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Now armed with information regarding the upcoming war with Egypt and the knowledge of his father's safety, Crown Prince Vangelis has called for his military counsel as General. All soldiers from the rank of Captain and above have been summoned to the household currently rented by the Valaoritis family in Midas. Here, a large dining chamber has been prepared for the meet, so as to avoid holding any further, potentially dangerous gatherings under the Dikastirio or Kotas roofs... Here, the men prepare to discuss Colchis' involvement in the war and how best to handle the news from the South that Taengea have lost yet another king... Here, they prepare their mental armoury.
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Now armed with information regarding the upcoming war with Egypt and the knowledge of his father's safety, Crown Prince Vangelis has called for his military counsel as General. All soldiers from the rank of Captain and above have been summoned to the household currently rented by the Valaoritis family in Midas. Here, a large dining chamber has been prepared for the meet, so as to avoid holding any further, potentially dangerous gatherings under the Dikastirio or Kotas roofs... Here, the men prepare to discuss Colchis' involvement in the war and how best to handle the news from the South that Taengea have lost yet another king... Here, they prepare their mental armoury.
The Armoury Event - Colchis
Now armed with information regarding the upcoming war with Egypt and the knowledge of his father's safety, Crown Prince Vangelis has called for his military counsel as General. All soldiers from the rank of Captain and above have been summoned to the household currently rented by the Valaoritis family in Midas. Here, a large dining chamber has been prepared for the meet, so as to avoid holding any further, potentially dangerous gatherings under the Dikastirio or Kotas roofs... Here, the men prepare to discuss Colchis' involvement in the war and how best to handle the news from the South that Taengea have lost yet another king... Here, they prepare their mental armoury.
Vangelis was familiar with the chamber within which he found himself, from a single visit he had made to this household a few days ago. Whilst he might not know the finer details of the room, the history of the furniture and decor or the intimate locations of the items within, he was at least confident that the large dining chamber would offer all that the due arrivals would need in order to carry out the purpose of their meeting.
A man of pragmatic efficiency, Vangelis had ordered the chamber cleared of all chairs. The high backed, western style chairs that flanked the window at the far end, plus the seats that would normally surround the long stretch of mahogany woodwork that composed the table, had all been removed from the room, creating space enough for a crowd three men deep beside each of its lengths before backs began to brush walls and cabinets.
The large window that stood glassless and opening onto a balcony was also an asset - a strong source of light that would be needed when there were so many participants within the room. Shadows, cast by the tall and imposing figures of Colchian soldiers, were not conducive to easy reading of the maps and paperwork that lay strewn over the tabletop. In fact, further light had been required in the form of burning brackets that had been set up down either side of the room, despite it being only a little past noon in the day.
Whilst all soldiers who wished to be promoted to Captain and above had to be able to read and write in order to achieve such a position, some of the less experienced commanding officers weren't as practiced in the craft. And making the room dim and dingy was only asking for the meet to continue far longer than necessary in favour of challenging the less literate of the group.
In one corner of the room hung a wall tapestry, depicting the Valaoritis shield. On a side bureau against the wall opposite to the windows lay trays with goblets and jugs of wine - offerings that he had directed his friend and guest, Stephanos towards. Across the table were several maps - of both Taengea and of Egypt, not to mention the trade routes and thoroughfares of the seas in between. Closer to the head of table - where Vangelis had set up a position for himself - where sheets of parchment that depicted the numbers and current training status of the men in each military unit of the kingdom.
For himself, preparation had been far less warranted than the room. Dressed in a black chiton that was double-shouldered but ended at the knees, his dark leather sandals were strapped to the knee and sported grieves of burnished bronze. His forearms were clad in the same metal from wrist to elbow in bracers that were fixed in place by the criss-crossing of black leather thongs up the insides of his forearms. He wore no crown now - for he never had when he had been a Crown Prince before - and there were no ornate fibulae on his shoulders - only simple black ties. His chiton was cinched at the waist by his usual leather belt, his duals swords in place at his hip and shoulder and a myriad of knives and smaller weapons affixed in place. The braided leather bracelet hung from around his wrist as usual and his two rings - one of his position as Crown Prince and the other for his Head of Houseship were back in place upon his hands.
For all intents and purposes, Vangelis had returned to his familiar status from two weeks prior.
The Blood General had returned.
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Nov 13, 2019 21:23:37 GMT
Posted In The Armoury on Nov 13, 2019 21:23:37 GMT
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Vangelis was familiar with the chamber within which he found himself, from a single visit he had made to this household a few days ago. Whilst he might not know the finer details of the room, the history of the furniture and decor or the intimate locations of the items within, he was at least confident that the large dining chamber would offer all that the due arrivals would need in order to carry out the purpose of their meeting.
A man of pragmatic efficiency, Vangelis had ordered the chamber cleared of all chairs. The high backed, western style chairs that flanked the window at the far end, plus the seats that would normally surround the long stretch of mahogany woodwork that composed the table, had all been removed from the room, creating space enough for a crowd three men deep beside each of its lengths before backs began to brush walls and cabinets.
The large window that stood glassless and opening onto a balcony was also an asset - a strong source of light that would be needed when there were so many participants within the room. Shadows, cast by the tall and imposing figures of Colchian soldiers, were not conducive to easy reading of the maps and paperwork that lay strewn over the tabletop. In fact, further light had been required in the form of burning brackets that had been set up down either side of the room, despite it being only a little past noon in the day.
Whilst all soldiers who wished to be promoted to Captain and above had to be able to read and write in order to achieve such a position, some of the less experienced commanding officers weren't as practiced in the craft. And making the room dim and dingy was only asking for the meet to continue far longer than necessary in favour of challenging the less literate of the group.
