded the last in what he thought was an act of generosity, a position he felt able to take given his seniority to the other soldier. It restablished things, readdressed the balance after the Colchian had thrown him off with that earlier question.
Which is why Achilleas set his teeth at the next, the smile he offered in return to Damocles pronouncement a little strained. “Is that so? Then I must offer my congratulations to you, Captain.”
A sardonic smirk fastened upon Damocles’s face as he felt the Taengean youth rush towards him, pulling at his form so close to him so as to regard them without distance between them. Admittedly he had been a bit unassuming of the waters he had just tested, given the previously unbesknown fact that those deplorable river lizards swam about. Mayhaps these creatures would have some use in war…mayhaps…
In the meanwhile, he kept his mocking grin against Achilleas, tensing at the other man’s abrupt touch against his rugged, and comparatively darker skin. It might well be true that this man had just lunged at him with good intentions behind his actions, but that did little to dismiss his prolonged hold against his muscled chest. As a means to further tease the man, he snaked a hand behind the man and propped him against his lightly bronzed complexion. “And so the truth comes out! It would appear you are interested in quite a lot more than just my stratagems, feast-monger!” He joked, noticing just how scandalously close the blue-eyed youth had latched to him.
In his own mind, he didn’t really consider the other’s grip against his flesh a sign of attraction or admiration whatsoever. That was not so say that the Colchian wasn’t aware that, despite the circumstances of his birth, he did not look the part of the hunger-struck peasant. Imposingly tall, characteristically dark and unfairly handsome, Damocles was an exceedingly attractive man, with a wide, thick neck, strong, brawny arms and broad, heavy shoulders that tapered to a relatively narrow, yet muscular waist that led to his enviably sculpted chest. He kept his black beard relatively trimmed and well-groomed, while his rich, ebony hair was mostly pushed backwards, despite the presences of some wayward stands that fell forward due to the suddenness of the royal’s pull. He kept his striking, grey orbs firmly against the starkly azure ones of Achilleas, looking deeply into his eyes as they stood closely thus. An amused, jovial smirk decorated his otherwise rugged face.
“No wonder you have such interest in me!” he continued to jest, laughing amusingly as he kept his own grip on the man against his body, assuredly using the royal’s apparent prudishness against him. “If you just wanted to share a space with me, you had but only ask!" He continued to make light of their interaction, jovially guffawing at their rather incriminating stance. “Worry not, your secret is safe with me!” finished the strapping Colchian as he let go of the Taengean and continued to carry out with his musings, letting their conversation develop as it would have otherwise turned out.
Despite the relatively silence he kept about what had otherwise transpired between them just moments ago, Damocles wasn’t entirely displeased with the touch that the other man bore against him. Had he been less sanctimonious and self-righteous, in addition to a few other adjustments, he might have, if pressed to answer, admitted that the Taengean lord wasn’t the most hideously-looking man in the world. He did have a rather interesting pair of eyes that roamed about in that most curious way. And his features were quite nicely formed for a feast-mongering, fustilarian. As he noticed how the other took a physically far more laxed appearance upon learning the circumstances of his latest command, the silver-eyed man felt a twinge of relief that he didn’t really expect at all.
“Of course I allowed them to collect their dead. I may be a terrifying brutal beast of war, as your kind would say, but that doesn’t mean I don’t follow the codes of our forebears and Gods. Ares is the patron deity of my homeland. If I had done otherwise I would never hear the end of it.” He confessed, making for a small robe that he fastened around his otherwise chiseled waist so as to cover himself in a more decent manner, despite the fact that he had nothing to hide in terms of his endowment. “I thank you then. Your words of begrudging acceptance are duly noted, captain.” He softly laughed, crossing his arms over his chest as he turned his attention to the waters that had almost claimed him a few minutes ago.
“Remind me again, to which Gods does Taengea primarily pray to? Do not give me that bullshit that you pray to all of them. We are Greeks, you and I, we all pay homage to the Olympians…but I wish to learn more of your land…” He inquired, subtly offering one of the many olive branches he assumed he would have to offer if they were to come out of the war with Egypt alive as mutual allies. “Well, Achilleas?” he once more asked, returning the other’s somewhat strained smile with one of his own, feeling the other's name escape from his lips without any biting poison this time, the first if ever.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
A sardonic smirk fastened upon Damocles’s face as he felt the Taengean youth rush towards him, pulling at his form so close to him so as to regard them without distance between them. Admittedly he had been a bit unassuming of the waters he had just tested, given the previously unbesknown fact that those deplorable river lizards swam about. Mayhaps these creatures would have some use in war…mayhaps…
In the meanwhile, he kept his mocking grin against Achilleas, tensing at the other man’s abrupt touch against his rugged, and comparatively darker skin. It might well be true that this man had just lunged at him with good intentions behind his actions, but that did little to dismiss his prolonged hold against his muscled chest. As a means to further tease the man, he snaked a hand behind the man and propped him against his lightly bronzed complexion. “And so the truth comes out! It would appear you are interested in quite a lot more than just my stratagems, feast-monger!” He joked, noticing just how scandalously close the blue-eyed youth had latched to him.
In his own mind, he didn’t really consider the other’s grip against his flesh a sign of attraction or admiration whatsoever. That was not so say that the Colchian wasn’t aware that, despite the circumstances of his birth, he did not look the part of the hunger-struck peasant. Imposingly tall, characteristically dark and unfairly handsome, Damocles was an exceedingly attractive man, with a wide, thick neck, strong, brawny arms and broad, heavy shoulders that tapered to a relatively narrow, yet muscular waist that led to his enviably sculpted chest. He kept his black beard relatively trimmed and well-groomed, while his rich, ebony hair was mostly pushed backwards, despite the presences of some wayward stands that fell forward due to the suddenness of the royal’s pull. He kept his striking, grey orbs firmly against the starkly azure ones of Achilleas, looking deeply into his eyes as they stood closely thus. An amused, jovial smirk decorated his otherwise rugged face.
“No wonder you have such interest in me!” he continued to jest, laughing amusingly as he kept his own grip on the man against his body, assuredly using the royal’s apparent prudishness against him. “If you just wanted to share a space with me, you had but only ask!" He continued to make light of their interaction, jovially guffawing at their rather incriminating stance. “Worry not, your secret is safe with me!” finished the strapping Colchian as he let go of the Taengean and continued to carry out with his musings, letting their conversation develop as it would have otherwise turned out.
Despite the relatively silence he kept about what had otherwise transpired between them just moments ago, Damocles wasn’t entirely displeased with the touch that the other man bore against him. Had he been less sanctimonious and self-righteous, in addition to a few other adjustments, he might have, if pressed to answer, admitted that the Taengean lord wasn’t the most hideously-looking man in the world. He did have a rather interesting pair of eyes that roamed about in that most curious way. And his features were quite nicely formed for a feast-mongering, fustilarian. As he noticed how the other took a physically far more laxed appearance upon learning the circumstances of his latest command, the silver-eyed man felt a twinge of relief that he didn’t really expect at all.
“Of course I allowed them to collect their dead. I may be a terrifying brutal beast of war, as your kind would say, but that doesn’t mean I don’t follow the codes of our forebears and Gods. Ares is the patron deity of my homeland. If I had done otherwise I would never hear the end of it.” He confessed, making for a small robe that he fastened around his otherwise chiseled waist so as to cover himself in a more decent manner, despite the fact that he had nothing to hide in terms of his endowment. “I thank you then. Your words of begrudging acceptance are duly noted, captain.” He softly laughed, crossing his arms over his chest as he turned his attention to the waters that had almost claimed him a few minutes ago.
“Remind me again, to which Gods does Taengea primarily pray to? Do not give me that bullshit that you pray to all of them. We are Greeks, you and I, we all pay homage to the Olympians…but I wish to learn more of your land…” He inquired, subtly offering one of the many olive branches he assumed he would have to offer if they were to come out of the war with Egypt alive as mutual allies. “Well, Achilleas?” he once more asked, returning the other’s somewhat strained smile with one of his own, feeling the other's name escape from his lips without any biting poison this time, the first if ever.
A sardonic smirk fastened upon Damocles’s face as he felt the Taengean youth rush towards him, pulling at his form so close to him so as to regard them without distance between them. Admittedly he had been a bit unassuming of the waters he had just tested, given the previously unbesknown fact that those deplorable river lizards swam about. Mayhaps these creatures would have some use in war…mayhaps…
In the meanwhile, he kept his mocking grin against Achilleas, tensing at the other man’s abrupt touch against his rugged, and comparatively darker skin. It might well be true that this man had just lunged at him with good intentions behind his actions, but that did little to dismiss his prolonged hold against his muscled chest. As a means to further tease the man, he snaked a hand behind the man and propped him against his lightly bronzed complexion. “And so the truth comes out! It would appear you are interested in quite a lot more than just my stratagems, feast-monger!” He joked, noticing just how scandalously close the blue-eyed youth had latched to him.
In his own mind, he didn’t really consider the other’s grip against his flesh a sign of attraction or admiration whatsoever. That was not so say that the Colchian wasn’t aware that, despite the circumstances of his birth, he did not look the part of the hunger-struck peasant. Imposingly tall, characteristically dark and unfairly handsome, Damocles was an exceedingly attractive man, with a wide, thick neck, strong, brawny arms and broad, heavy shoulders that tapered to a relatively narrow, yet muscular waist that led to his enviably sculpted chest. He kept his black beard relatively trimmed and well-groomed, while his rich, ebony hair was mostly pushed backwards, despite the presences of some wayward stands that fell forward due to the suddenness of the royal’s pull. He kept his striking, grey orbs firmly against the starkly azure ones of Achilleas, looking deeply into his eyes as they stood closely thus. An amused, jovial smirk decorated his otherwise rugged face.
“No wonder you have such interest in me!” he continued to jest, laughing amusingly as he kept his own grip on the man against his body, assuredly using the royal’s apparent prudishness against him. “If you just wanted to share a space with me, you had but only ask!" He continued to make light of their interaction, jovially guffawing at their rather incriminating stance. “Worry not, your secret is safe with me!” finished the strapping Colchian as he let go of the Taengean and continued to carry out with his musings, letting their conversation develop as it would have otherwise turned out.
Despite the relatively silence he kept about what had otherwise transpired between them just moments ago, Damocles wasn’t entirely displeased with the touch that the other man bore against him. Had he been less sanctimonious and self-righteous, in addition to a few other adjustments, he might have, if pressed to answer, admitted that the Taengean lord wasn’t the most hideously-looking man in the world. He did have a rather interesting pair of eyes that roamed about in that most curious way. And his features were quite nicely formed for a feast-mongering, fustilarian. As he noticed how the other took a physically far more laxed appearance upon learning the circumstances of his latest command, the silver-eyed man felt a twinge of relief that he didn’t really expect at all.
“Of course I allowed them to collect their dead. I may be a terrifying brutal beast of war, as your kind would say, but that doesn’t mean I don’t follow the codes of our forebears and Gods. Ares is the patron deity of my homeland. If I had done otherwise I would never hear the end of it.” He confessed, making for a small robe that he fastened around his otherwise chiseled waist so as to cover himself in a more decent manner, despite the fact that he had nothing to hide in terms of his endowment. “I thank you then. Your words of begrudging acceptance are duly noted, captain.” He softly laughed, crossing his arms over his chest as he turned his attention to the waters that had almost claimed him a few minutes ago.
“Remind me again, to which Gods does Taengea primarily pray to? Do not give me that bullshit that you pray to all of them. We are Greeks, you and I, we all pay homage to the Olympians…but I wish to learn more of your land…” He inquired, subtly offering one of the many olive branches he assumed he would have to offer if they were to come out of the war with Egypt alive as mutual allies. “Well, Achilleas?” he once more asked, returning the other’s somewhat strained smile with one of his own, feeling the other's name escape from his lips without any biting poison this time, the first if ever.
Ready to drop his hold on the other’s arm as soon as the Colchian was free of the water, Achilleas tensed when the man’s arm snaked around him, pulled them together in a manner more suited to lovers than soldiers, and shock had his mouth fall open, the litany of protest and outrage that he intended to speak not forming into words. This was not..he hadn’t meant....
The Mikaelidas Lord hated that his tongue failed him, and was even more flustered by how aware he was of the warmth on the other’s skin burning like a brand against his own. Dimly, he thought he ought to be struggling, ought to just punch the man in his infuriatingly grinning mouth, but he was held in that laughing silver gaze.Idiot Colchian Before he’d gathered his wits about himself to react, Damocles had let go, and Achilleas stepped backward quickly, finally finding his tongue and making some retort.
“You are ridiculous” he snapped, swallowing, and glancing around as if to ensure no other’s had witnessed that. “And flattering yourself seems to be rather a habit, you should curb your ego, Lieutenant, lest you trip over it and fall upon your own sword.”
Next time he would just let the fool be eaten by crocodiles and be done with it he told himself, turning away from the Colchian with an exaggerated eye roll. He angled his face away because he was afraid that his annoyance would manifest into a flush that the other would claim to be for some other reason and he couldn’t bear it. He was still contemplating whether or not he should hit the man, but it would just be letting him know that his goading had worked. Why did the fool irritate him so?
Talk returned to the matter of war - and the other man finally deigning to cloth himself- let the Taengean relax fractionally, though Achilleas was careful to keep some distance between them, his arms folded defensively across his chest, his focus too on the river before them, though there was the sideways flicker of his gaze towards the Colchian once or twice. Just to ensure he was still where he should be, and was not encroaching on Achilleas’ personal space again.
Lord Achilleas, he corrected silently, when Damocles prompted him for a response to a question put his way, and the Mikaelidas man realised there had been too long a pause whilst he had been not thinking about the preceding moments.
“It is a personal choice,” he answered as he belatedly processed what the soldier asked, looking a little affronted that the Captain had expected him to be less than truthful in his answer. He had no reason to lie, after all, “Though Dionysus, Poseidon and Aphrodite are favoured by many of our people”
Achilleas himself played a careful game of trying to appease all the Gods, though it were Athena and upon occasion Ares that he paid tribute to most often. Had done so before setting sail for Egypt, with a sacrifice to Poseidon for good measure. There was little sense in risking the wrath of the Gods.
“Have you never been to Taengea?” he asked in return, wondering as he said it why he prolonged this conversation instead of taking his leave. But as he looked at the Colchian, he found himself curious. “Did you break your journey there on the journey to Egypt? I thought it was the usual practice”
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
Jan 11, 2020 13:43:58 GMT
Posted In Oil and Water on Jan 11, 2020 13:43:58 GMT
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
Ready to drop his hold on the other’s arm as soon as the Colchian was free of the water, Achilleas tensed when the man’s arm snaked around him, pulled them together in a manner more suited to lovers than soldiers, and shock had his mouth fall open, the litany of protest and outrage that he intended to speak not forming into words. This was not..he hadn’t meant....
The Mikaelidas Lord hated that his tongue failed him, and was even more flustered by how aware he was of the warmth on the other’s skin burning like a brand against his own. Dimly, he thought he ought to be struggling, ought to just punch the man in his infuriatingly grinning mouth, but he was held in that laughing silver gaze.Idiot Colchian Before he’d gathered his wits about himself to react, Damocles had let go, and Achilleas stepped backward quickly, finally finding his tongue and making some retort.
“You are ridiculous” he snapped, swallowing, and glancing around as if to ensure no other’s had witnessed that. “And flattering yourself seems to be rather a habit, you should curb your ego, Lieutenant, lest you trip over it and fall upon your own sword.”