In one corner of the room hung a wall tapestry, depicting the Valaoritis shield. On a side bureau against the wall opposite to the windows lay trays with goblets and jugs of wine - offerings that he had directed his friend and guest, Stephanos towards. Across the table were several maps - of both Taengea and of Egypt, not to mention the trade routes and thoroughfares of the seas in between. Closer to the head of table - where Vangelis had set up a position for himself - where sheets of parchment that depicted the numbers and current training status of the men in each military unit of the kingdom.
For himself, preparation had been far less warranted than the room. Dressed in a black chiton that was double-shouldered but ended at the knees, his dark leather sandals were strapped to the knee and sported grieves of burnished bronze. His forearms were clad in the same metal from wrist to elbow in bracers that were fixed in place by the criss-crossing of black leather thongs up the insides of his forearms. He wore no crown now - for he never had when he had been a Crown Prince before - and there were no ornate fibulae on his shoulders - only simple black ties. His chiton was cinched at the waist by his usual leather belt, his duals swords in place at his hip and shoulder and a myriad of knives and smaller weapons affixed in place. The braided leather bracelet hung from around his wrist as usual and his two rings - one of his position as Crown Prince and the other for his Head of Houseship were back in place upon his hands.
For all intents and purposes, Vangelis had returned to his familiar status from two weeks prior.
The Blood General had returned.
Vangelis was familiar with the chamber within which he found himself, from a single visit he had made to this household a few days ago. Whilst he might not know the finer details of the room, the history of the furniture and decor or the intimate locations of the items within, he was at least confident that the large dining chamber would offer all that the due arrivals would need in order to carry out the purpose of their meeting.
A man of pragmatic efficiency, Vangelis had ordered the chamber cleared of all chairs. The high backed, western style chairs that flanked the window at the far end, plus the seats that would normally surround the long stretch of mahogany woodwork that composed the table, had all been removed from the room, creating space enough for a crowd three men deep beside each of its lengths before backs began to brush walls and cabinets.
The large window that stood glassless and opening onto a balcony was also an asset - a strong source of light that would be needed when there were so many participants within the room. Shadows, cast by the tall and imposing figures of Colchian soldiers, were not conducive to easy reading of the maps and paperwork that lay strewn over the tabletop. In fact, further light had been required in the form of burning brackets that had been set up down either side of the room, despite it being only a little past noon in the day.
Whilst all soldiers who wished to be promoted to Captain and above had to be able to read and write in order to achieve such a position, some of the less experienced commanding officers weren't as practiced in the craft. And making the room dim and dingy was only asking for the meet to continue far longer than necessary in favour of challenging the less literate of the group.
In one corner of the room hung a wall tapestry, depicting the Valaoritis shield. On a side bureau against the wall opposite to the windows lay trays with goblets and jugs of wine - offerings that he had directed his friend and guest, Stephanos towards. Across the table were several maps - of both Taengea and of Egypt, not to mention the trade routes and thoroughfares of the seas in between. Closer to the head of table - where Vangelis had set up a position for himself - where sheets of parchment that depicted the numbers and current training status of the men in each military unit of the kingdom.
For himself, preparation had been far less warranted than the room. Dressed in a black chiton that was double-shouldered but ended at the knees, his dark leather sandals were strapped to the knee and sported grieves of burnished bronze. His forearms were clad in the same metal from wrist to elbow in bracers that were fixed in place by the criss-crossing of black leather thongs up the insides of his forearms. He wore no crown now - for he never had when he had been a Crown Prince before - and there were no ornate fibulae on his shoulders - only simple black ties. His chiton was cinched at the waist by his usual leather belt, his duals swords in place at his hip and shoulder and a myriad of knives and smaller weapons affixed in place. The braided leather bracelet hung from around his wrist as usual and his two rings - one of his position as Crown Prince and the other for his Head of Houseship were back in place upon his hands.
For all intents and purposes, Vangelis had returned to his familiar status from two weeks prior.
The Blood General had returned.
The past few weeks has been an absolute whirlwind. Prepared for a coronation that was then deemed not necessary when King Tython made his unceremonious return, in between ensuring the King was safe, and then information regarding an upcoming war with Egypt has made Nike not differentiate between day and night as she rushed to ensure the men were fully prepared for a full fledged oncoming war, while also doubling security around the Kotas manor. An attempt on the life of Vangelis was not taken upon lightly, and investigations were still underway, even as they prepared for the upcoming war.
She had not been eager to attend the meeting, but while Nike knew her prowess was in quick thinking, being in the company of high ranking military officers who also held baronies still unnerved her. The girl did not like nobility or their ilk, and only tolerated them because she emulated Vangelis. The man she followed, worked for and protected held as much love as Nike had for the needs and niceties of the nobility, but he had to for he was the prince, and in turn, Nike followed only because in these times of strife, she trusted little else to ensure he didn't almost die yet again from another attempt at his life.
So she followed him within the Valaoritis household, cladded in a deep dark brown herself. Leather braces from her wrists, her hair a little longer then she'd like that she's had to keep it away from her eyes with a leather strip, Nike had slipped her two daggers in her ankle high boots, her claymore strapped to her back. She no longer used her longsword, for her strength had grew along with her usage of the claymore that she now wielded it with both hands and little difficulty, using the heavier weapon to her advantage, over the lighter and flimsier longswords her men used. Her long tunic covered the way her legs were shapelier then the men's, but Nike tended to keep to the shadows anyhow, even as her eyes roamed the area at watch, even as Vangelis took his seat.
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The past few weeks has been an absolute whirlwind. Prepared for a coronation that was then deemed not necessary when King Tython made his unceremonious return, in between ensuring the King was safe, and then information regarding an upcoming war with Egypt has made Nike not differentiate between day and night as she rushed to ensure the men were fully prepared for a full fledged oncoming war, while also doubling security around the Kotas manor. An attempt on the life of Vangelis was not taken upon lightly, and investigations were still underway, even as they prepared for the upcoming war.
She had not been eager to attend the meeting, but while Nike knew her prowess was in quick thinking, being in the company of high ranking military officers who also held baronies still unnerved her. The girl did not like nobility or their ilk, and only tolerated them because she emulated Vangelis. The man she followed, worked for and protected held as much love as Nike had for the needs and niceties of the nobility, but he had to for he was the prince, and in turn, Nike followed only because in these times of strife, she trusted little else to ensure he didn't almost die yet again from another attempt at his life.
So she followed him within the Valaoritis household, cladded in a deep dark brown herself. Leather braces from her wrists, her hair a little longer then she'd like that she's had to keep it away from her eyes with a leather strip, Nike had slipped her two daggers in her ankle high boots, her claymore strapped to her back. She no longer used her longsword, for her strength had grew along with her usage of the claymore that she now wielded it with both hands and little difficulty, using the heavier weapon to her advantage, over the lighter and flimsier longswords her men used. Her long tunic covered the way her legs were shapelier then the men's, but Nike tended to keep to the shadows anyhow, even as her eyes roamed the area at watch, even as Vangelis took his seat.
The past few weeks has been an absolute whirlwind. Prepared for a coronation that was then deemed not necessary when King Tython made his unceremonious return, in between ensuring the King was safe, and then information regarding an upcoming war with Egypt has made Nike not differentiate between day and night as she rushed to ensure the men were fully prepared for a full fledged oncoming war, while also doubling security around the Kotas manor. An attempt on the life of Vangelis was not taken upon lightly, and investigations were still underway, even as they prepared for the upcoming war.
She had not been eager to attend the meeting, but while Nike knew her prowess was in quick thinking, being in the company of high ranking military officers who also held baronies still unnerved her. The girl did not like nobility or their ilk, and only tolerated them because she emulated Vangelis. The man she followed, worked for and protected held as much love as Nike had for the needs and niceties of the nobility, but he had to for he was the prince, and in turn, Nike followed only because in these times of strife, she trusted little else to ensure he didn't almost die yet again from another attempt at his life.
So she followed him within the Valaoritis household, cladded in a deep dark brown herself. Leather braces from her wrists, her hair a little longer then she'd like that she's had to keep it away from her eyes with a leather strip, Nike had slipped her two daggers in her ankle high boots, her claymore strapped to her back. She no longer used her longsword, for her strength had grew along with her usage of the claymore that she now wielded it with both hands and little difficulty, using the heavier weapon to her advantage, over the lighter and flimsier longswords her men used. Her long tunic covered the way her legs were shapelier then the men's, but Nike tended to keep to the shadows anyhow, even as her eyes roamed the area at watch, even as Vangelis took his seat.
Maleos had mixed feelings as he made his way to the military counsel meeting. Deep down the excitement still burned inside him, the feelings of a younger man who yet still clung tightly to those dreams of glory and heroic actions. The rest of him knew better, as a man who had served thirteen years in the military and clawed his way to Captain in those years, his dreams had begun to fade, and as they did, the passion for killing did as well. It was a recent thing, something he had only just begun to realize about himself, that he was feeling disenchanted with his career. He held no regrets for anything he had done, for the choices he had made or for the dedication he had given to Colchis and her leaders.
He merely felt as if there was something missing, that he had lost sight of what it was that had made him so passionate about all of this in the first place.
As he rode his horse from the rented villa he and his men had claimed as their barracks, his thoughts turned to his family. His brother, his sisters and his elderly parents back in Eubocris. It had been a long time since he had seen them, unable to make the trip back to his childhood home due to his obligations as Captain. His heart ached at the thought of never seeing them again. Should something happen to him on the battlefield, or god forbid should something somehow happen to any of them. In his younger years, when he had spent much time on campaigns, he had written to them often, regaling them with tales of his actions and bravery.
He could not remember the last time he had written to them, lost in the world of Midas and the twisted shadows of politics. That, and being distracted by a new occurrence, feelings he had never felt before developing for a childhood friend. Feelings that he felt he could not act on, even if they were reciprocated by Leto.
His mind was weighted with distractions that he attempted to clear as he approached the house he had been summoned to. He dismounted his horse, leaving it to the care of the stable hands who offered to house it for the duration of his stay there.
He was dressed in a clean military uniform, a maroon colour that he hated despite what it symbolized. A single galerus adorned his right shoulder, and greaves were fitted to his legs. All pieces of armour were polished and clean, brand new and only used for show when he had to attend more formal military functions. His real armour was marked, scuffed and battleworn, but still in proper condition to use during battle. That he would not wear when trying to make an impression. And as always, his most trusted sword was at his side, sheathed for the moment, but ready to be drawn should any trouble arise. Thoughts of the problems from the other night still fresh in his mind.
And he was absolutely trying to make an impression. He had put in extra effort that day, his hair was carefully slicked back and tied behind his head to keep it out of his face, the scar that ran across his right cheek and ended at his ear was more obvious with his hair pulled back in such a manner. He had taken every step he could think of to look clean and presentable, while his strong demeanor remained. Despite his recent disenchantment with his previous boyhood feelings of military glory, he still wished some day to be promoted above Captain. And as such, he knew he needed to make an impression on those who were above even Timaeus. His best friend could not help him any further in his career, beyond potential introductions and recommendations to those who could advance him further in the ranks.