Next time he would just let the fool be eaten by crocodiles and be done with it he told himself, turning away from the Colchian with an exaggerated eye roll. He angled his face away because he was afraid that his annoyance would manifest into a flush that the other would claim to be for some other reason and he couldn’t bear it. He was still contemplating whether or not he should hit the man, but it would just be letting him know that his goading had worked. Why did the fool irritate him so?
Talk returned to the matter of war - and the other man finally deigning to cloth himself- let the Taengean relax fractionally, though Achilleas was careful to keep some distance between them, his arms folded defensively across his chest, his focus too on the river before them, though there was the sideways flicker of his gaze towards the Colchian once or twice. Just to ensure he was still where he should be, and was not encroaching on Achilleas’ personal space again.
Lord Achilleas, he corrected silently, when Damocles prompted him for a response to a question put his way, and the Mikaelidas man realised there had been too long a pause whilst he had been not thinking about the preceding moments.
“It is a personal choice,” he answered as he belatedly processed what the soldier asked, looking a little affronted that the Captain had expected him to be less than truthful in his answer. He had no reason to lie, after all, “Though Dionysus, Poseidon and Aphrodite are favoured by many of our people”
Achilleas himself played a careful game of trying to appease all the Gods, though it were Athena and upon occasion Ares that he paid tribute to most often. Had done so before setting sail for Egypt, with a sacrifice to Poseidon for good measure. There was little sense in risking the wrath of the Gods.
“Have you never been to Taengea?” he asked in return, wondering as he said it why he prolonged this conversation instead of taking his leave. But as he looked at the Colchian, he found himself curious. “Did you break your journey there on the journey to Egypt? I thought it was the usual practice”
Ready to drop his hold on the other’s arm as soon as the Colchian was free of the water, Achilleas tensed when the man’s arm snaked around him, pulled them together in a manner more suited to lovers than soldiers, and shock had his mouth fall open, the litany of protest and outrage that he intended to speak not forming into words. This was not..he hadn’t meant....
The Mikaelidas Lord hated that his tongue failed him, and was even more flustered by how aware he was of the warmth on the other’s skin burning like a brand against his own. Dimly, he thought he ought to be struggling, ought to just punch the man in his infuriatingly grinning mouth, but he was held in that laughing silver gaze.Idiot Colchian Before he’d gathered his wits about himself to react, Damocles had let go, and Achilleas stepped backward quickly, finally finding his tongue and making some retort.
“You are ridiculous” he snapped, swallowing, and glancing around as if to ensure no other’s had witnessed that. “And flattering yourself seems to be rather a habit, you should curb your ego, Lieutenant, lest you trip over it and fall upon your own sword.”
Next time he would just let the fool be eaten by crocodiles and be done with it he told himself, turning away from the Colchian with an exaggerated eye roll. He angled his face away because he was afraid that his annoyance would manifest into a flush that the other would claim to be for some other reason and he couldn’t bear it. He was still contemplating whether or not he should hit the man, but it would just be letting him know that his goading had worked. Why did the fool irritate him so?
Talk returned to the matter of war - and the other man finally deigning to cloth himself- let the Taengean relax fractionally, though Achilleas was careful to keep some distance between them, his arms folded defensively across his chest, his focus too on the river before them, though there was the sideways flicker of his gaze towards the Colchian once or twice. Just to ensure he was still where he should be, and was not encroaching on Achilleas’ personal space again.
Lord Achilleas, he corrected silently, when Damocles prompted him for a response to a question put his way, and the Mikaelidas man realised there had been too long a pause whilst he had been not thinking about the preceding moments.
“It is a personal choice,” he answered as he belatedly processed what the soldier asked, looking a little affronted that the Captain had expected him to be less than truthful in his answer. He had no reason to lie, after all, “Though Dionysus, Poseidon and Aphrodite are favoured by many of our people”
Achilleas himself played a careful game of trying to appease all the Gods, though it were Athena and upon occasion Ares that he paid tribute to most often. Had done so before setting sail for Egypt, with a sacrifice to Poseidon for good measure. There was little sense in risking the wrath of the Gods.
“Have you never been to Taengea?” he asked in return, wondering as he said it why he prolonged this conversation instead of taking his leave. But as he looked at the Colchian, he found himself curious. “Did you break your journey there on the journey to Egypt? I thought it was the usual practice”
Utter amusement washed across Damocles’s face, a product of the circumstances by which they had borne each other in such a compromisingly unflattering embrace. Had he been a more zealously prudish man, he would had pushed the Taengean against him, hold out his arms and push him aside so as to dismiss his unmarred touch, but where was the fun in that? Even if it was rather inappropriate, or perchance mostly because it was inappropriate, the Herculean warrior chuckled as he saw the look of ruminating confusion and flustered conflict that barred Achilleas’s face.
“And you are an unbearably priggish prude!” He riposted, grinning widely as he tried to curb the droll amusement that dressed his well-cut features. So as to further tease the blushing lordling, he ran a hand against his black locks, immediately laughing as he took note of the other’s response. “Oh, spare me the sanctimony, will you? I thought you Taengeans were men of humor and lighthearted, rapturous reverie.” Cornered the silver-eyed man as he intranasally flicked away the innocuously unoffended would-be-captain. “Also, it’s captain, thank you very much!” he further teased, recalling how annoying it was for him to address the other man by any formalities and pleasantries he so adhered to.
In quiet introspection, Damocles figured that even if he was bothered by the other man’s holier-than-thou mentality, he still had done a rather heroic, if not, dare he say, noble act whence he pulled him apart those ill-fitted, river-lizard-filled waters. In an unusual display of humility, the darkly-featured man lowered his gaze and momentarily cast away his otherwise abrasive glare with a subdued, unimposing stare. “Well…fair is fair. I thank you for your helping hand…Lord Mikaelidas…”He concertedly admitted through somewhat begrudgingly tight lips, using the other’s preferred style of address. It was rather infuriating, how he had to momentarily swallow down his pride in what was otherwise a moment of concise, albeit reluctant gratitude.
It stung him, in a way that he rarely allowed others to even take a modicum of similarity to. Yet, for as unwilling as he was to admit right-doing by the hands of a nobleman, he still had to follow his principles and see his commitment to fairness come manifest in any form. Achilleas was under no particular obligation to have sprung up, reached out and pulled him away from the tempestuous river back towards safety, and yet, he did. Why? Why had this man, who had so far proven himself to be dismissive in every regard of his actions, undergone such a course of action when it was neither advantageous or warranted? This question was of the utmost importance and would surely require ample consideration, but now was not the time for that. Instead, he took towards pleasantries and opted to try and at least tend to their contradictory bent relationship.
In an effort to channel their words towards a different direction, Damocles inquired about Achilleas’ land, asking about his home and religions inclinations as a means to offer some level of decency. “I see. Do you offer particular reverence to these gods, Lord Mikaelidas?” Once more addressed Damocles in the regality that the other seemed so peculiar about. As he did so, he took notice of the other’s eyes, realizing how they seemed to have shone with interest as their conversation turned towards the subject of Taengea. Perhaps he had been too critical of him, too aggressively judgmental in his aspersions. He didn’t know this man at a close pace, nor did he harbor any positive opinions of him aside from the rumors and speculations that had so infuriated him due to their obsequiousness. Could this man really be worth of the praise he gathered?
“I must confess that I have never touched your homeland’s soft white shores or witnessed Taengea’s green and pleasant lands for myself. Amongst the units of Colchis, my brothers and I are oft regarded as being particularly notorious for our brutal efficiency and vicious might. We were summoned as an emergency force and so we had little time for comfort or sightseeing.” Explained Damocles as unlocked his arms from his chest and relaxed them to his sides, lacing them on his sides while pointing his elbows upwards in a subdued demonstration of authoritatively confident, yet peacefully comfortable demonstration. “Perhaps, whence this damnable war ends, you could offer me a tour of your beloved Taengea.” He cordially proposed, making sure to have previously accentuate the fabled beauty of the royal’s hearth and home so as to appease his more patriotic side. His silver eyes softened and dissuaded from their previous anger or wrath, taking instead a more reconciliatory approach to his gaze as he continued to try and see if he tread a gentler, more amicable pathway.
“Ah! It seems however that your people and I would have our worship of Dionysius in common tangent.” Delighted the ruggedly handsome man as he recalled Achilleas’s words on the presence of the God of Alcohol. “It is true that he might not be my most principle of gods, but I do still appreciate his particular God’s good grace.” He continued striking an idea as he figured a way by which to further ponder a more pleasant resolution to their previous discord. “So far, I’ve only learned that you are overly fond of pomp and ceremony.” He noted as he placed a hand on the other’s shoulder. “Come! Let us appease the high Lord of Wine and take to his field of authority in good spirits. Tonight, we shall drink until I remedy your fixation with formalities and find you calling me by my proper name alone.” He offered, forming his first friendly smile as he recalled the other’s prudish nature and quickly retracted his hand from the other’s fairer skin. “What say you, My Most Noble and Eminent High Lord Achilleas of that Ancient House of Mikaelidas?”
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
Jan 18, 2020 23:34:27 GMT
Posted In Oil and Water on Jan 18, 2020 23:34:27 GMT
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
Utter amusement washed across Damocles’s face, a product of the circumstances by which they had borne each other in such a compromisingly unflattering embrace. Had he been a more zealously prudish man, he would had pushed the Taengean against him, hold out his arms and push him aside so as to dismiss his unmarred touch, but where was the fun in that? Even if it was rather inappropriate, or perchance mostly because it was inappropriate, the Herculean warrior chuckled as he saw the look of ruminating confusion and flustered conflict that barred Achilleas’s face.
“And you are an unbearably priggish prude!” He riposted, grinning widely as he tried to curb the droll amusement that dressed his well-cut features. So as to further tease the blushing lordling, he ran a hand against his black locks, immediately laughing as he took note of the other’s response. “Oh, spare me the sanctimony, will you? I thought you Taengeans were men of humor and lighthearted, rapturous reverie.” Cornered the silver-eyed man as he intranasally flicked away the innocuously unoffended would-be-captain. “Also, it’s captain, thank you very much!” he further teased, recalling how annoying it was for him to address the other man by any formalities and pleasantries he so adhered to.
In quiet introspection, Damocles figured that even if he was bothered by the other man’s holier-than-thou mentality, he still had done a rather heroic, if not, dare he say, noble act whence he pulled him apart those ill-fitted, river-lizard-filled waters. In an unusual display of humility, the darkly-featured man lowered his gaze and momentarily cast away his otherwise abrasive glare with a subdued, unimposing stare. “Well…fair is fair. I thank you for your helping hand…Lord Mikaelidas…”He concertedly admitted through somewhat begrudgingly tight lips, using the other’s preferred style of address. It was rather infuriating, how he had to momentarily swallow down his pride in what was otherwise a moment of concise, albeit reluctant gratitude.
It stung him, in a way that he rarely allowed others to even take a modicum of similarity to. Yet, for as unwilling as he was to admit right-doing by the hands of a nobleman, he still had to follow his principles and see his commitment to fairness come manifest in any form. Achilleas was under no particular obligation to have sprung up, reached out and pulled him away from the tempestuous river back towards safety, and yet, he did. Why? Why had this man, who had so far proven himself to be dismissive in every regard of his actions, undergone such a course of action when it was neither advantageous or warranted? This question was of the utmost importance and would surely require ample consideration, but now was not the time for that. Instead, he took towards pleasantries and opted to try and at least tend to their contradictory bent relationship.
In an effort to channel their words towards a different direction, Damocles inquired about Achilleas’ land, asking about his home and religions inclinations as a means to offer some level of decency. “I see. Do you offer particular reverence to these gods, Lord Mikaelidas?” Once more addressed Damocles in the regality that the other seemed so peculiar about. As he did so, he took notice of the other’s eyes, realizing how they seemed to have shone with interest as their conversation turned towards the subject of Taengea. Perhaps he had been too critical of him, too aggressively judgmental in his aspersions. He didn’t know this man at a close pace, nor did he harbor any positive opinions of him aside from the rumors and speculations that had so infuriated him due to their obsequiousness. Could this man really be worth of the praise he gathered?
“I must confess that I have never touched your homeland’s soft white shores or witnessed Taengea’s green and pleasant lands for myself. Amongst the units of Colchis, my brothers and I are oft regarded as being particularly notorious for our brutal efficiency and vicious might. We were summoned as an emergency force and so we had little time for comfort or sightseeing.” Explained Damocles as unlocked his arms from his chest and relaxed them to his sides, lacing them on his sides while pointing his elbows upwards in a subdued demonstration of authoritatively confident, yet peacefully comfortable demonstration. “Perhaps, whence this damnable war ends, you could offer me a tour of your beloved Taengea.” He cordially proposed, making sure to have previously accentuate the fabled beauty of the royal’s hearth and home so as to appease his more patriotic side. His silver eyes softened and dissuaded from their previous anger or wrath, taking instead a more reconciliatory approach to his gaze as he continued to try and see if he tread a gentler, more amicable pathway.
“Ah! It seems however that your people and I would have our worship of Dionysius in common tangent.” Delighted the ruggedly handsome man as he recalled Achilleas’s words on the presence of the God of Alcohol. “It is true that he might not be my most principle of gods, but I do still appreciate his particular God’s good grace.” He continued striking an idea as he figured a way by which to further ponder a more pleasant resolution to their previous discord. “So far, I’ve only learned that you are overly fond of pomp and ceremony.” He noted as he placed a hand on the other’s shoulder. “Come! Let us appease the high Lord of Wine and take to his field of authority in good spirits. Tonight, we shall drink until I remedy your fixation with formalities and find you calling me by my proper name alone.” He offered, forming his first friendly smile as he recalled the other’s prudish nature and quickly retracted his hand from the other’s fairer skin. “What say you, My Most Noble and Eminent High Lord Achilleas of that Ancient House of Mikaelidas?”
Utter amusement washed across Damocles’s face, a product of the circumstances by which they had borne each other in such a compromisingly unflattering embrace. Had he been a more zealously prudish man, he would had pushed the Taengean against him, hold out his arms and push him aside so as to dismiss his unmarred touch, but where was the fun in that? Even if it was rather inappropriate, or perchance mostly because it was inappropriate, the Herculean warrior chuckled as he saw the look of ruminating confusion and flustered conflict that barred Achilleas’s face.
“And you are an unbearably priggish prude!” He riposted, grinning widely as he tried to curb the droll amusement that dressed his well-cut features. So as to further tease the blushing lordling, he ran a hand against his black locks, immediately laughing as he took note of the other’s response. “Oh, spare me the sanctimony, will you? I thought you Taengeans were men of humor and lighthearted, rapturous reverie.” Cornered the silver-eyed man as he intranasally flicked away the innocuously unoffended would-be-captain. “Also, it’s captain, thank you very much!” he further teased, recalling how annoying it was for him to address the other man by any formalities and pleasantries he so adhered to.
In quiet introspection, Damocles figured that even if he was bothered by the other man’s holier-than-thou mentality, he still had done a rather heroic, if not, dare he say, noble act whence he pulled him apart those ill-fitted, river-lizard-filled waters. In an unusual display of humility, the darkly-featured man lowered his gaze and momentarily cast away his otherwise abrasive glare with a subdued, unimposing stare. “Well…fair is fair. I thank you for your helping hand…Lord Mikaelidas…”He concertedly admitted through somewhat begrudgingly tight lips, using the other’s preferred style of address. It was rather infuriating, how he had to momentarily swallow down his pride in what was otherwise a moment of concise, albeit reluctant gratitude.
It stung him, in a way that he rarely allowed others to even take a modicum of similarity to. Yet, for as unwilling as he was to admit right-doing by the hands of a nobleman, he still had to follow his principles and see his commitment to fairness come manifest in any form. Achilleas was under no particular obligation to have sprung up, reached out and pulled him away from the tempestuous river back towards safety, and yet, he did. Why? Why had this man, who had so far proven himself to be dismissive in every regard of his actions, undergone such a course of action when it was neither advantageous or warranted? This question was of the utmost importance and would surely require ample consideration, but now was not the time for that. Instead, he took towards pleasantries and opted to try and at least tend to their contradictory bent relationship.
In an effort to channel their words towards a different direction, Damocles inquired about Achilleas’ land, asking about his home and religions inclinations as a means to offer some level of decency. “I see. Do you offer particular reverence to these gods, Lord Mikaelidas?” Once more addressed Damocles in the regality that the other seemed so peculiar about. As he did so, he took notice of the other’s eyes, realizing how they seemed to have shone with interest as their conversation turned towards the subject of Taengea. Perhaps he had been too critical of him, too aggressively judgmental in his aspersions. He didn’t know this man at a close pace, nor did he harbor any positive opinions of him aside from the rumors and speculations that had so infuriated him due to their obsequiousness. Could this man really be worth of the praise he gathered?
“I must confess that I have never touched your homeland’s soft white shores or witnessed Taengea’s green and pleasant lands for myself. Amongst the units of Colchis, my brothers and I are oft regarded as being particularly notorious for our brutal efficiency and vicious might. We were summoned as an emergency force and so we had little time for comfort or sightseeing.” Explained Damocles as unlocked his arms from his chest and relaxed them to his sides, lacing them on his sides while pointing his elbows upwards in a subdued demonstration of authoritatively confident, yet peacefully comfortable demonstration. “Perhaps, whence this damnable war ends, you could offer me a tour of your beloved Taengea.” He cordially proposed, making sure to have previously accentuate the fabled beauty of the royal’s hearth and home so as to appease his more patriotic side. His silver eyes softened and dissuaded from their previous anger or wrath, taking instead a more reconciliatory approach to his gaze as he continued to try and see if he tread a gentler, more amicable pathway.
“Ah! It seems however that your people and I would have our worship of Dionysius in common tangent.” Delighted the ruggedly handsome man as he recalled Achilleas’s words on the presence of the God of Alcohol. “It is true that he might not be my most principle of gods, but I do still appreciate his particular God’s good grace.” He continued striking an idea as he figured a way by which to further ponder a more pleasant resolution to their previous discord. “So far, I’ve only learned that you are overly fond of pomp and ceremony.” He noted as he placed a hand on the other’s shoulder. “Come! Let us appease the high Lord of Wine and take to his field of authority in good spirits. Tonight, we shall drink until I remedy your fixation with formalities and find you calling me by my proper name alone.” He offered, forming his first friendly smile as he recalled the other’s prudish nature and quickly retracted his hand from the other’s fairer skin. “What say you, My Most Noble and Eminent High Lord Achilleas of that Ancient House of Mikaelidas?”
A prude?! The Taengean Lord gave a dismissive snort, though he did wonder for a moment if he had reacted too fervently to what was just over rambunctiousness in the other man. Achilleas knew he had a reputation for being overly earnest, hardly a figurehead for what people seemed to expect of the Taengean people, and usually, he tried to soften his demeanor a little to allow for it. But it was difficult with this man who was so loud and boisterous that he seemed to fill all the available room and left Achilleas feeling claustrophobic even when they were standing in a wide-open space.
He glanced again at the Colchian as the man played upon his claim to be of the same rank, looking him over critically as if he expected to be able to see the disparity between them on sight alone. It was irritatingly absent, DaMocles cutting rather a fine figure if he let himself admit it. Which he did not, but Achilleas thawed somewhat when the other man offered what seemed a genuine thanks for his interference. The younger man gave a slight nod, uncrossed his arms enough to wave it away.
“Think nothing of it. These are inhospitable lands at the best of times, let alone if you do not know of the pitfalls that await you. If it is not crocodiles, it is snakes, if it is not snakes it is spiders or scorpions and if it is not those then it is the idolatrous sand monkeys that we meet each day on the field of battle. If you cannot rely on your countrymen to aid you then you stand no chance”
And the lord was able to relax further when the conversation turned towards his homeland, though it spurred a jab of homesickness that caught Achilleas off-guard and had him frown slightly, dropped his gaze to the muddy green of the river as he answered the other’s further question about the Gods.
The young lord looked to be considering his words, and when they came, Achilleas sent a fearful look up to the clouding sky above them in the case the winds would carry his words to Mount Olympus and anger those who he did not name. “Athena has often been the goddess I have looked to” he admitted “Though we sacrificed to Ares, Apollo and Poseidon before making this trip” It was too early to say if the Gods had heard them, but there had at least been no storms on the voyage, so the men held hope that those immortals held them in good favour.
The Colchian’s revelation that he had never visited Taengea took Achilleas aback a moment until he remembered the difference in their stations. He had visited Colchis as the son of a Prince, an honored guest. And so the ‘Why’ he had been about to ask was bitten off, replaced with an encouraging “Well you should one day. You will find her a kinder host than these shores” He wondered at the other’s claims to greatness, made a note to ask Krysto his opinion of the man. The Mikaelidas Lord had good reason to look unfavorably upon Damocles after all, for it was not so long ago that the and had spat words of venom at he and his kin, and hurled a spear that had landed all of a foot from Achilleas.
Perhaps he was now trying to make amends,the lord mused,as the Colchian spoke of a tour, and Achilleas gave a non-committal grunt, trying not to think about what his father would make of him returning with the youth he had schooled in dishonour only a couple of years before as a new found friend. A measured blue gaze rested upon the other though as the weight of a hand settled upon Achilleas shoulder briefly, and the Taengean seemed to debate with himself a moment before he shrugged.
“I do not care much for over indulging, but in honour of our forces living and fighting alongside one another, then yes, I will join you for a drink if you so wish.”
One cup of wine could do no harm and it would only be beneficial to see the bad blood that had lain between then put to rest, Achilleas told himself as he second-guessed his decision. The Lieutenant seemed to have set aside his aggravating behavior of before and mellowed into something more tolerable. That was all. He swallowed, glanced towards the camp before saying rather abruptly “For now though I should go. I have yet to debrief the officers nor see the injured.” And he gave the man a nod and began to walk away, only to stop and turn because he realised he had not asked. “Are you to come to me or I to you?”
Achilleas wished he had not said it then, because it somehow felt as if he were suddenly invested in the silly agreement to drink together and he absolutely wasn’t, but equally, he liked to know what he was doing and when. “Never mind” he added hastily. “ I will find you, if I am not too weary.” Because the day had been long and the next would dawn soon enough. And with a lift of his hand in farewell, the Taengean Lord strode off back toward the rows of tents.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
A prude?! The Taengean Lord gave a dismissive snort, though he did wonder for a moment if he had reacted too fervently to what was just over rambunctiousness in the other man. Achilleas knew he had a reputation for being overly earnest, hardly a figurehead for what people seemed to expect of the Taengean people, and usually, he tried to soften his demeanor a little to allow for it. But it was difficult with this man who was so loud and boisterous that he seemed to fill all the available room and left Achilleas feeling claustrophobic even when they were standing in a wide-open space.
He glanced again at the Colchian as the man played upon his claim to be of the same rank, looking him over critically as if he expected to be able to see the disparity between them on sight alone. It was irritatingly absent, DaMocles cutting rather a fine figure if he let himself admit it. Which he did not, but Achilleas thawed somewhat when the other man offered what seemed a genuine thanks for his interference. The younger man gave a slight nod, uncrossed his arms enough to wave it away.
“Think nothing of it. These are inhospitable lands at the best of times, let alone if you do not know of the pitfalls that await you. If it is not crocodiles, it is snakes, if it is not snakes it is spiders or scorpions and if it is not those then it is the idolatrous sand monkeys that we meet each day on the field of battle. If you cannot rely on your countrymen to aid you then you stand no chance”
And the lord was able to relax further when the conversation turned towards his homeland, though it spurred a jab of homesickness that caught Achilleas off-guard and had him frown slightly, dropped his gaze to the muddy green of the river as he answered the other’s further question about the Gods.
The young lord looked to be considering his words, and when they came, Achilleas sent a fearful look up to the clouding sky above them in the case the winds would carry his words to Mount Olympus and anger those who he did not name. “Athena has often been the goddess I have looked to” he admitted “Though we sacrificed to Ares, Apollo and Poseidon before making this trip” It was too early to say if the Gods had heard them, but there had at least been no storms on the voyage, so the men held hope that those immortals held them in good favour.
The Colchian’s revelation that he had never visited Taengea took Achilleas aback a moment until he remembered the difference in their stations. He had visited Colchis as the son of a Prince, an honored guest. And so the ‘Why’ he had been about to ask was bitten off, replaced with an encouraging “Well you should one day. You will find her a kinder host than these shores” He wondered at the other’s claims to greatness, made a note to ask Krysto his opinion of the man. The Mikaelidas Lord had good reason to look unfavorably upon Damocles after all, for it was not so long ago that the and had spat words of venom at he and his kin, and hurled a spear that had landed all of a foot from Achilleas.
Perhaps he was now trying to make amends,the lord mused,as the Colchian spoke of a tour, and Achilleas gave a non-committal grunt, trying not to think about what his father would make of him returning with the youth he had schooled in dishonour only a couple of years before as a new found friend. A measured blue gaze rested upon the other though as the weight of a hand settled upon Achilleas shoulder briefly, and the Taengean seemed to debate with himself a moment before he shrugged.
“I do not care much for over indulging, but in honour of our forces living and fighting alongside one another, then yes, I will join you for a drink if you so wish.”
One cup of wine could do no harm and it would only be beneficial to see the bad blood that had lain between then put to rest, Achilleas told himself as he second-guessed his decision. The Lieutenant seemed to have set aside his aggravating behavior of before and mellowed into something more tolerable. That was all. He swallowed, glanced towards the camp before saying rather abruptly “For now though I should go. I have yet to debrief the officers nor see the injured.” And he gave the man a nod and began to walk away, only to stop and turn because he realised he had not asked. “Are you to come to me or I to you?”
Achilleas wished he had not said it then, because it somehow felt as if he were suddenly invested in the silly agreement to drink together and he absolutely wasn’t, but equally, he liked to know what he was doing and when. “Never mind” he added hastily. “ I will find you, if I am not too weary.” Because the day had been long and the next would dawn soon enough. And with a lift of his hand in farewell, the Taengean Lord strode off back toward the rows of tents.
A prude?! The Taengean Lord gave a dismissive snort, though he did wonder for a moment if he had reacted too fervently to what was just over rambunctiousness in the other man. Achilleas knew he had a reputation for being overly earnest, hardly a figurehead for what people seemed to expect of the Taengean people, and usually, he tried to soften his demeanor a little to allow for it. But it was difficult with this man who was so loud and boisterous that he seemed to fill all the available room and left Achilleas feeling claustrophobic even when they were standing in a wide-open space.
He glanced again at the Colchian as the man played upon his claim to be of the same rank, looking him over critically as if he expected to be able to see the disparity between them on sight alone. It was irritatingly absent, DaMocles cutting rather a fine figure if he let himself admit it. Which he did not, but Achilleas thawed somewhat when the other man offered what seemed a genuine thanks for his interference. The younger man gave a slight nod, uncrossed his arms enough to wave it away.
“Think nothing of it. These are inhospitable lands at the best of times, let alone if you do not know of the pitfalls that await you. If it is not crocodiles, it is snakes, if it is not snakes it is spiders or scorpions and if it is not those then it is the idolatrous sand monkeys that we meet each day on the field of battle. If you cannot rely on your countrymen to aid you then you stand no chance”
And the lord was able to relax further when the conversation turned towards his homeland, though it spurred a jab of homesickness that caught Achilleas off-guard and had him frown slightly, dropped his gaze to the muddy green of the river as he answered the other’s further question about the Gods.
The young lord looked to be considering his words, and when they came, Achilleas sent a fearful look up to the clouding sky above them in the case the winds would carry his words to Mount Olympus and anger those who he did not name. “Athena has often been the goddess I have looked to” he admitted “Though we sacrificed to Ares, Apollo and Poseidon before making this trip” It was too early to say if the Gods had heard them, but there had at least been no storms on the voyage, so the men held hope that those immortals held them in good favour.
The Colchian’s revelation that he had never visited Taengea took Achilleas aback a moment until he remembered the difference in their stations. He had visited Colchis as the son of a Prince, an honored guest. And so the ‘Why’ he had been about to ask was bitten off, replaced with an encouraging “Well you should one day. You will find her a kinder host than these shores” He wondered at the other’s claims to greatness, made a note to ask Krysto his opinion of the man. The Mikaelidas Lord had good reason to look unfavorably upon Damocles after all, for it was not so long ago that the and had spat words of venom at he and his kin, and hurled a spear that had landed all of a foot from Achilleas.
Perhaps he was now trying to make amends,the lord mused,as the Colchian spoke of a tour, and Achilleas gave a non-committal grunt, trying not to think about what his father would make of him returning with the youth he had schooled in dishonour only a couple of years before as a new found friend. A measured blue gaze rested upon the other though as the weight of a hand settled upon Achilleas shoulder briefly, and the Taengean seemed to debate with himself a moment before he shrugged.
“I do not care much for over indulging, but in honour of our forces living and fighting alongside one another, then yes, I will join you for a drink if you so wish.”
One cup of wine could do no harm and it would only be beneficial to see the bad blood that had lain between then put to rest, Achilleas told himself as he second-guessed his decision. The Lieutenant seemed to have set aside his aggravating behavior of before and mellowed into something more tolerable. That was all. He swallowed, glanced towards the camp before saying rather abruptly “For now though I should go. I have yet to debrief the officers nor see the injured.” And he gave the man a nod and began to walk away, only to stop and turn because he realised he had not asked. “Are you to come to me or I to you?”
Achilleas wished he had not said it then, because it somehow felt as if he were suddenly invested in the silly agreement to drink together and he absolutely wasn’t, but equally, he liked to know what he was doing and when. “Never mind” he added hastily. “ I will find you, if I am not too weary.” Because the day had been long and the next would dawn soon enough. And with a lift of his hand in farewell, the Taengean Lord strode off back toward the rows of tents.
Given what he had so-far learned from the man around him, Damocles thought it odd that he had been born a son of Colchis, whereas Achilleas had been a native of Taengea. Judging from personality alone, the silver-eyed youth could have sworn that they would have been most comfortable with each other’s homeland instead. Granted, he had only seen the man on fields of battle and conquest. Still from the looks of it, he seemed a rather introverted, quiet man who had no interest in partaking on plenty occasions for merrymaking and carousing. In contrast, the darkly youth knew that he broke the traditional mold of a Colchian, given his love of debates, parties and anything relating to leisure.
A part of him felt uneasy offering the other his words of gratitude for what had been a rather altruistic act of unsung heroism. Whereas arguments and criticisms were quite already an established part of his general vocabulary, he felt himself tense with effort as he put aside his ego and swallowed his pride like some piss-poor, cheap peasant wine. It would have been far easier for him to gone silent and allow his appreciation for the gesture to go unnoticed and dismissed. Yet, for some reason that he couldn’t explain, it felt odd, it felt weird, to go forth wordless and silent as if nothing had happened. In this moment of uncommon sincerity, he felt compelled to turn back to what was safe and simple to him: humor.