And so, the unusually well-groomed Captain made his way into the house and to the dining hall he had been directed to. Upon entering, he noticed that he was among the first arrivals, and he briefly wondered if that would be taken as a good sign or a bad one. Perhaps he did not need to hurry as much as he had.
Maleos gave a deep, respectful bow as he greeted the Crown Prince. He could not remember ever being formally introduced to the man, so once the formal greetings were out of the way, he spoke once more.
“Captain Maleos, of the Men of the Heights.” He said, introducing himself. He hoped like hell his first official impression was a good one.
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Nov 18, 2019 22:18:45 GMT
Posted In The Armoury on Nov 18, 2019 22:18:45 GMT
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Maleos had mixed feelings as he made his way to the military counsel meeting. Deep down the excitement still burned inside him, the feelings of a younger man who yet still clung tightly to those dreams of glory and heroic actions. The rest of him knew better, as a man who had served thirteen years in the military and clawed his way to Captain in those years, his dreams had begun to fade, and as they did, the passion for killing did as well. It was a recent thing, something he had only just begun to realize about himself, that he was feeling disenchanted with his career. He held no regrets for anything he had done, for the choices he had made or for the dedication he had given to Colchis and her leaders.
He merely felt as if there was something missing, that he had lost sight of what it was that had made him so passionate about all of this in the first place.
As he rode his horse from the rented villa he and his men had claimed as their barracks, his thoughts turned to his family. His brother, his sisters and his elderly parents back in Eubocris. It had been a long time since he had seen them, unable to make the trip back to his childhood home due to his obligations as Captain. His heart ached at the thought of never seeing them again. Should something happen to him on the battlefield, or god forbid should something somehow happen to any of them. In his younger years, when he had spent much time on campaigns, he had written to them often, regaling them with tales of his actions and bravery.
He could not remember the last time he had written to them, lost in the world of Midas and the twisted shadows of politics. That, and being distracted by a new occurrence, feelings he had never felt before developing for a childhood friend. Feelings that he felt he could not act on, even if they were reciprocated by Leto.
His mind was weighted with distractions that he attempted to clear as he approached the house he had been summoned to. He dismounted his horse, leaving it to the care of the stable hands who offered to house it for the duration of his stay there.
He was dressed in a clean military uniform, a maroon colour that he hated despite what it symbolized. A single galerus adorned his right shoulder, and greaves were fitted to his legs. All pieces of armour were polished and clean, brand new and only used for show when he had to attend more formal military functions. His real armour was marked, scuffed and battleworn, but still in proper condition to use during battle. That he would not wear when trying to make an impression. And as always, his most trusted sword was at his side, sheathed for the moment, but ready to be drawn should any trouble arise. Thoughts of the problems from the other night still fresh in his mind.
And he was absolutely trying to make an impression. He had put in extra effort that day, his hair was carefully slicked back and tied behind his head to keep it out of his face, the scar that ran across his right cheek and ended at his ear was more obvious with his hair pulled back in such a manner. He had taken every step he could think of to look clean and presentable, while his strong demeanor remained. Despite his recent disenchantment with his previous boyhood feelings of military glory, he still wished some day to be promoted above Captain. And as such, he knew he needed to make an impression on those who were above even Timaeus. His best friend could not help him any further in his career, beyond potential introductions and recommendations to those who could advance him further in the ranks.
And so, the unusually well-groomed Captain made his way into the house and to the dining hall he had been directed to. Upon entering, he noticed that he was among the first arrivals, and he briefly wondered if that would be taken as a good sign or a bad one. Perhaps he did not need to hurry as much as he had.
Maleos gave a deep, respectful bow as he greeted the Crown Prince. He could not remember ever being formally introduced to the man, so once the formal greetings were out of the way, he spoke once more.
“Captain Maleos, of the Men of the Heights.” He said, introducing himself. He hoped like hell his first official impression was a good one.
Maleos had mixed feelings as he made his way to the military counsel meeting. Deep down the excitement still burned inside him, the feelings of a younger man who yet still clung tightly to those dreams of glory and heroic actions. The rest of him knew better, as a man who had served thirteen years in the military and clawed his way to Captain in those years, his dreams had begun to fade, and as they did, the passion for killing did as well. It was a recent thing, something he had only just begun to realize about himself, that he was feeling disenchanted with his career. He held no regrets for anything he had done, for the choices he had made or for the dedication he had given to Colchis and her leaders.
He merely felt as if there was something missing, that he had lost sight of what it was that had made him so passionate about all of this in the first place.
As he rode his horse from the rented villa he and his men had claimed as their barracks, his thoughts turned to his family. His brother, his sisters and his elderly parents back in Eubocris. It had been a long time since he had seen them, unable to make the trip back to his childhood home due to his obligations as Captain. His heart ached at the thought of never seeing them again. Should something happen to him on the battlefield, or god forbid should something somehow happen to any of them. In his younger years, when he had spent much time on campaigns, he had written to them often, regaling them with tales of his actions and bravery.
He could not remember the last time he had written to them, lost in the world of Midas and the twisted shadows of politics. That, and being distracted by a new occurrence, feelings he had never felt before developing for a childhood friend. Feelings that he felt he could not act on, even if they were reciprocated by Leto.
His mind was weighted with distractions that he attempted to clear as he approached the house he had been summoned to. He dismounted his horse, leaving it to the care of the stable hands who offered to house it for the duration of his stay there.