“Egyptians, snakes, crocodiles and scorpions? My, my, with all this attention I feel like a fucking celebrity!” he began, smirking at himself as he addressed his silver gaze to the striking Taengean near him. “I mean, just look at how those cocksucking, sand-brained, pyramid-fuckers came rushing at me today! Guess they didn’t figure out I don’t give out autographs.” He continued, trying to see if he could elicit some form of laugh from the other with his own, clearly purposely inflated sense of self at that particular moment in time. “No wonder this land’s shit, everything here’s out to kill you.” Continued the slightly taller of the two in his efforts to see if he could figure out what exactly was the Taengean’s humor.
With his efforts moved to closure, Damocles paid close attention to the other’s words, studying the how, why and what of his words so as to better understand him. If anything had been made apparent to him it was that, for as much as he disliked it, they would have to cooperate if they were to stand any real chance against the strength of Cairo and her armies. He was quick to notice his dropped gaze, a glance of sadness that even the silver-eyed man could confess to knowing once or twice before. It was the look of homesickness, a momentary longing for the normalcy of one’s hearth and land in times of doubt and volatility. Could it be that he too felt some sense of common longing with this man? They had come from very different places after all. In fact, from what he could collect, Colchis and Taengea seemed to be as categorically different as they were right now. And yet, Greece was Greece, and despite labels, they all shared the same paradise that was the Aegean.
“Are you alright?” he inquired, with his typically deep, but booming voice turned to a soften appeal as he saw how perhaps his inquiry into Taengea may have done more damage than he had anticipated. “I meant not to cause you longing from home.” He explained, awkwardly shuffling his thoughts between his actions as he debated whether or not to offer him some sort of physical touch that might sooth the man. “Worry naught, my fellow Aegean. Soon we’ll be back to Greece’s shining shores, away from the filth and dirt and dust of this Tartarus-on-Earth.” he tried to calm, placing his hand on the other’s back as he tried to get his eyes to return to their old, accustomed blueness.
Once all was said and done, Damocles felt a fresh of relief when the impressively-sized man accepted his invitation towards a little bit of sin and debauchery for the evening. If he was allowed a moment of candor, he had opted for the opportunity only for the sole reason of trying to see if he and Achilleas could move forward from their rather distasteful past. It wasn’t too long ago that they had once exchanged very spiteful and vicious words over mere spectacle and sport. It was true that all of his actions were justifiable of course. Nevertheless, he did not wish to host a war on two fronts. If he had to discover some sort of camaraderie with this man in the hopes of returning home for future laurels and praises, so be it.
“Herein as I call the Gods as my witness, I do so swear that you are the worse Taengean I’ve had the pleasure of meeting.” He clearly mocked in a manner that wasn’t meant to be insulting. “Are not your people meant to be a mirthful crowd?” he pointed out, drawing upon stereotypes that may or may not have been long antiquated by the long draw of time. “That was a joke….in case you did not understand it.” He once more explored, this time turning his features to an oddly pleasant smile as he subtly came to poke fun of the stoic in front of him. Maybe he could find some common ground with this man…eventually.
Upon their mutual accord, Achilleas appeared to have decidedly turned to matters of office so as to remove himself from their present state of being. At least, those were the words he offered up as excuses. Deep down he knew they still had much to mend before they actually saw one-another as possible comrades, though it wouldn’t hurt to at least have some modicum of fun once in a while. In time however, Damocles found himself rather surprised by the other’s words, blinking in confusion as he heard the other man ask whether one should come upon the other’s for their endeavor. “That seems awfully personal for a stoic like you, Lord Mikaelidas.” Teased the darkly man as he once more flashed him a confident grin, letting the other man know that he had not taken any serious weight to his words. “Well, if you are to come to me, then bring two cups. I doubt you would share an amphora with me, Your Majestic Sternness.” He further teased, conditioning for their apparently inevitable night of drinking.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
Given what he had so-far learned from the man around him, Damocles thought it odd that he had been born a son of Colchis, whereas Achilleas had been a native of Taengea. Judging from personality alone, the silver-eyed youth could have sworn that they would have been most comfortable with each other’s homeland instead. Granted, he had only seen the man on fields of battle and conquest. Still from the looks of it, he seemed a rather introverted, quiet man who had no interest in partaking on plenty occasions for merrymaking and carousing. In contrast, the darkly youth knew that he broke the traditional mold of a Colchian, given his love of debates, parties and anything relating to leisure.
A part of him felt uneasy offering the other his words of gratitude for what had been a rather altruistic act of unsung heroism. Whereas arguments and criticisms were quite already an established part of his general vocabulary, he felt himself tense with effort as he put aside his ego and swallowed his pride like some piss-poor, cheap peasant wine. It would have been far easier for him to gone silent and allow his appreciation for the gesture to go unnoticed and dismissed. Yet, for some reason that he couldn’t explain, it felt odd, it felt weird, to go forth wordless and silent as if nothing had happened. In this moment of uncommon sincerity, he felt compelled to turn back to what was safe and simple to him: humor.
“Egyptians, snakes, crocodiles and scorpions? My, my, with all this attention I feel like a fucking celebrity!” he began, smirking at himself as he addressed his silver gaze to the striking Taengean near him. “I mean, just look at how those cocksucking, sand-brained, pyramid-fuckers came rushing at me today! Guess they didn’t figure out I don’t give out autographs.” He continued, trying to see if he could elicit some form of laugh from the other with his own, clearly purposely inflated sense of self at that particular moment in time. “No wonder this land’s shit, everything here’s out to kill you.” Continued the slightly taller of the two in his efforts to see if he could figure out what exactly was the Taengean’s humor.
With his efforts moved to closure, Damocles paid close attention to the other’s words, studying the how, why and what of his words so as to better understand him. If anything had been made apparent to him it was that, for as much as he disliked it, they would have to cooperate if they were to stand any real chance against the strength of Cairo and her armies. He was quick to notice his dropped gaze, a glance of sadness that even the silver-eyed man could confess to knowing once or twice before. It was the look of homesickness, a momentary longing for the normalcy of one’s hearth and land in times of doubt and volatility. Could it be that he too felt some sense of common longing with this man? They had come from very different places after all. In fact, from what he could collect, Colchis and Taengea seemed to be as categorically different as they were right now. And yet, Greece was Greece, and despite labels, they all shared the same paradise that was the Aegean.
“Are you alright?” he inquired, with his typically deep, but booming voice turned to a soften appeal as he saw how perhaps his inquiry into Taengea may have done more damage than he had anticipated. “I meant not to cause you longing from home.” He explained, awkwardly shuffling his thoughts between his actions as he debated whether or not to offer him some sort of physical touch that might sooth the man. “Worry naught, my fellow Aegean. Soon we’ll be back to Greece’s shining shores, away from the filth and dirt and dust of this Tartarus-on-Earth.” he tried to calm, placing his hand on the other’s back as he tried to get his eyes to return to their old, accustomed blueness.
Once all was said and done, Damocles felt a fresh of relief when the impressively-sized man accepted his invitation towards a little bit of sin and debauchery for the evening. If he was allowed a moment of candor, he had opted for the opportunity only for the sole reason of trying to see if he and Achilleas could move forward from their rather distasteful past. It wasn’t too long ago that they had once exchanged very spiteful and vicious words over mere spectacle and sport. It was true that all of his actions were justifiable of course. Nevertheless, he did not wish to host a war on two fronts. If he had to discover some sort of camaraderie with this man in the hopes of returning home for future laurels and praises, so be it.
“Herein as I call the Gods as my witness, I do so swear that you are the worse Taengean I’ve had the pleasure of meeting.” He clearly mocked in a manner that wasn’t meant to be insulting. “Are not your people meant to be a mirthful crowd?” he pointed out, drawing upon stereotypes that may or may not have been long antiquated by the long draw of time. “That was a joke….in case you did not understand it.” He once more explored, this time turning his features to an oddly pleasant smile as he subtly came to poke fun of the stoic in front of him. Maybe he could find some common ground with this man…eventually.
Upon their mutual accord, Achilleas appeared to have decidedly turned to matters of office so as to remove himself from their present state of being. At least, those were the words he offered up as excuses. Deep down he knew they still had much to mend before they actually saw one-another as possible comrades, though it wouldn’t hurt to at least have some modicum of fun once in a while. In time however, Damocles found himself rather surprised by the other’s words, blinking in confusion as he heard the other man ask whether one should come upon the other’s for their endeavor. “That seems awfully personal for a stoic like you, Lord Mikaelidas.” Teased the darkly man as he once more flashed him a confident grin, letting the other man know that he had not taken any serious weight to his words. “Well, if you are to come to me, then bring two cups. I doubt you would share an amphora with me, Your Majestic Sternness.” He further teased, conditioning for their apparently inevitable night of drinking.
Given what he had so-far learned from the man around him, Damocles thought it odd that he had been born a son of Colchis, whereas Achilleas had been a native of Taengea. Judging from personality alone, the silver-eyed youth could have sworn that they would have been most comfortable with each other’s homeland instead. Granted, he had only seen the man on fields of battle and conquest. Still from the looks of it, he seemed a rather introverted, quiet man who had no interest in partaking on plenty occasions for merrymaking and carousing. In contrast, the darkly youth knew that he broke the traditional mold of a Colchian, given his love of debates, parties and anything relating to leisure.
A part of him felt uneasy offering the other his words of gratitude for what had been a rather altruistic act of unsung heroism. Whereas arguments and criticisms were quite already an established part of his general vocabulary, he felt himself tense with effort as he put aside his ego and swallowed his pride like some piss-poor, cheap peasant wine. It would have been far easier for him to gone silent and allow his appreciation for the gesture to go unnoticed and dismissed. Yet, for some reason that he couldn’t explain, it felt odd, it felt weird, to go forth wordless and silent as if nothing had happened. In this moment of uncommon sincerity, he felt compelled to turn back to what was safe and simple to him: humor.
“Egyptians, snakes, crocodiles and scorpions? My, my, with all this attention I feel like a fucking celebrity!” he began, smirking at himself as he addressed his silver gaze to the striking Taengean near him. “I mean, just look at how those cocksucking, sand-brained, pyramid-fuckers came rushing at me today! Guess they didn’t figure out I don’t give out autographs.” He continued, trying to see if he could elicit some form of laugh from the other with his own, clearly purposely inflated sense of self at that particular moment in time. “No wonder this land’s shit, everything here’s out to kill you.” Continued the slightly taller of the two in his efforts to see if he could figure out what exactly was the Taengean’s humor.
With his efforts moved to closure, Damocles paid close attention to the other’s words, studying the how, why and what of his words so as to better understand him. If anything had been made apparent to him it was that, for as much as he disliked it, they would have to cooperate if they were to stand any real chance against the strength of Cairo and her armies. He was quick to notice his dropped gaze, a glance of sadness that even the silver-eyed man could confess to knowing once or twice before. It was the look of homesickness, a momentary longing for the normalcy of one’s hearth and land in times of doubt and volatility. Could it be that he too felt some sense of common longing with this man? They had come from very different places after all. In fact, from what he could collect, Colchis and Taengea seemed to be as categorically different as they were right now. And yet, Greece was Greece, and despite labels, they all shared the same paradise that was the Aegean.
“Are you alright?” he inquired, with his typically deep, but booming voice turned to a soften appeal as he saw how perhaps his inquiry into Taengea may have done more damage than he had anticipated. “I meant not to cause you longing from home.” He explained, awkwardly shuffling his thoughts between his actions as he debated whether or not to offer him some sort of physical touch that might sooth the man. “Worry naught, my fellow Aegean. Soon we’ll be back to Greece’s shining shores, away from the filth and dirt and dust of this Tartarus-on-Earth.” he tried to calm, placing his hand on the other’s back as he tried to get his eyes to return to their old, accustomed blueness.
Once all was said and done, Damocles felt a fresh of relief when the impressively-sized man accepted his invitation towards a little bit of sin and debauchery for the evening. If he was allowed a moment of candor, he had opted for the opportunity only for the sole reason of trying to see if he and Achilleas could move forward from their rather distasteful past. It wasn’t too long ago that they had once exchanged very spiteful and vicious words over mere spectacle and sport. It was true that all of his actions were justifiable of course. Nevertheless, he did not wish to host a war on two fronts. If he had to discover some sort of camaraderie with this man in the hopes of returning home for future laurels and praises, so be it.
“Herein as I call the Gods as my witness, I do so swear that you are the worse Taengean I’ve had the pleasure of meeting.” He clearly mocked in a manner that wasn’t meant to be insulting. “Are not your people meant to be a mirthful crowd?” he pointed out, drawing upon stereotypes that may or may not have been long antiquated by the long draw of time. “That was a joke….in case you did not understand it.” He once more explored, this time turning his features to an oddly pleasant smile as he subtly came to poke fun of the stoic in front of him. Maybe he could find some common ground with this man…eventually.
Upon their mutual accord, Achilleas appeared to have decidedly turned to matters of office so as to remove himself from their present state of being. At least, those were the words he offered up as excuses. Deep down he knew they still had much to mend before they actually saw one-another as possible comrades, though it wouldn’t hurt to at least have some modicum of fun once in a while. In time however, Damocles found himself rather surprised by the other’s words, blinking in confusion as he heard the other man ask whether one should come upon the other’s for their endeavor. “That seems awfully personal for a stoic like you, Lord Mikaelidas.” Teased the darkly man as he once more flashed him a confident grin, letting the other man know that he had not taken any serious weight to his words. “Well, if you are to come to me, then bring two cups. I doubt you would share an amphora with me, Your Majestic Sternness.” He further teased, conditioning for their apparently inevitable night of drinking.
He was a perplexing man. One moment, so coarse and brash in his attempts at humour that Achilleas began to regret the notion of spending any further time in the Colchian’s company, and then in the next, speaking as if he had some vested interest in Achilleas’ own wellbeing, and laying a warm, calloused palm upon his back as if it were nothing.
It was nothing. And yet the Taengean lord felt as if he wanted to slip out from under it and take his leave sooner rather than later. Get away from those strange silvery eyes. “I’m fine,” he said, looking at the other man sharply. Let it not be thought he was some wet behind the ears youth who could not handle being away from his home for a few months. It was a natural thing to crave the green and verdant fields of Greece when faced with this dirt coloured expanse of sand and its unfriendly inhabitants day after day.
He realised then how rigid his own demeanor was when this other had softened his, and Achilleas gave a faint smile at what he the man’s try at good-natured ribbing.
“I can understand jokes” he defended, and then gave a dry snort of laughter. “ Though I will also tell you that you are not the first to accuse me of such a thing. I know I can be..” Stuffy, his cousin said but Achilleas found he did not want to label himself so now. “...over serious. Call it a flaw if you wish” Or a reaction to a fierce weight of expectation that the Mikaelidas heir found impossible to ignore. Even the concession to join this man for a drink pushed at the rules Achilleas set for himself, and he was half regretting it already as he turned to establish the hows and whys.
“Is that a Colchian custom then? Expecting your guests to bring their own cups?” he replied, but the Taengean was already backing away, frowning a little at the moniker the other chose to bestow on him until he realised it made him rather embody it. “Until later. I think I have stomached as much of your dazzling wit as I may in one sitting, acting Captain.”
He was gone then, wondering if he imagined the prickle of the other’s stare upon him as he left.
***
Achilleas had done his damnedest to ignore the surprised expression on his Lieutenant’s face as he had mentioned his plans later that evening. Fed and having visited with those few men laid up with injuries, he had played a couple of games of dice with Krysto before standing, stretching, and casually expressing his intent to go and share a drink with the Colchian. He shot a look at his friend.
“Is it not better to lay to rest old grievances when this man is an ally to us in this war?” he asked loftily, his tone expressing that he did not really seek an answer other than agreement. And with a pointed look at Krysto, Achilleas had snagged two cups - because he wasn’t entirely sure if the other had been joking- and made his way through the camp towards where the Colchian forces began to quieten for the evening.
Helios had stolen the sun away, leaving bloody streaks of crimson across the sky and turning everything else golden. It was beautiful in its way, but hard to see for those embittered by the realities of a long campaign, and the jaded weariness that went with it. Achilleas though, did not feel as tired as he thought he ought to as he strode through the canvas city, looking for some sign of the would be Captain.
Despite how blasé he had been with Krysto, the Baron has spent much of his evening debating his agreement to this arrangement, and then being irritated with himself for giving it so much thought. So that now, his features had a determined set about them, and his pace was purposeful as if by being so, he could convince himself of his own certainty.
A certainty that flickered and dimmed a little as he saw Damocles sprawled outside a tent not a dozen strides away, the man certainly more appearing more relaxed than his visitor could claim to be. Achilleas inclined his head a little by way of greeting, drawing to a halt just outside the circle of light cast by the small fire. He glanced around at the few soldiers nearby before turning back to the man he had come to see. To make peace with, he reminded himself.
“I had half expected to find you already snoring off the effects of too much wine” he said, gaze dropping to the jug by the man’s feet. “And I see I was not wrong in assuming you got started without me?”
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
He was a perplexing man. One moment, so coarse and brash in his attempts at humour that Achilleas began to regret the notion of spending any further time in the Colchian’s company, and then in the next, speaking as if he had some vested interest in Achilleas’ own wellbeing, and laying a warm, calloused palm upon his back as if it were nothing.
It was nothing. And yet the Taengean lord felt as if he wanted to slip out from under it and take his leave sooner rather than later. Get away from those strange silvery eyes. “I’m fine,” he said, looking at the other man sharply. Let it not be thought he was some wet behind the ears youth who could not handle being away from his home for a few months. It was a natural thing to crave the green and verdant fields of Greece when faced with this dirt coloured expanse of sand and its unfriendly inhabitants day after day.
He realised then how rigid his own demeanor was when this other had softened his, and Achilleas gave a faint smile at what he the man’s try at good-natured ribbing.
“I can understand jokes” he defended, and then gave a dry snort of laughter. “ Though I will also tell you that you are not the first to accuse me of such a thing. I know I can be..” Stuffy, his cousin said but Achilleas found he did not want to label himself so now. “...over serious. Call it a flaw if you wish” Or a reaction to a fierce weight of expectation that the Mikaelidas heir found impossible to ignore. Even the concession to join this man for a drink pushed at the rules Achilleas set for himself, and he was half regretting it already as he turned to establish the hows and whys.
“Is that a Colchian custom then? Expecting your guests to bring their own cups?” he replied, but the Taengean was already backing away, frowning a little at the moniker the other chose to bestow on him until he realised it made him rather embody it. “Until later. I think I have stomached as much of your dazzling wit as I may in one sitting, acting Captain.”
He was gone then, wondering if he imagined the prickle of the other’s stare upon him as he left.
***
Achilleas had done his damnedest to ignore the surprised expression on his Lieutenant’s face as he had mentioned his plans later that evening. Fed and having visited with those few men laid up with injuries, he had played a couple of games of dice with Krysto before standing, stretching, and casually expressing his intent to go and share a drink with the Colchian. He shot a look at his friend.
“Is it not better to lay to rest old grievances when this man is an ally to us in this war?” he asked loftily, his tone expressing that he did not really seek an answer other than agreement. And with a pointed look at Krysto, Achilleas had snagged two cups - because he wasn’t entirely sure if the other had been joking- and made his way through the camp towards where the Colchian forces began to quieten for the evening.
Helios had stolen the sun away, leaving bloody streaks of crimson across the sky and turning everything else golden. It was beautiful in its way, but hard to see for those embittered by the realities of a long campaign, and the jaded weariness that went with it. Achilleas though, did not feel as tired as he thought he ought to as he strode through the canvas city, looking for some sign of the would be Captain.
Despite how blasé he had been with Krysto, the Baron has spent much of his evening debating his agreement to this arrangement, and then being irritated with himself for giving it so much thought. So that now, his features had a determined set about them, and his pace was purposeful as if by being so, he could convince himself of his own certainty.
A certainty that flickered and dimmed a little as he saw Damocles sprawled outside a tent not a dozen strides away, the man certainly more appearing more relaxed than his visitor could claim to be. Achilleas inclined his head a little by way of greeting, drawing to a halt just outside the circle of light cast by the small fire. He glanced around at the few soldiers nearby before turning back to the man he had come to see. To make peace with, he reminded himself.
“I had half expected to find you already snoring off the effects of too much wine” he said, gaze dropping to the jug by the man’s feet. “And I see I was not wrong in assuming you got started without me?”
He was a perplexing man. One moment, so coarse and brash in his attempts at humour that Achilleas began to regret the notion of spending any further time in the Colchian’s company, and then in the next, speaking as if he had some vested interest in Achilleas’ own wellbeing, and laying a warm, calloused palm upon his back as if it were nothing.
It was nothing. And yet the Taengean lord felt as if he wanted to slip out from under it and take his leave sooner rather than later. Get away from those strange silvery eyes. “I’m fine,” he said, looking at the other man sharply. Let it not be thought he was some wet behind the ears youth who could not handle being away from his home for a few months. It was a natural thing to crave the green and verdant fields of Greece when faced with this dirt coloured expanse of sand and its unfriendly inhabitants day after day.
He realised then how rigid his own demeanor was when this other had softened his, and Achilleas gave a faint smile at what he the man’s try at good-natured ribbing.
“I can understand jokes” he defended, and then gave a dry snort of laughter. “ Though I will also tell you that you are not the first to accuse me of such a thing. I know I can be..” Stuffy, his cousin said but Achilleas found he did not want to label himself so now. “...over serious. Call it a flaw if you wish” Or a reaction to a fierce weight of expectation that the Mikaelidas heir found impossible to ignore. Even the concession to join this man for a drink pushed at the rules Achilleas set for himself, and he was half regretting it already as he turned to establish the hows and whys.
“Is that a Colchian custom then? Expecting your guests to bring their own cups?” he replied, but the Taengean was already backing away, frowning a little at the moniker the other chose to bestow on him until he realised it made him rather embody it. “Until later. I think I have stomached as much of your dazzling wit as I may in one sitting, acting Captain.”
He was gone then, wondering if he imagined the prickle of the other’s stare upon him as he left.
***
Achilleas had done his damnedest to ignore the surprised expression on his Lieutenant’s face as he had mentioned his plans later that evening. Fed and having visited with those few men laid up with injuries, he had played a couple of games of dice with Krysto before standing, stretching, and casually expressing his intent to go and share a drink with the Colchian. He shot a look at his friend.
“Is it not better to lay to rest old grievances when this man is an ally to us in this war?” he asked loftily, his tone expressing that he did not really seek an answer other than agreement. And with a pointed look at Krysto, Achilleas had snagged two cups - because he wasn’t entirely sure if the other had been joking- and made his way through the camp towards where the Colchian forces began to quieten for the evening.
Helios had stolen the sun away, leaving bloody streaks of crimson across the sky and turning everything else golden. It was beautiful in its way, but hard to see for those embittered by the realities of a long campaign, and the jaded weariness that went with it. Achilleas though, did not feel as tired as he thought he ought to as he strode through the canvas city, looking for some sign of the would be Captain.
Despite how blasé he had been with Krysto, the Baron has spent much of his evening debating his agreement to this arrangement, and then being irritated with himself for giving it so much thought. So that now, his features had a determined set about them, and his pace was purposeful as if by being so, he could convince himself of his own certainty.
A certainty that flickered and dimmed a little as he saw Damocles sprawled outside a tent not a dozen strides away, the man certainly more appearing more relaxed than his visitor could claim to be. Achilleas inclined his head a little by way of greeting, drawing to a halt just outside the circle of light cast by the small fire. He glanced around at the few soldiers nearby before turning back to the man he had come to see. To make peace with, he reminded himself.
“I had half expected to find you already snoring off the effects of too much wine” he said, gaze dropping to the jug by the man’s feet. “And I see I was not wrong in assuming you got started without me?”
Whence he bore witness to the Taengean’s forced snicker, Damocles could not help but stare at the youth with a bewildering expression to his otherwise feasibly strongly-marked face. It almost seemed as if this boy had never been shown how to interact in an informal setting, always told to follow proper protocol, procedure, rules and conventions under every and any circumstance no matter the tone. “Clearly…” he sarcastically observed, rolling his silver eyes in nonchalant amusement to the priggishly prim and proper lordling’s attempt at hilarity. “Oh, I wouldn’t necessarily call it a flaw, per se. Call it a character quirk, a humbling trait of yourself if you will!” he tried to enliven, making a casual mental note of the Taengean’s depressed energetics-ness.
“Anyways, I’ve just the remedy for such shortcoming. Tonight you shall take up the cup and take to my side. I’ll make you laugh your hardest laugh yet, or so help me Gods I will find someone who does it for me!” he mildly teased as he patted the other’s firm back with a jovial smirk to his dark face. It was true that he knew little of the man counterpart to him so far, despite their apparent need to cooperate and work together if nothing but for the simple sake of remaining alive and well after the conclusion of such war. In his limited capacity to connect with others when needed, he turned to humor and laughter, key tools in his arsenal by which he would see to it that his objectives were at least met.
“No? I do not believe it is a tradition of my people, but knowing your kind, you’ll swear off sharing an amphora with me. My lowly commonborn mouth might contaminate your prestine regalness…and all that horseshit.” He mocked, using the same dismissive tone that he had picked-upped from other aristocrats in his life. Perchance, it could be the case that this boy was of a different stock and opinion, a less sanctimonious stance that allowed for some semblance of acceptance of the lower-class, the silver-eyed youth did not trust this intuition at all. “Well then, best be your merry way, Lord Achilleas.” He returned, noticing the incredibly slight compliment in the other’s subdued words.
Upon completing his affairs by the riverdside, Damocles turned his attention to his men, quickly busying himself with matters, both major and minor, until he could count upon the Plutonian night’s summary arrival. Most importantly, he supervised the mortuary business of tending to the dead and their funerary rites. It was an unpleasant job, if ever, but it had to be done, if not for his own commitment to the Lord of the Underworld’s tutelary patronage then for the families and loved ones that had suffered a loss today.
Meticulous attention had been paid to these rites, ordering that the great pyres had been built in proper accordance to commonplace-practice. As per his instructions, his fallen comrades has been armed in their armor and weapons, signaling to their career path before meeting their final end. Once all had been said and done, he witnessed the processional rites as a sign of respect to those whom had sadly been removed from this land. Fortunately, none of the ones he had tended to had been close associates or friends of his, but that still did not mean he had cause to smile with glee at this supervision.
He had always been uncomfortable with the writing of letters of condolences, often thinking them ill-token to the loved ones that would now mourn their known one’s passage to the Underworld. Nevertheless, he thought it his solemn right, a duty that he himself had to carry out, not because of his position as acting captain, but due to the respect that such sacrifice demanded, especially from these unsung souls of plenty and many. As per custom, he had made a small habit of at least jotting down one small trivial attribute of the deceased in his letters. It was the least he could do to honor their memory, to breath temporary life into what would inevitably a list of names that history would not remember.
All in all, a great deal of time had been dedicated to the writing of such letters, with the steady stream of hours passing by before he could make proper notice of the promised encounter he had struck with that Taengean lordling. With a final stroke of his pen, the boy-scribe-turned officer put the finishing details on his lasts before ordering one of his inferiors to manage the actual messaging and shipping of these letters. Once that was done, he breathed a heavy sigh and reposed against the wooden armchair he had long claimed as his own, closing his eyes for a small moment before offering a small prayer to the dead so they truly could pass to a better place.
Suddenly however, his tent was rushed open, with a familiar face preening widely to him. The moment he noticed him, a grand smile possessed Damocles, given that the boy’s presence meant that his small mission had been successful after all. “Did you procure it?” he asked the boy, pondering whether or not he had done his mischievous deed. “Aye sir!” responded the other, revealing an impossibly tall jar of aged Taengean wine that he had sneaked into the silver-eyed man’s tent with ease and skill. “The Lord Captain won’t notice that one of his reserves is mission.” Commented the lad as he laughed at his unruly accomplishment. “Besides, by the time he does realize that one of his precious stores has been stolen, it’ll be too late, haha!” laughed the towering officer as he poured a noticeable amount for the boy to take with him as compensation for his troubles…in addition to some relief of his duties in the coming weeks. “Enjoy it. Don’t drink it all like if it were water. This is a rare treat after all. Now scatter before I change my mind!” and with that, the boy left, pleased with his dealings with the officer.
Enjoying the little devil darling’s mischievousness, Damocles saw him off as he left, snickering to himself as he noticed how the slightly younger youth could barely contain himself. Upon fate’s chance, it seemed that Achilleas had arrived just in the nick of time, armed with two cups that only heightened the Colchian’s perception of naivety from the other. He truly had not meant him to really bring those instruments, though they weren’t entirely unappreciated. One of his signature bright smiles greeted the lordling. “You arrived!” he recognized, slightly surprised that the other truly had kept his word.
“Well, I had to make sure that the drink wasn’t poisoned. Can’t have your people accuse me of murdering the man I am trying to befriend, right?” he joked, offering a bit of black humor beneath the lie he created. In reality, the missing portion of wine could be explained by the boy that had hauled the amphora jar to him, but that little bit of information didn’t need to be known for now. Besides, he figured Achilleas would not look too kindly on the act of theft, even if it was justified in the Colchian’s mind. “Come! I’ll make a friend out of you yet!” He roared, putting his callused hand behind the other man’s back as he guided him to his tent so they could engage in their small exercise in reconciliation.
“I have an idea! Why don’t you try to recognize wherefore this black wine hails from, lordling? If you guess right, I’ll share something about my past with you. But, if you guess incorrectly, you must confess to some point of mischief in your life. Deal?”
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
Feb 15, 2020 23:46:38 GMT
Posted In Oil and Water on Feb 15, 2020 23:46:38 GMT
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
Whence he bore witness to the Taengean’s forced snicker, Damocles could not help but stare at the youth with a bewildering expression to his otherwise feasibly strongly-marked face. It almost seemed as if this boy had never been shown how to interact in an informal setting, always told to follow proper protocol, procedure, rules and conventions under every and any circumstance no matter the tone. “Clearly…” he sarcastically observed, rolling his silver eyes in nonchalant amusement to the priggishly prim and proper lordling’s attempt at hilarity. “Oh, I wouldn’t necessarily call it a flaw, per se. Call it a character quirk, a humbling trait of yourself if you will!” he tried to enliven, making a casual mental note of the Taengean’s depressed energetics-ness.
“Anyways, I’ve just the remedy for such shortcoming. Tonight you shall take up the cup and take to my side. I’ll make you laugh your hardest laugh yet, or so help me Gods I will find someone who does it for me!” he mildly teased as he patted the other’s firm back with a jovial smirk to his dark face. It was true that he knew little of the man counterpart to him so far, despite their apparent need to cooperate and work together if nothing but for the simple sake of remaining alive and well after the conclusion of such war. In his limited capacity to connect with others when needed, he turned to humor and laughter, key tools in his arsenal by which he would see to it that his objectives were at least met.