He was dressed in a clean military uniform, a maroon colour that he hated despite what it symbolized. A single galerus adorned his right shoulder, and greaves were fitted to his legs. All pieces of armour were polished and clean, brand new and only used for show when he had to attend more formal military functions. His real armour was marked, scuffed and battleworn, but still in proper condition to use during battle. That he would not wear when trying to make an impression. And as always, his most trusted sword was at his side, sheathed for the moment, but ready to be drawn should any trouble arise. Thoughts of the problems from the other night still fresh in his mind.
And he was absolutely trying to make an impression. He had put in extra effort that day, his hair was carefully slicked back and tied behind his head to keep it out of his face, the scar that ran across his right cheek and ended at his ear was more obvious with his hair pulled back in such a manner. He had taken every step he could think of to look clean and presentable, while his strong demeanor remained. Despite his recent disenchantment with his previous boyhood feelings of military glory, he still wished some day to be promoted above Captain. And as such, he knew he needed to make an impression on those who were above even Timaeus. His best friend could not help him any further in his career, beyond potential introductions and recommendations to those who could advance him further in the ranks.
And so, the unusually well-groomed Captain made his way into the house and to the dining hall he had been directed to. Upon entering, he noticed that he was among the first arrivals, and he briefly wondered if that would be taken as a good sign or a bad one. Perhaps he did not need to hurry as much as he had.
Maleos gave a deep, respectful bow as he greeted the Crown Prince. He could not remember ever being formally introduced to the man, so once the formal greetings were out of the way, he spoke once more.
“Captain Maleos, of the Men of the Heights.” He said, introducing himself. He hoped like hell his first official impression was a good one.
Silanos hadn’t slept well. Which didn’t mean much, because he never slept well, but this had been particularly unpleasant. It had been nearly a week since the Crown Prince has descended upon the manor house that played host to the Valaoritis brothers when they were in Midas. A week since Vangelis had sought them out to address problems that were of Silanos’ own making, and a week since the Blood General had proclaimed that he would take Sil into his service as an opportunity for the young Lord to atone for his misdeeds.
Not exactly the kind of information that lent itself towards a good night’s sleep.
At the time, it had felt like a near escape, an easy way out of a situation that Sil had honestly thought he might end up paying for in blood or worse. He had been relieved. But when the immediacy of the moment had passed and Sil had stopped fearing his own murder, he began to have his doubts. It had not exactly been presented as a choice, after all, and the young lord had little idea as to what was expected of him. Prince Vangelis had said only that they would discuss the details of it following the meeting he had called. The meeting that Silanos was supposed to attend, for gods knows whatever reason.
The servants had already attended to the orders the Prince had left regarding the room setting, the rest of the manor had been primed for the descent of Colchis’ military might, and Sil had..dawdled his way through his morning. Freed at last from the drills he’d been subjected to under Maleos’ reign, it had left him with a little too much time to think and he’d been dissatisfied with where his thoughts had left him. The Stone Prince, as he was named, was not exactly known for his equable nature, and Sil really wasn’t sure that being expected to be around the man for any long periods would be good for his health. At least if there had been some definite punishment meted out, that wasn’t outright killing him, then it would have been and dusted and he could have gotten on with his life. But..in service to Prince Vangelis, Silanos was coming to realise that he was going to have tow what was likely a very dull line indefinitely and it was worrying as a concept.
Trying to keep out Timaeus’ way, Silanos had stayed in his rooms, and then it was only when he’d heard voices raised louder than any servants would be that he realised he’d waited too long, and so he arrived in the meeting room after the Prince, which was probably not how he should have done things. And then because there were soldiers milling around, and Maleos was there, he’d positioned himself towards the back of the room, slouched back against the wall and watching the goings-on with a disinterested air.
War with Egypt did not seem all that dramatic a prospect. Colchis was always at war with someone, it was what they did. Not being a soldier, Silanos had never been close to one, nor even the planning of one, and so he felt more than a little out of place amongst these men who made a business out of war and wore armor and weapons to a meeting of all things. He supposed he ought to present himself to the Prince, but Sil was happy not to bring himself to the man’s attention just yet. Or ever, really, if he had his way
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Nov 25, 2019 19:27:30 GMT
Posted In The Armoury on Nov 25, 2019 19:27:30 GMT
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Silanos hadn’t slept well. Which didn’t mean much, because he never slept well, but this had been particularly unpleasant. It had been nearly a week since the Crown Prince has descended upon the manor house that played host to the Valaoritis brothers when they were in Midas. A week since Vangelis had sought them out to address problems that were of Silanos’ own making, and a week since the Blood General had proclaimed that he would take Sil into his service as an opportunity for the young Lord to atone for his misdeeds.
Not exactly the kind of information that lent itself towards a good night’s sleep.
At the time, it had felt like a near escape, an easy way out of a situation that Sil had honestly thought he might end up paying for in blood or worse. He had been relieved. But when the immediacy of the moment had passed and Sil had stopped fearing his own murder, he began to have his doubts. It had not exactly been presented as a choice, after all, and the young lord had little idea as to what was expected of him. Prince Vangelis had said only that they would discuss the details of it following the meeting he had called. The meeting that Silanos was supposed to attend, for gods knows whatever reason.
The servants had already attended to the orders the Prince had left regarding the room setting, the rest of the manor had been primed for the descent of Colchis’ military might, and Sil had..dawdled his way through his morning. Freed at last from the drills he’d been subjected to under Maleos’ reign, it had left him with a little too much time to think and he’d been dissatisfied with where his thoughts had left him. The Stone Prince, as he was named, was not exactly known for his equable nature, and Sil really wasn’t sure that being expected to be around the man for any long periods would be good for his health. At least if there had been some definite punishment meted out, that wasn’t outright killing him, then it would have been and dusted and he could have gotten on with his life. But..in service to Prince Vangelis, Silanos was coming to realise that he was going to have tow what was likely a very dull line indefinitely and it was worrying as a concept.