“No? I do not believe it is a tradition of my people, but knowing your kind, you’ll swear off sharing an amphora with me. My lowly commonborn mouth might contaminate your prestine regalness…and all that horseshit.” He mocked, using the same dismissive tone that he had picked-upped from other aristocrats in his life. Perchance, it could be the case that this boy was of a different stock and opinion, a less sanctimonious stance that allowed for some semblance of acceptance of the lower-class, the silver-eyed youth did not trust this intuition at all. “Well then, best be your merry way, Lord Achilleas.” He returned, noticing the incredibly slight compliment in the other’s subdued words.
Upon completing his affairs by the riverdside, Damocles turned his attention to his men, quickly busying himself with matters, both major and minor, until he could count upon the Plutonian night’s summary arrival. Most importantly, he supervised the mortuary business of tending to the dead and their funerary rites. It was an unpleasant job, if ever, but it had to be done, if not for his own commitment to the Lord of the Underworld’s tutelary patronage then for the families and loved ones that had suffered a loss today.
Meticulous attention had been paid to these rites, ordering that the great pyres had been built in proper accordance to commonplace-practice. As per his instructions, his fallen comrades has been armed in their armor and weapons, signaling to their career path before meeting their final end. Once all had been said and done, he witnessed the processional rites as a sign of respect to those whom had sadly been removed from this land. Fortunately, none of the ones he had tended to had been close associates or friends of his, but that still did not mean he had cause to smile with glee at this supervision.
He had always been uncomfortable with the writing of letters of condolences, often thinking them ill-token to the loved ones that would now mourn their known one’s passage to the Underworld. Nevertheless, he thought it his solemn right, a duty that he himself had to carry out, not because of his position as acting captain, but due to the respect that such sacrifice demanded, especially from these unsung souls of plenty and many. As per custom, he had made a small habit of at least jotting down one small trivial attribute of the deceased in his letters. It was the least he could do to honor their memory, to breath temporary life into what would inevitably a list of names that history would not remember.
All in all, a great deal of time had been dedicated to the writing of such letters, with the steady stream of hours passing by before he could make proper notice of the promised encounter he had struck with that Taengean lordling. With a final stroke of his pen, the boy-scribe-turned officer put the finishing details on his lasts before ordering one of his inferiors to manage the actual messaging and shipping of these letters. Once that was done, he breathed a heavy sigh and reposed against the wooden armchair he had long claimed as his own, closing his eyes for a small moment before offering a small prayer to the dead so they truly could pass to a better place.
Suddenly however, his tent was rushed open, with a familiar face preening widely to him. The moment he noticed him, a grand smile possessed Damocles, given that the boy’s presence meant that his small mission had been successful after all. “Did you procure it?” he asked the boy, pondering whether or not he had done his mischievous deed. “Aye sir!” responded the other, revealing an impossibly tall jar of aged Taengean wine that he had sneaked into the silver-eyed man’s tent with ease and skill. “The Lord Captain won’t notice that one of his reserves is mission.” Commented the lad as he laughed at his unruly accomplishment. “Besides, by the time he does realize that one of his precious stores has been stolen, it’ll be too late, haha!” laughed the towering officer as he poured a noticeable amount for the boy to take with him as compensation for his troubles…in addition to some relief of his duties in the coming weeks. “Enjoy it. Don’t drink it all like if it were water. This is a rare treat after all. Now scatter before I change my mind!” and with that, the boy left, pleased with his dealings with the officer.
Enjoying the little devil darling’s mischievousness, Damocles saw him off as he left, snickering to himself as he noticed how the slightly younger youth could barely contain himself. Upon fate’s chance, it seemed that Achilleas had arrived just in the nick of time, armed with two cups that only heightened the Colchian’s perception of naivety from the other. He truly had not meant him to really bring those instruments, though they weren’t entirely unappreciated. One of his signature bright smiles greeted the lordling. “You arrived!” he recognized, slightly surprised that the other truly had kept his word.
“Well, I had to make sure that the drink wasn’t poisoned. Can’t have your people accuse me of murdering the man I am trying to befriend, right?” he joked, offering a bit of black humor beneath the lie he created. In reality, the missing portion of wine could be explained by the boy that had hauled the amphora jar to him, but that little bit of information didn’t need to be known for now. Besides, he figured Achilleas would not look too kindly on the act of theft, even if it was justified in the Colchian’s mind. “Come! I’ll make a friend out of you yet!” He roared, putting his callused hand behind the other man’s back as he guided him to his tent so they could engage in their small exercise in reconciliation.
“I have an idea! Why don’t you try to recognize wherefore this black wine hails from, lordling? If you guess right, I’ll share something about my past with you. But, if you guess incorrectly, you must confess to some point of mischief in your life. Deal?”
Whence he bore witness to the Taengean’s forced snicker, Damocles could not help but stare at the youth with a bewildering expression to his otherwise feasibly strongly-marked face. It almost seemed as if this boy had never been shown how to interact in an informal setting, always told to follow proper protocol, procedure, rules and conventions under every and any circumstance no matter the tone. “Clearly…” he sarcastically observed, rolling his silver eyes in nonchalant amusement to the priggishly prim and proper lordling’s attempt at hilarity. “Oh, I wouldn’t necessarily call it a flaw, per se. Call it a character quirk, a humbling trait of yourself if you will!” he tried to enliven, making a casual mental note of the Taengean’s depressed energetics-ness.
“Anyways, I’ve just the remedy for such shortcoming. Tonight you shall take up the cup and take to my side. I’ll make you laugh your hardest laugh yet, or so help me Gods I will find someone who does it for me!” he mildly teased as he patted the other’s firm back with a jovial smirk to his dark face. It was true that he knew little of the man counterpart to him so far, despite their apparent need to cooperate and work together if nothing but for the simple sake of remaining alive and well after the conclusion of such war. In his limited capacity to connect with others when needed, he turned to humor and laughter, key tools in his arsenal by which he would see to it that his objectives were at least met.
“No? I do not believe it is a tradition of my people, but knowing your kind, you’ll swear off sharing an amphora with me. My lowly commonborn mouth might contaminate your prestine regalness…and all that horseshit.” He mocked, using the same dismissive tone that he had picked-upped from other aristocrats in his life. Perchance, it could be the case that this boy was of a different stock and opinion, a less sanctimonious stance that allowed for some semblance of acceptance of the lower-class, the silver-eyed youth did not trust this intuition at all. “Well then, best be your merry way, Lord Achilleas.” He returned, noticing the incredibly slight compliment in the other’s subdued words.
Upon completing his affairs by the riverdside, Damocles turned his attention to his men, quickly busying himself with matters, both major and minor, until he could count upon the Plutonian night’s summary arrival. Most importantly, he supervised the mortuary business of tending to the dead and their funerary rites. It was an unpleasant job, if ever, but it had to be done, if not for his own commitment to the Lord of the Underworld’s tutelary patronage then for the families and loved ones that had suffered a loss today.
Meticulous attention had been paid to these rites, ordering that the great pyres had been built in proper accordance to commonplace-practice. As per his instructions, his fallen comrades has been armed in their armor and weapons, signaling to their career path before meeting their final end. Once all had been said and done, he witnessed the processional rites as a sign of respect to those whom had sadly been removed from this land. Fortunately, none of the ones he had tended to had been close associates or friends of his, but that still did not mean he had cause to smile with glee at this supervision.
He had always been uncomfortable with the writing of letters of condolences, often thinking them ill-token to the loved ones that would now mourn their known one’s passage to the Underworld. Nevertheless, he thought it his solemn right, a duty that he himself had to carry out, not because of his position as acting captain, but due to the respect that such sacrifice demanded, especially from these unsung souls of plenty and many. As per custom, he had made a small habit of at least jotting down one small trivial attribute of the deceased in his letters. It was the least he could do to honor their memory, to breath temporary life into what would inevitably a list of names that history would not remember.
All in all, a great deal of time had been dedicated to the writing of such letters, with the steady stream of hours passing by before he could make proper notice of the promised encounter he had struck with that Taengean lordling. With a final stroke of his pen, the boy-scribe-turned officer put the finishing details on his lasts before ordering one of his inferiors to manage the actual messaging and shipping of these letters. Once that was done, he breathed a heavy sigh and reposed against the wooden armchair he had long claimed as his own, closing his eyes for a small moment before offering a small prayer to the dead so they truly could pass to a better place.
Suddenly however, his tent was rushed open, with a familiar face preening widely to him. The moment he noticed him, a grand smile possessed Damocles, given that the boy’s presence meant that his small mission had been successful after all. “Did you procure it?” he asked the boy, pondering whether or not he had done his mischievous deed. “Aye sir!” responded the other, revealing an impossibly tall jar of aged Taengean wine that he had sneaked into the silver-eyed man’s tent with ease and skill. “The Lord Captain won’t notice that one of his reserves is mission.” Commented the lad as he laughed at his unruly accomplishment. “Besides, by the time he does realize that one of his precious stores has been stolen, it’ll be too late, haha!” laughed the towering officer as he poured a noticeable amount for the boy to take with him as compensation for his troubles…in addition to some relief of his duties in the coming weeks. “Enjoy it. Don’t drink it all like if it were water. This is a rare treat after all. Now scatter before I change my mind!” and with that, the boy left, pleased with his dealings with the officer.
Enjoying the little devil darling’s mischievousness, Damocles saw him off as he left, snickering to himself as he noticed how the slightly younger youth could barely contain himself. Upon fate’s chance, it seemed that Achilleas had arrived just in the nick of time, armed with two cups that only heightened the Colchian’s perception of naivety from the other. He truly had not meant him to really bring those instruments, though they weren’t entirely unappreciated. One of his signature bright smiles greeted the lordling. “You arrived!” he recognized, slightly surprised that the other truly had kept his word.
“Well, I had to make sure that the drink wasn’t poisoned. Can’t have your people accuse me of murdering the man I am trying to befriend, right?” he joked, offering a bit of black humor beneath the lie he created. In reality, the missing portion of wine could be explained by the boy that had hauled the amphora jar to him, but that little bit of information didn’t need to be known for now. Besides, he figured Achilleas would not look too kindly on the act of theft, even if it was justified in the Colchian’s mind. “Come! I’ll make a friend out of you yet!” He roared, putting his callused hand behind the other man’s back as he guided him to his tent so they could engage in their small exercise in reconciliation.
“I have an idea! Why don’t you try to recognize wherefore this black wine hails from, lordling? If you guess right, I’ll share something about my past with you. But, if you guess incorrectly, you must confess to some point of mischief in your life. Deal?”
Achilleas was not reassured by the almost surprised greeting he received from the Colchian, and he frowned, feeling defensive all of a sudden. Had the offer been made in jest? Maybe he should have trusted his instincts and given the whole thing a miss He dropped his gaze to the cups he held and then looked back at the other man. “ I thought...I usually try and hold to commitments I have made” he said curtly, and was about to offer to leave if the Colchian was otherwise indisposed when the other began speaking again, and Achilleas glanced at the wine the man had clearly partaken of already.
Those same eyes that took in the fine looking jug slid to look upon Damocles as the Taengean looked for a moment as if he might be considering that the Colchian might be serious, as if he had not considered the act of poisoning and now was. Surely not? But then Achilleas realised he was letting his nerves make him dim witted and he shoved them away and smiled, still reserved, but nevertheless a smile.
“It would be more subtle than a hurled spear, at least” he replied dryly, daring to make reference back to their first acquaintance from which they looked to start anew now. He was not sure he would go as far as ‘friends’ , for he was still uncomfortable as the Colchian’s hand settled on his back to guide him into the tent, but Achilleas thought that some sort of mutual acceptance might be achieved, and that was surely better than the strangely simmering tension that seemed to plague their interactions otherwise.
Within, the Taengean stepped forward to break the contact between them, using the pretence of casting his eyes around the interior of the tent. More modest than his own, he supposed that was to be expected, but it was tidy at least. Organised, and he could appreciate that. Achilleas himself was meticulous when it came to his own environments, he liked order, and found mess to be distracting in the extreme. Perhaps he could claim that in common in with Damocles at least?
When the soldier recalled his attention, the Baron of Euttica let his gaze fall to the two cups of wine that the other man held, inwardly cringed. He was not a big drinker at all, and hardly had many tales of ‘mischief’ that he might share when he inevitably failed to identify the origins of the beverage offered. It would be churlish however not to play along, and so Achilleas accepted the cup and lowered himself into one of the simple chairs that the lieutenant….acting Captain had laid claim to. He ignored the Lordling in a magnanimous effort at diplomacy.
“I do not pretend to be an expert on wine, Damocles, most certainly not that which can usually be found in such situations as these but I will do my best” he replied, before peering at the dark ruby liquid and raising the cup to his lips.
He let it roll around on his tongue for a moment: it was sweet but not cloyingly so, rich and surprisingly drinkable. Much more pleasant than some of the swill he’d tasted in this campaign. The lord shot a look at the Colchian,blue eyes not masking his surprise as he eventually swallowed and lowered the bronze chalice.
“I don’t know from where it hails, but I might ask you to procure me some for it is as good as what we have at home.” And then as a thought crossed his mind and a flavour of familiarity tickled his tongue he paused, looked back into the cup and up at his host again. “Unless….you look to make me a fool by serving Taengean wine to the Taengean and having him misidentify it?”
There was no bite in the accusation, indeed Achilleas looked a little amused at the notion, and he took another sip as if to convince himself. “It is, isn’t it? It tastes of home. Perhaps you have better taste than I had given you credit for, Colchian.”
He waited for the confirmation that he was right, because he was certain now that it was the case, and allowed himself to feel a little relief that it would not be him sharing stories. Certainly the man before him would have more suitable to offer anyway, Achilleas kept his nose remarkably clean. He had little choice, not if he wanted to gain the favour of the man who was far and away his harshest critic. Besides, he was a baron and had a reputation to uphold. Dismissing the inexplicable fear he had of appearing *boring* to the Colchian man, the Taengean countered.
“Come then. As you promised. A story of your past.”
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
Feb 16, 2020 21:46:36 GMT
Posted In Oil and Water on Feb 16, 2020 21:46:36 GMT
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
Achilleas was not reassured by the almost surprised greeting he received from the Colchian, and he frowned, feeling defensive all of a sudden. Had the offer been made in jest? Maybe he should have trusted his instincts and given the whole thing a miss He dropped his gaze to the cups he held and then looked back at the other man. “ I thought...I usually try and hold to commitments I have made” he said curtly, and was about to offer to leave if the Colchian was otherwise indisposed when the other began speaking again, and Achilleas glanced at the wine the man had clearly partaken of already.
Those same eyes that took in the fine looking jug slid to look upon Damocles as the Taengean looked for a moment as if he might be considering that the Colchian might be serious, as if he had not considered the act of poisoning and now was. Surely not? But then Achilleas realised he was letting his nerves make him dim witted and he shoved them away and smiled, still reserved, but nevertheless a smile.
“It would be more subtle than a hurled spear, at least” he replied dryly, daring to make reference back to their first acquaintance from which they looked to start anew now. He was not sure he would go as far as ‘friends’ , for he was still uncomfortable as the Colchian’s hand settled on his back to guide him into the tent, but Achilleas thought that some sort of mutual acceptance might be achieved, and that was surely better than the strangely simmering tension that seemed to plague their interactions otherwise.