Trying to keep out Timaeus’ way, Silanos had stayed in his rooms, and then it was only when he’d heard voices raised louder than any servants would be that he realised he’d waited too long, and so he arrived in the meeting room after the Prince, which was probably not how he should have done things. And then because there were soldiers milling around, and Maleos was there, he’d positioned himself towards the back of the room, slouched back against the wall and watching the goings-on with a disinterested air.
War with Egypt did not seem all that dramatic a prospect. Colchis was always at war with someone, it was what they did. Not being a soldier, Silanos had never been close to one, nor even the planning of one, and so he felt more than a little out of place amongst these men who made a business out of war and wore armor and weapons to a meeting of all things. He supposed he ought to present himself to the Prince, but Sil was happy not to bring himself to the man’s attention just yet. Or ever, really, if he had his way
Silanos hadn’t slept well. Which didn’t mean much, because he never slept well, but this had been particularly unpleasant. It had been nearly a week since the Crown Prince has descended upon the manor house that played host to the Valaoritis brothers when they were in Midas. A week since Vangelis had sought them out to address problems that were of Silanos’ own making, and a week since the Blood General had proclaimed that he would take Sil into his service as an opportunity for the young Lord to atone for his misdeeds.
Not exactly the kind of information that lent itself towards a good night’s sleep.
At the time, it had felt like a near escape, an easy way out of a situation that Sil had honestly thought he might end up paying for in blood or worse. He had been relieved. But when the immediacy of the moment had passed and Sil had stopped fearing his own murder, he began to have his doubts. It had not exactly been presented as a choice, after all, and the young lord had little idea as to what was expected of him. Prince Vangelis had said only that they would discuss the details of it following the meeting he had called. The meeting that Silanos was supposed to attend, for gods knows whatever reason.
The servants had already attended to the orders the Prince had left regarding the room setting, the rest of the manor had been primed for the descent of Colchis’ military might, and Sil had..dawdled his way through his morning. Freed at last from the drills he’d been subjected to under Maleos’ reign, it had left him with a little too much time to think and he’d been dissatisfied with where his thoughts had left him. The Stone Prince, as he was named, was not exactly known for his equable nature, and Sil really wasn’t sure that being expected to be around the man for any long periods would be good for his health. At least if there had been some definite punishment meted out, that wasn’t outright killing him, then it would have been and dusted and he could have gotten on with his life. But..in service to Prince Vangelis, Silanos was coming to realise that he was going to have tow what was likely a very dull line indefinitely and it was worrying as a concept.
Trying to keep out Timaeus’ way, Silanos had stayed in his rooms, and then it was only when he’d heard voices raised louder than any servants would be that he realised he’d waited too long, and so he arrived in the meeting room after the Prince, which was probably not how he should have done things. And then because there were soldiers milling around, and Maleos was there, he’d positioned himself towards the back of the room, slouched back against the wall and watching the goings-on with a disinterested air.
War with Egypt did not seem all that dramatic a prospect. Colchis was always at war with someone, it was what they did. Not being a soldier, Silanos had never been close to one, nor even the planning of one, and so he felt more than a little out of place amongst these men who made a business out of war and wore armor and weapons to a meeting of all things. He supposed he ought to present himself to the Prince, but Sil was happy not to bring himself to the man’s attention just yet. Or ever, really, if he had his way
The events of the past week could not have been more stress-inducing if Timaeus tried. Between the events at the Dikastiro, Vangelis appearing on his doorstep suddenly, and the commandeering of his own household for this event; Timaeus’s blood pressure was surely through the roof and he just wanted everything to be over so he could finally relax.
However, he wouldn’t be able to do that for a few hours at least. Not until this strategy meeting was concluded and Silanos was officially in the hands of Vangelis. Timaeus didn’t even want to consider what this new dynamic would mean for his family as he donned his military uniform over top of a tunic that was decorated in his house colors. Silanos being in the hands of Vangelis was the one thing that he had spent the last few months desperately trying to avoid, yet here he was, just handing the boy over.
If he didn’t have a choice in the matter, he honestly would have thought that he had gone mad.
As he left his bedchamber, he couldn’t help, but reflect on how he had intended to be one of the first people in the meeting room. This event was being hosted in his household, after all. It would be bad form for him to be one of the last to arrive, but it seemed that his incompetent staff had other ideas. All-day long, they had been rushing in and out of his office space, bogged down with queries regarding the meeting that was to occur that day. They were all stupid questions too. Did they honestly think that the Baron would know what kind of refreshments should be offered? Or where they should go if Vangelis was in charge of how the room should be laid out? What about the excess number of horses? Surely they wouldn’t all fit in the stables…
It was simply maddening. In fact, towards the end, the Baron was so thoroughly fed up with this nonsense that he was half-tempted to tell them all to disappear from his sight and bother Vangleis instead of him. But of course, screaming at your staff was bad form and he didn’t need any more strife on his plate. He already had enough of that with the likes of Silanos running around.
Or least he only would for a few more hours. As Timaeus made his way through the halls of the manor, towards what was usually the dining room, he still found it hard to fathom that this was the last afternoon that his younger brother would be in his household. Once this meeting concluded, the overgrown man-child would effectively be the retainer of Vangelis. It was a punishment for the boy and Timaeus had no doubts that it would be an effective one at that. However, as he entered the temporary war-room and caught sight of the boy, leaning against the wall, he couldn’t help, but wonder if entrusting him to Vangelis was the wisest decision. Silanos was a wild child with a love of bending the rules set to confine him. He could get away with certain behaviors with Timaeus that Sil would not be able to with Vang. Needless to say, this worried Tim. He had come to expect disasters with Sil and he just didn’t know how poorly Vang would react to them. A part of him, though he would never say it aloud, was truly worried for his brother’s safety.