Within, the Taengean stepped forward to break the contact between them, using the pretence of casting his eyes around the interior of the tent. More modest than his own, he supposed that was to be expected, but it was tidy at least. Organised, and he could appreciate that. Achilleas himself was meticulous when it came to his own environments, he liked order, and found mess to be distracting in the extreme. Perhaps he could claim that in common in with Damocles at least?
When the soldier recalled his attention, the Baron of Euttica let his gaze fall to the two cups of wine that the other man held, inwardly cringed. He was not a big drinker at all, and hardly had many tales of ‘mischief’ that he might share when he inevitably failed to identify the origins of the beverage offered. It would be churlish however not to play along, and so Achilleas accepted the cup and lowered himself into one of the simple chairs that the lieutenant….acting Captain had laid claim to. He ignored the Lordling in a magnanimous effort at diplomacy.
“I do not pretend to be an expert on wine, Damocles, most certainly not that which can usually be found in such situations as these but I will do my best” he replied, before peering at the dark ruby liquid and raising the cup to his lips.
He let it roll around on his tongue for a moment: it was sweet but not cloyingly so, rich and surprisingly drinkable. Much more pleasant than some of the swill he’d tasted in this campaign. The lord shot a look at the Colchian,blue eyes not masking his surprise as he eventually swallowed and lowered the bronze chalice.
“I don’t know from where it hails, but I might ask you to procure me some for it is as good as what we have at home.” And then as a thought crossed his mind and a flavour of familiarity tickled his tongue he paused, looked back into the cup and up at his host again. “Unless….you look to make me a fool by serving Taengean wine to the Taengean and having him misidentify it?”
There was no bite in the accusation, indeed Achilleas looked a little amused at the notion, and he took another sip as if to convince himself. “It is, isn’t it? It tastes of home. Perhaps you have better taste than I had given you credit for, Colchian.”
He waited for the confirmation that he was right, because he was certain now that it was the case, and allowed himself to feel a little relief that it would not be him sharing stories. Certainly the man before him would have more suitable to offer anyway, Achilleas kept his nose remarkably clean. He had little choice, not if he wanted to gain the favour of the man who was far and away his harshest critic. Besides, he was a baron and had a reputation to uphold. Dismissing the inexplicable fear he had of appearing *boring* to the Colchian man, the Taengean countered.
“Come then. As you promised. A story of your past.”
Achilleas was not reassured by the almost surprised greeting he received from the Colchian, and he frowned, feeling defensive all of a sudden. Had the offer been made in jest? Maybe he should have trusted his instincts and given the whole thing a miss He dropped his gaze to the cups he held and then looked back at the other man. “ I thought...I usually try and hold to commitments I have made” he said curtly, and was about to offer to leave if the Colchian was otherwise indisposed when the other began speaking again, and Achilleas glanced at the wine the man had clearly partaken of already.
Those same eyes that took in the fine looking jug slid to look upon Damocles as the Taengean looked for a moment as if he might be considering that the Colchian might be serious, as if he had not considered the act of poisoning and now was. Surely not? But then Achilleas realised he was letting his nerves make him dim witted and he shoved them away and smiled, still reserved, but nevertheless a smile.
“It would be more subtle than a hurled spear, at least” he replied dryly, daring to make reference back to their first acquaintance from which they looked to start anew now. He was not sure he would go as far as ‘friends’ , for he was still uncomfortable as the Colchian’s hand settled on his back to guide him into the tent, but Achilleas thought that some sort of mutual acceptance might be achieved, and that was surely better than the strangely simmering tension that seemed to plague their interactions otherwise.
Within, the Taengean stepped forward to break the contact between them, using the pretence of casting his eyes around the interior of the tent. More modest than his own, he supposed that was to be expected, but it was tidy at least. Organised, and he could appreciate that. Achilleas himself was meticulous when it came to his own environments, he liked order, and found mess to be distracting in the extreme. Perhaps he could claim that in common in with Damocles at least?
When the soldier recalled his attention, the Baron of Euttica let his gaze fall to the two cups of wine that the other man held, inwardly cringed. He was not a big drinker at all, and hardly had many tales of ‘mischief’ that he might share when he inevitably failed to identify the origins of the beverage offered. It would be churlish however not to play along, and so Achilleas accepted the cup and lowered himself into one of the simple chairs that the lieutenant….acting Captain had laid claim to. He ignored the Lordling in a magnanimous effort at diplomacy.
“I do not pretend to be an expert on wine, Damocles, most certainly not that which can usually be found in such situations as these but I will do my best” he replied, before peering at the dark ruby liquid and raising the cup to his lips.
He let it roll around on his tongue for a moment: it was sweet but not cloyingly so, rich and surprisingly drinkable. Much more pleasant than some of the swill he’d tasted in this campaign. The lord shot a look at the Colchian,blue eyes not masking his surprise as he eventually swallowed and lowered the bronze chalice.
“I don’t know from where it hails, but I might ask you to procure me some for it is as good as what we have at home.” And then as a thought crossed his mind and a flavour of familiarity tickled his tongue he paused, looked back into the cup and up at his host again. “Unless….you look to make me a fool by serving Taengean wine to the Taengean and having him misidentify it?”
There was no bite in the accusation, indeed Achilleas looked a little amused at the notion, and he took another sip as if to convince himself. “It is, isn’t it? It tastes of home. Perhaps you have better taste than I had given you credit for, Colchian.”
He waited for the confirmation that he was right, because he was certain now that it was the case, and allowed himself to feel a little relief that it would not be him sharing stories. Certainly the man before him would have more suitable to offer anyway, Achilleas kept his nose remarkably clean. He had little choice, not if he wanted to gain the favour of the man who was far and away his harshest critic. Besides, he was a baron and had a reputation to uphold. Dismissing the inexplicable fear he had of appearing *boring* to the Colchian man, the Taengean countered.
“Come then. As you promised. A story of your past.”
Ever the perceptive man that he was, Damocles was fast to notice how jaded and bewildered his evening-time guest had become. It seems that his teasing tone had been poorly-received by the boy-lord opposite to him, something that never been his intended effect, considering the reasoning behind this whole get-together. That frown said it all. Clearly, his good intentions had been misinterpreted into something entire contrary to his desires. In an effort to let the other man know that he had only meant to make some light-fun at the other’s small expense, Damocles softened a smile and made it all abundantly clear.
“It was a joke, Taengean. A joke. You know, one of those things people make when trying to get along.” He defended, hiding his initial surprise with his usual good-spirits so as to try to dissuade the situation from anything that might possibly resemble a difficult or stressed moment. This however was only a half-truth, given that he only half-expected the other man to arrive. From what he had gathered from the introverted royal, he was a serious, strongly-convicted man who did not offer much in terms of ambiguity. At the same time, he was a blue-blooded aristocrat, someone who came from a peoples that always looked down on his own as disposable and insignificant. So far, he did seem to be only measuredly less discriminatory than his cruel-hearted peers, but until further verification, Damocles would withhold that judgment in-full.
“Actually, it is not an entirely a joke…”He revealed, rushing a hand through his black locks of hair, looking lazily at the man contrary to him with a subdued undertone to his silver stare. “I actually considered that you would not arrive, given that your people tend to hate mine so much. If I am being candid, I am pleased that you gave me a chance to make amends for...everything…” continued the dark youth as he showed a slightly nervous, but earnest smile across his chiseled features. “Well, enough of this!” dismissed the Colchian before bearing witness to what possibly might have been the pale-skinned boy’s first joke back at him, making a clear reference to a past incident between them.
“Gods bless him! He does have a sense of humor! Hahaha!” cheerfully laughed the rowdier of the two as he guffawed at his own expense. Sure, it wasn’t the best he had heard before, but Damocles could recognize and appreciate humor, even dry one, in any and all shapes and sizes. “Hmm, I guess you are right in that it would be more subtle, but don’t you agree that it would also be quite uncharacteristic of a loud fellow like me?” he retorted, entertaining his traint of thought with a pondering thought of his own. "After all…I did walk into a pool of river lizards just a few hours ago, haha.” Continued to self-deprecate the man in an attempt to see if he could crack open a smile from that frosted aristocrat. Once he sensed the line of through simmer out however, he redirected attention to the confines of his tent, carrying the heavy amphora jar in one hand as if it were nothing.
“Apologies for the mess.” He addressed, noticing how a few stacks of parchment and half-finished letters had been left out to dry. Aside typical officer utensils on his desk, the content of the tent however were laboriously organized, with his shiny black armor forming centerpiece at the far end of the place, with a few chairs and accompanying pieces of furniture dotting the place. “I was busy writing letters of condolence to the befallen's loved ones before." He explained in what was objectively a pristinely ordered interior. It was in that moment however that he gently placed down the jar, curling his massive arm downwards in a way that showcased the ridges of muscle underneath his bronzed complexion. Once done, he smirked at the boy-lord, gleeful at his perceivably reluctant agreement into his small game.
“Brilliant! I can only ask for that.” He responded to Achilleas’s terms and conditions, causing the Herculean man to pour some of that unmistakably dark beverage down on the two cups. It wasn’t as if he was going to abstain from enjoying the thing himself. After all, he already knew the answer to his little query.
No stranger to fine drink, Damocles had long commissioned younger, more agile boys in his unit to take some of his aloof captain’s vintages whenever he felt like indulging a bit in some of the finer things in life. Did he approve of the fact that his own nominal superior had a noticeable drinking problem? Not particularly. In fact, it was due to this very habit that he had been able to slowly sway control of the unit away from him, machinating his way as his favored lieutenant to guarantee a speedy degradation of the self. Still, he was mesmerized by the smoothness of the vintage, enjoying the taste in a civilized manner, unlike some of the more uncouth members of his forces.
It was then that a friendly sneer formed once more on his face, with the Silver-eyed youth enjoying the way the Taengean deliberated with himself over the origins of his own wine. He gave out a jocund chortle upon being figured out, laughing amusingly as Achilleas correctly assumed his little intrigue. “It seems you more-than like my little treat, eh Achilleas?” he addressed, staring into his blue eyes with clear amusement as he carefully studied this man’s handsome features. Wait? Handsome? No. He meant strong. Yes…strong…not handsome.
“I noticed how you seemed quite sad and homesick when I brought up Taengea earlier today, and felt it right to try and offer your something from your land. It is poor substitute for the the actual place, but I tried to at least give you a small gift. If you wish you can take the rest. I only procured it for you, prude.” He sweetly revealed beneath his playful insult at the end, once more sharing a look of his azure eyes with his own steely ones.
“Oh no! The game was that you guessed the exact and proper place of origin! Yes, this is Taengean, but anyone with some modicum of sense could have made such an educated guess. Well then, spit it out! What is the exact province of origin of this particular vintage?” He once more playfully argued, chuckling as he expanded the rules of their little game.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
Ever the perceptive man that he was, Damocles was fast to notice how jaded and bewildered his evening-time guest had become. It seems that his teasing tone had been poorly-received by the boy-lord opposite to him, something that never been his intended effect, considering the reasoning behind this whole get-together. That frown said it all. Clearly, his good intentions had been misinterpreted into something entire contrary to his desires. In an effort to let the other man know that he had only meant to make some light-fun at the other’s small expense, Damocles softened a smile and made it all abundantly clear.
“It was a joke, Taengean. A joke. You know, one of those things people make when trying to get along.” He defended, hiding his initial surprise with his usual good-spirits so as to try to dissuade the situation from anything that might possibly resemble a difficult or stressed moment. This however was only a half-truth, given that he only half-expected the other man to arrive. From what he had gathered from the introverted royal, he was a serious, strongly-convicted man who did not offer much in terms of ambiguity. At the same time, he was a blue-blooded aristocrat, someone who came from a peoples that always looked down on his own as disposable and insignificant. So far, he did seem to be only measuredly less discriminatory than his cruel-hearted peers, but until further verification, Damocles would withhold that judgment in-full.
“Actually, it is not an entirely a joke…”He revealed, rushing a hand through his black locks of hair, looking lazily at the man contrary to him with a subdued undertone to his silver stare. “I actually considered that you would not arrive, given that your people tend to hate mine so much. If I am being candid, I am pleased that you gave me a chance to make amends for...everything…” continued the dark youth as he showed a slightly nervous, but earnest smile across his chiseled features. “Well, enough of this!” dismissed the Colchian before bearing witness to what possibly might have been the pale-skinned boy’s first joke back at him, making a clear reference to a past incident between them.
“Gods bless him! He does have a sense of humor! Hahaha!” cheerfully laughed the rowdier of the two as he guffawed at his own expense. Sure, it wasn’t the best he had heard before, but Damocles could recognize and appreciate humor, even dry one, in any and all shapes and sizes. “Hmm, I guess you are right in that it would be more subtle, but don’t you agree that it would also be quite uncharacteristic of a loud fellow like me?” he retorted, entertaining his traint of thought with a pondering thought of his own. "After all…I did walk into a pool of river lizards just a few hours ago, haha.” Continued to self-deprecate the man in an attempt to see if he could crack open a smile from that frosted aristocrat. Once he sensed the line of through simmer out however, he redirected attention to the confines of his tent, carrying the heavy amphora jar in one hand as if it were nothing.
“Apologies for the mess.” He addressed, noticing how a few stacks of parchment and half-finished letters had been left out to dry. Aside typical officer utensils on his desk, the content of the tent however were laboriously organized, with his shiny black armor forming centerpiece at the far end of the place, with a few chairs and accompanying pieces of furniture dotting the place. “I was busy writing letters of condolence to the befallen's loved ones before." He explained in what was objectively a pristinely ordered interior. It was in that moment however that he gently placed down the jar, curling his massive arm downwards in a way that showcased the ridges of muscle underneath his bronzed complexion. Once done, he smirked at the boy-lord, gleeful at his perceivably reluctant agreement into his small game.
“Brilliant! I can only ask for that.” He responded to Achilleas’s terms and conditions, causing the Herculean man to pour some of that unmistakably dark beverage down on the two cups. It wasn’t as if he was going to abstain from enjoying the thing himself. After all, he already knew the answer to his little query.
No stranger to fine drink, Damocles had long commissioned younger, more agile boys in his unit to take some of his aloof captain’s vintages whenever he felt like indulging a bit in some of the finer things in life. Did he approve of the fact that his own nominal superior had a noticeable drinking problem? Not particularly. In fact, it was due to this very habit that he had been able to slowly sway control of the unit away from him, machinating his way as his favored lieutenant to guarantee a speedy degradation of the self. Still, he was mesmerized by the smoothness of the vintage, enjoying the taste in a civilized manner, unlike some of the more uncouth members of his forces.
It was then that a friendly sneer formed once more on his face, with the Silver-eyed youth enjoying the way the Taengean deliberated with himself over the origins of his own wine. He gave out a jocund chortle upon being figured out, laughing amusingly as Achilleas correctly assumed his little intrigue. “It seems you more-than like my little treat, eh Achilleas?” he addressed, staring into his blue eyes with clear amusement as he carefully studied this man’s handsome features. Wait? Handsome? No. He meant strong. Yes…strong…not handsome.
“I noticed how you seemed quite sad and homesick when I brought up Taengea earlier today, and felt it right to try and offer your something from your land. It is poor substitute for the the actual place, but I tried to at least give you a small gift. If you wish you can take the rest. I only procured it for you, prude.” He sweetly revealed beneath his playful insult at the end, once more sharing a look of his azure eyes with his own steely ones.
“Oh no! The game was that you guessed the exact and proper place of origin! Yes, this is Taengean, but anyone with some modicum of sense could have made such an educated guess. Well then, spit it out! What is the exact province of origin of this particular vintage?” He once more playfully argued, chuckling as he expanded the rules of their little game.
Ever the perceptive man that he was, Damocles was fast to notice how jaded and bewildered his evening-time guest had become. It seems that his teasing tone had been poorly-received by the boy-lord opposite to him, something that never been his intended effect, considering the reasoning behind this whole get-together. That frown said it all. Clearly, his good intentions had been misinterpreted into something entire contrary to his desires. In an effort to let the other man know that he had only meant to make some light-fun at the other’s small expense, Damocles softened a smile and made it all abundantly clear.
“It was a joke, Taengean. A joke. You know, one of those things people make when trying to get along.” He defended, hiding his initial surprise with his usual good-spirits so as to try to dissuade the situation from anything that might possibly resemble a difficult or stressed moment. This however was only a half-truth, given that he only half-expected the other man to arrive. From what he had gathered from the introverted royal, he was a serious, strongly-convicted man who did not offer much in terms of ambiguity. At the same time, he was a blue-blooded aristocrat, someone who came from a peoples that always looked down on his own as disposable and insignificant. So far, he did seem to be only measuredly less discriminatory than his cruel-hearted peers, but until further verification, Damocles would withhold that judgment in-full.
“Actually, it is not an entirely a joke…”He revealed, rushing a hand through his black locks of hair, looking lazily at the man contrary to him with a subdued undertone to his silver stare. “I actually considered that you would not arrive, given that your people tend to hate mine so much. If I am being candid, I am pleased that you gave me a chance to make amends for...everything…” continued the dark youth as he showed a slightly nervous, but earnest smile across his chiseled features. “Well, enough of this!” dismissed the Colchian before bearing witness to what possibly might have been the pale-skinned boy’s first joke back at him, making a clear reference to a past incident between them.
“Gods bless him! He does have a sense of humor! Hahaha!” cheerfully laughed the rowdier of the two as he guffawed at his own expense. Sure, it wasn’t the best he had heard before, but Damocles could recognize and appreciate humor, even dry one, in any and all shapes and sizes. “Hmm, I guess you are right in that it would be more subtle, but don’t you agree that it would also be quite uncharacteristic of a loud fellow like me?” he retorted, entertaining his traint of thought with a pondering thought of his own. "After all…I did walk into a pool of river lizards just a few hours ago, haha.” Continued to self-deprecate the man in an attempt to see if he could crack open a smile from that frosted aristocrat. Once he sensed the line of through simmer out however, he redirected attention to the confines of his tent, carrying the heavy amphora jar in one hand as if it were nothing.
“Apologies for the mess.” He addressed, noticing how a few stacks of parchment and half-finished letters had been left out to dry. Aside typical officer utensils on his desk, the content of the tent however were laboriously organized, with his shiny black armor forming centerpiece at the far end of the place, with a few chairs and accompanying pieces of furniture dotting the place. “I was busy writing letters of condolence to the befallen's loved ones before." He explained in what was objectively a pristinely ordered interior. It was in that moment however that he gently placed down the jar, curling his massive arm downwards in a way that showcased the ridges of muscle underneath his bronzed complexion. Once done, he smirked at the boy-lord, gleeful at his perceivably reluctant agreement into his small game.
“Brilliant! I can only ask for that.” He responded to Achilleas’s terms and conditions, causing the Herculean man to pour some of that unmistakably dark beverage down on the two cups. It wasn’t as if he was going to abstain from enjoying the thing himself. After all, he already knew the answer to his little query.
No stranger to fine drink, Damocles had long commissioned younger, more agile boys in his unit to take some of his aloof captain’s vintages whenever he felt like indulging a bit in some of the finer things in life. Did he approve of the fact that his own nominal superior had a noticeable drinking problem? Not particularly. In fact, it was due to this very habit that he had been able to slowly sway control of the unit away from him, machinating his way as his favored lieutenant to guarantee a speedy degradation of the self. Still, he was mesmerized by the smoothness of the vintage, enjoying the taste in a civilized manner, unlike some of the more uncouth members of his forces.
It was then that a friendly sneer formed once more on his face, with the Silver-eyed youth enjoying the way the Taengean deliberated with himself over the origins of his own wine. He gave out a jocund chortle upon being figured out, laughing amusingly as Achilleas correctly assumed his little intrigue. “It seems you more-than like my little treat, eh Achilleas?” he addressed, staring into his blue eyes with clear amusement as he carefully studied this man’s handsome features. Wait? Handsome? No. He meant strong. Yes…strong…not handsome.
“I noticed how you seemed quite sad and homesick when I brought up Taengea earlier today, and felt it right to try and offer your something from your land. It is poor substitute for the the actual place, but I tried to at least give you a small gift. If you wish you can take the rest. I only procured it for you, prude.” He sweetly revealed beneath his playful insult at the end, once more sharing a look of his azure eyes with his own steely ones.
“Oh no! The game was that you guessed the exact and proper place of origin! Yes, this is Taengean, but anyone with some modicum of sense could have made such an educated guess. Well then, spit it out! What is the exact province of origin of this particular vintage?” He once more playfully argued, chuckling as he expanded the rules of their little game.
Of course it was a joke. Trying to make himself relax was more difficult than Achilleas had anticipated, and he wondered if this exercise in diplomacy was destined to fail before he had even sat down. Sometimes, personalities just did not gel, and that was the way of it. It would be no great skin off his nose if there was to be no accord found with this Colchian.
Or at least that is what he told himself.
His gaze narrowed a little though, when the other man amended that his words were not entirely without grounding, and confessed that he had wondered if Achilleas would in fact honour his invitation. The Lord did not admit that he had spent a good deal too long wondering the same thing, but instead lifted a single dark brow at the suggestion that his people had a collective behaviour. Which people? Was the question that wanted to spill forth, because there were several differentiating factors between them. He and his fellow Taengeans? Or perhaps his family specifically, for that is where the bad blood lay. Either way, Achilleas did not press at the comment, but rather made some attempt at levity. Let them at least start upon a good footing.
He could hardly disagree with the other’s response though, and gave a shrug as he moved ahead of the man into the tent. “You are right” he conceded, without turning. “You have done little to suggest that subtlety is within your capabilites yet, Lieu...Captain” Achilleas caught himself before accidentally insulting the man, being what he considered most gracious in affording the soldier his borrowed title.
Blue eyes turned somewhat incredulously to Damocles at the apology for the mess, the Taengean wondering for a moment if he had been so obvious in his inspection, or perhaps if the man could read his thoughts. He gave a small snort “I am sure you know as well as I that this can hardly be termed a mess”. He looked speculatively at the Colchian though, because if that were truly what the other had been doing, then Achilleas could add another thing to the list of reasons why the man was not so awful after all. His expression grew pensive a moment, and he added quietly “ Aah. That is never a pleasant exercise and yet one of the most important.” The first time Achilleas had to write such a missive he had stared at the parchment for hours and tried to find the perfect words to add meaning to a death and bring comfort to a family. He wasn’t sure it was a good thing that they fell so easily now.
Glad then, that his host diverted conversation to lighter subjects, the Mikaelidas lord nevertheless felt a little discomfited at the close regard of the other man when he finally identified the wine as being Taengean in origin. He blinked, glanced back down at his cup just to tear himself away from the strange silvery gaze that rested on him too unerringly. The sound of his given name falling so freely from the Colchian’s lips had him frown too as he wondered if it were over familiar, but he had no time to correct him before Damocles had caught him unawares in a show of thoughtfulness that Achilleas had not expected. Even the name calling at the end did not really detract from what had been a generous action from the man.
“That is kind” the Taengean said, with a slow incline of his head. Oddly touched by the gesture, he didn’t want to seem ungrateful in refusing the wine, and supposed he could always let the men share it if it came to that.
It would seem, however, that his efforts to identify the wine had not been good enough, the Lord looking more that a little dismayed as Damocles clarified the rules. He was not well versed enough in the subtleties of Taengea’sdifferent vineyards to do himself justice.
“ I don’t know” he confessed. “May Dionysus forgive me”. It meant of course that Achilleas would have to offer some story as entertainment and he really feared he had nothing that would be deemed wild enough for this man. Wracking his brains, he was cycling through those that involved his cousin, for they were far and away the most rambunctious stories he could tell. But even then, he could not settle upon anything he wished to share.
“I’m really not very good at telling stories.” the lord admitted after a pause. “But look, in a gesture of goodwill and because I failed your little challenge you may ask anything and I will endeavour to give you a true answer. Will that satisfy the rules of this game?”
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
Feb 17, 2020 21:46:39 GMT
Posted In Oil and Water on Feb 17, 2020 21:46:39 GMT
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
Of course it was a joke. Trying to make himself relax was more difficult than Achilleas had anticipated, and he wondered if this exercise in diplomacy was destined to fail before he had even sat down. Sometimes, personalities just did not gel, and that was the way of it. It would be no great skin off his nose if there was to be no accord found with this Colchian.
Or at least that is what he told himself.
His gaze narrowed a little though, when the other man amended that his words were not entirely without grounding, and confessed that he had wondered if Achilleas would in fact honour his invitation. The Lord did not admit that he had spent a good deal too long wondering the same thing, but instead lifted a single dark brow at the suggestion that his people had a collective behaviour. Which people? Was the question that wanted to spill forth, because there were several differentiating factors between them. He and his fellow Taengeans? Or perhaps his family specifically, for that is where the bad blood lay. Either way, Achilleas did not press at the comment, but rather made some attempt at levity. Let them at least start upon a good footing.
He could hardly disagree with the other’s response though, and gave a shrug as he moved ahead of the man into the tent. “You are right” he conceded, without turning. “You have done little to suggest that subtlety is within your capabilites yet, Lieu...Captain” Achilleas caught himself before accidentally insulting the man, being what he considered most gracious in affording the soldier his borrowed title.
Blue eyes turned somewhat incredulously to Damocles at the apology for the mess, the Taengean wondering for a moment if he had been so obvious in his inspection, or perhaps if the man could read his thoughts. He gave a small snort “I am sure you know as well as I that this can hardly be termed a mess”. He looked speculatively at the Colchian though, because if that were truly what the other had been doing, then Achilleas could add another thing to the list of reasons why the man was not so awful after all. His expression grew pensive a moment, and he added quietly “ Aah. That is never a pleasant exercise and yet one of the most important.” The first time Achilleas had to write such a missive he had stared at the parchment for hours and tried to find the perfect words to add meaning to a death and bring comfort to a family. He wasn’t sure it was a good thing that they fell so easily now.
Glad then, that his host diverted conversation to lighter subjects, the Mikaelidas lord nevertheless felt a little discomfited at the close regard of the other man when he finally identified the wine as being Taengean in origin. He blinked, glanced back down at his cup just to tear himself away from the strange silvery gaze that rested on him too unerringly. The sound of his given name falling so freely from the Colchian’s lips had him frown too as he wondered if it were over familiar, but he had no time to correct him before Damocles had caught him unawares in a show of thoughtfulness that Achilleas had not expected. Even the name calling at the end did not really detract from what had been a generous action from the man.
“That is kind” the Taengean said, with a slow incline of his head. Oddly touched by the gesture, he didn’t want to seem ungrateful in refusing the wine, and supposed he could always let the men share it if it came to that.
It would seem, however, that his efforts to identify the wine had not been good enough, the Lord looking more that a little dismayed as Damocles clarified the rules. He was not well versed enough in the subtleties of Taengea’sdifferent vineyards to do himself justice.
“ I don’t know” he confessed. “May Dionysus forgive me”. It meant of course that Achilleas would have to offer some story as entertainment and he really feared he had nothing that would be deemed wild enough for this man. Wracking his brains, he was cycling through those that involved his cousin, for they were far and away the most rambunctious stories he could tell. But even then, he could not settle upon anything he wished to share.
“I’m really not very good at telling stories.” the lord admitted after a pause. “But look, in a gesture of goodwill and because I failed your little challenge you may ask anything and I will endeavour to give you a true answer. Will that satisfy the rules of this game?”
Of course it was a joke. Trying to make himself relax was more difficult than Achilleas had anticipated, and he wondered if this exercise in diplomacy was destined to fail before he had even sat down. Sometimes, personalities just did not gel, and that was the way of it. It would be no great skin off his nose if there was to be no accord found with this Colchian.
Or at least that is what he told himself.
His gaze narrowed a little though, when the other man amended that his words were not entirely without grounding, and confessed that he had wondered if Achilleas would in fact honour his invitation. The Lord did not admit that he had spent a good deal too long wondering the same thing, but instead lifted a single dark brow at the suggestion that his people had a collective behaviour. Which people? Was the question that wanted to spill forth, because there were several differentiating factors between them. He and his fellow Taengeans? Or perhaps his family specifically, for that is where the bad blood lay. Either way, Achilleas did not press at the comment, but rather made some attempt at levity. Let them at least start upon a good footing.
He could hardly disagree with the other’s response though, and gave a shrug as he moved ahead of the man into the tent. “You are right” he conceded, without turning. “You have done little to suggest that subtlety is within your capabilites yet, Lieu...Captain” Achilleas caught himself before accidentally insulting the man, being what he considered most gracious in affording the soldier his borrowed title.
Blue eyes turned somewhat incredulously to Damocles at the apology for the mess, the Taengean wondering for a moment if he had been so obvious in his inspection, or perhaps if the man could read his thoughts. He gave a small snort “I am sure you know as well as I that this can hardly be termed a mess”. He looked speculatively at the Colchian though, because if that were truly what the other had been doing, then Achilleas could add another thing to the list of reasons why the man was not so awful after all. His expression grew pensive a moment, and he added quietly “ Aah. That is never a pleasant exercise and yet one of the most important.” The first time Achilleas had to write such a missive he had stared at the parchment for hours and tried to find the perfect words to add meaning to a death and bring comfort to a family. He wasn’t sure it was a good thing that they fell so easily now.
Glad then, that his host diverted conversation to lighter subjects, the Mikaelidas lord nevertheless felt a little discomfited at the close regard of the other man when he finally identified the wine as being Taengean in origin. He blinked, glanced back down at his cup just to tear himself away from the strange silvery gaze that rested on him too unerringly. The sound of his given name falling so freely from the Colchian’s lips had him frown too as he wondered if it were over familiar, but he had no time to correct him before Damocles had caught him unawares in a show of thoughtfulness that Achilleas had not expected. Even the name calling at the end did not really detract from what had been a generous action from the man.
“That is kind” the Taengean said, with a slow incline of his head. Oddly touched by the gesture, he didn’t want to seem ungrateful in refusing the wine, and supposed he could always let the men share it if it came to that.
It would seem, however, that his efforts to identify the wine had not been good enough, the Lord looking more that a little dismayed as Damocles clarified the rules. He was not well versed enough in the subtleties of Taengea’sdifferent vineyards to do himself justice.
“ I don’t know” he confessed. “May Dionysus forgive me”. It meant of course that Achilleas would have to offer some story as entertainment and he really feared he had nothing that would be deemed wild enough for this man. Wracking his brains, he was cycling through those that involved his cousin, for they were far and away the most rambunctious stories he could tell. But even then, he could not settle upon anything he wished to share.
“I’m really not very good at telling stories.” the lord admitted after a pause. “But look, in a gesture of goodwill and because I failed your little challenge you may ask anything and I will endeavour to give you a true answer. Will that satisfy the rules of this game?”