Tim could only hope that his brother would be able to keep his head on straight and his behavior in check. Silanos would have to do it, no matter how much of an unattainable miracle the task might be.
Regardless, that was neither here nor there. Timaeus couldn’t let these worries plague him going into this meeting where he would need to be clear-minded for the task ahead. So, that’s why he quickly brushed past his younger brother and instead moved towards the group of military leaders gathering around the crown prince. Timaeus first bowed to Vang out of a sign of respect before turning to a familiar face among the men that were crowded around him.
“ Sir Maleos,” Timaeus said in greeting as he found a place next to the man who was not only his fellow captain, but also his closest comrade. It was more of him announcing his presence to the man more than anything as he did not wish to heavily intrude upon the conversation between him and the crown prince. He did, however, wanted to touch base with the militant about how things would be moving forward with the threat of war looming on the horizon and how much an impact the impromptu training of Sil may have had on how prepared the troops were. Timaeus could only hope that it was minimal and that the lost time could easily be made up… If not, the men would have to get creative in the coming days.
“ I take it you’re relieved to be released from your duties regarding Silanos?” He said once he was sure that he would not be disrupting the conversation at hand, in a joking quip to his friend. Timaeus was positive that the man probably celebrated the news. If Silanos was bad enough when confined to his household, he couldn’t imagine how insufferable he might be on the training grounds. Maleos was truly a gift from the gods for putting up with such tomfoolery. Timaeus truly owed him at least a few drinks at a decent tavern for taking on such a task. Perhaps if all went well today, Timaeus could offer as much to Maleos after the meeting. The gods only knew that Tim needed one after how this week had gone thus far.
But that would mean making it through this meeting first…
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The events of the past week could not have been more stress-inducing if Timaeus tried. Between the events at the Dikastiro, Vangelis appearing on his doorstep suddenly, and the commandeering of his own household for this event; Timaeus’s blood pressure was surely through the roof and he just wanted everything to be over so he could finally relax.
However, he wouldn’t be able to do that for a few hours at least. Not until this strategy meeting was concluded and Silanos was officially in the hands of Vangelis. Timaeus didn’t even want to consider what this new dynamic would mean for his family as he donned his military uniform over top of a tunic that was decorated in his house colors. Silanos being in the hands of Vangelis was the one thing that he had spent the last few months desperately trying to avoid, yet here he was, just handing the boy over.
If he didn’t have a choice in the matter, he honestly would have thought that he had gone mad.
As he left his bedchamber, he couldn’t help, but reflect on how he had intended to be one of the first people in the meeting room. This event was being hosted in his household, after all. It would be bad form for him to be one of the last to arrive, but it seemed that his incompetent staff had other ideas. All-day long, they had been rushing in and out of his office space, bogged down with queries regarding the meeting that was to occur that day. They were all stupid questions too. Did they honestly think that the Baron would know what kind of refreshments should be offered? Or where they should go if Vangelis was in charge of how the room should be laid out? What about the excess number of horses? Surely they wouldn’t all fit in the stables…
It was simply maddening. In fact, towards the end, the Baron was so thoroughly fed up with this nonsense that he was half-tempted to tell them all to disappear from his sight and bother Vangleis instead of him. But of course, screaming at your staff was bad form and he didn’t need any more strife on his plate. He already had enough of that with the likes of Silanos running around.
Or least he only would for a few more hours. As Timaeus made his way through the halls of the manor, towards what was usually the dining room, he still found it hard to fathom that this was the last afternoon that his younger brother would be in his household. Once this meeting concluded, the overgrown man-child would effectively be the retainer of Vangelis. It was a punishment for the boy and Timaeus had no doubts that it would be an effective one at that. However, as he entered the temporary war-room and caught sight of the boy, leaning against the wall, he couldn’t help, but wonder if entrusting him to Vangelis was the wisest decision. Silanos was a wild child with a love of bending the rules set to confine him. He could get away with certain behaviors with Timaeus that Sil would not be able to with Vang. Needless to say, this worried Tim. He had come to expect disasters with Sil and he just didn’t know how poorly Vang would react to them. A part of him, though he would never say it aloud, was truly worried for his brother’s safety.
Tim could only hope that his brother would be able to keep his head on straight and his behavior in check. Silanos would have to do it, no matter how much of an unattainable miracle the task might be.
Regardless, that was neither here nor there. Timaeus couldn’t let these worries plague him going into this meeting where he would need to be clear-minded for the task ahead. So, that’s why he quickly brushed past his younger brother and instead moved towards the group of military leaders gathering around the crown prince. Timaeus first bowed to Vang out of a sign of respect before turning to a familiar face among the men that were crowded around him.
“ Sir Maleos,” Timaeus said in greeting as he found a place next to the man who was not only his fellow captain, but also his closest comrade. It was more of him announcing his presence to the man more than anything as he did not wish to heavily intrude upon the conversation between him and the crown prince. He did, however, wanted to touch base with the militant about how things would be moving forward with the threat of war looming on the horizon and how much an impact the impromptu training of Sil may have had on how prepared the troops were. Timaeus could only hope that it was minimal and that the lost time could easily be made up… If not, the men would have to get creative in the coming days.
“ I take it you’re relieved to be released from your duties regarding Silanos?” He said once he was sure that he would not be disrupting the conversation at hand, in a joking quip to his friend. Timaeus was positive that the man probably celebrated the news. If Silanos was bad enough when confined to his household, he couldn’t imagine how insufferable he might be on the training grounds. Maleos was truly a gift from the gods for putting up with such tomfoolery. Timaeus truly owed him at least a few drinks at a decent tavern for taking on such a task. Perhaps if all went well today, Timaeus could offer as much to Maleos after the meeting. The gods only knew that Tim needed one after how this week had gone thus far.
But that would mean making it through this meeting first…
The events of the past week could not have been more stress-inducing if Timaeus tried. Between the events at the Dikastiro, Vangelis appearing on his doorstep suddenly, and the commandeering of his own household for this event; Timaeus’s blood pressure was surely through the roof and he just wanted everything to be over so he could finally relax.
However, he wouldn’t be able to do that for a few hours at least. Not until this strategy meeting was concluded and Silanos was officially in the hands of Vangelis. Timaeus didn’t even want to consider what this new dynamic would mean for his family as he donned his military uniform over top of a tunic that was decorated in his house colors. Silanos being in the hands of Vangelis was the one thing that he had spent the last few months desperately trying to avoid, yet here he was, just handing the boy over.
If he didn’t have a choice in the matter, he honestly would have thought that he had gone mad.
As he left his bedchamber, he couldn’t help, but reflect on how he had intended to be one of the first people in the meeting room. This event was being hosted in his household, after all. It would be bad form for him to be one of the last to arrive, but it seemed that his incompetent staff had other ideas. All-day long, they had been rushing in and out of his office space, bogged down with queries regarding the meeting that was to occur that day. They were all stupid questions too. Did they honestly think that the Baron would know what kind of refreshments should be offered? Or where they should go if Vangelis was in charge of how the room should be laid out? What about the excess number of horses? Surely they wouldn’t all fit in the stables…
It was simply maddening. In fact, towards the end, the Baron was so thoroughly fed up with this nonsense that he was half-tempted to tell them all to disappear from his sight and bother Vangleis instead of him. But of course, screaming at your staff was bad form and he didn’t need any more strife on his plate. He already had enough of that with the likes of Silanos running around.
Or least he only would for a few more hours. As Timaeus made his way through the halls of the manor, towards what was usually the dining room, he still found it hard to fathom that this was the last afternoon that his younger brother would be in his household. Once this meeting concluded, the overgrown man-child would effectively be the retainer of Vangelis. It was a punishment for the boy and Timaeus had no doubts that it would be an effective one at that. However, as he entered the temporary war-room and caught sight of the boy, leaning against the wall, he couldn’t help, but wonder if entrusting him to Vangelis was the wisest decision. Silanos was a wild child with a love of bending the rules set to confine him. He could get away with certain behaviors with Timaeus that Sil would not be able to with Vang. Needless to say, this worried Tim. He had come to expect disasters with Sil and he just didn’t know how poorly Vang would react to them. A part of him, though he would never say it aloud, was truly worried for his brother’s safety.
Tim could only hope that his brother would be able to keep his head on straight and his behavior in check. Silanos would have to do it, no matter how much of an unattainable miracle the task might be.
Regardless, that was neither here nor there. Timaeus couldn’t let these worries plague him going into this meeting where he would need to be clear-minded for the task ahead. So, that’s why he quickly brushed past his younger brother and instead moved towards the group of military leaders gathering around the crown prince. Timaeus first bowed to Vang out of a sign of respect before turning to a familiar face among the men that were crowded around him.
“ Sir Maleos,” Timaeus said in greeting as he found a place next to the man who was not only his fellow captain, but also his closest comrade. It was more of him announcing his presence to the man more than anything as he did not wish to heavily intrude upon the conversation between him and the crown prince. He did, however, wanted to touch base with the militant about how things would be moving forward with the threat of war looming on the horizon and how much an impact the impromptu training of Sil may have had on how prepared the troops were. Timaeus could only hope that it was minimal and that the lost time could easily be made up… If not, the men would have to get creative in the coming days.
“ I take it you’re relieved to be released from your duties regarding Silanos?” He said once he was sure that he would not be disrupting the conversation at hand, in a joking quip to his friend. Timaeus was positive that the man probably celebrated the news. If Silanos was bad enough when confined to his household, he couldn’t imagine how insufferable he might be on the training grounds. Maleos was truly a gift from the gods for putting up with such tomfoolery. Timaeus truly owed him at least a few drinks at a decent tavern for taking on such a task. Perhaps if all went well today, Timaeus could offer as much to Maleos after the meeting. The gods only knew that Tim needed one after how this week had gone thus far.
But that would mean making it through this meeting first…
As men gradually filed into the room, Vangelis offered little more than a passing glance to each in turn, regardless of their formal bows and welcomings of his presence. Those who knew Vangelis would know that this was par for the course with him - a disregard of all social convention, so long as it wasn't a disregarding of his own rank and position as a prince. Though, even then it was likely that Nike would become more offended than he.
It was difficult to offend the Prince of Colchis. Yet, the man who sidled into the room at the back had managed it. Vangelis glanced his way too, holding his gaze for a moment to make it very clear that he had not missed his entrance nor forgotten the arrangements that would be going ahead during and after this meeting. As far as Vangelis was concerned, the man was now his slave. And he would remain that way until he understood what honour and dignity meant and could be trusted to behave as a nobleman.
Turning away from the table, where he had been assessing that all was accurate in the maps and set up of the information portrayed, Vangelis took the moment of arrivals - as men congregated and spoke hushed addresses of hello - to turn away from the group and step towards where the wine and goblets had been laid out for use. It was here that Stephanos had lingered momentarily and Vangelis simply stood beside him, pouring himself a cup of water from a second jug offered in lieu of the crimson, mulled wine.
There was no need for fine words between the two men, for they had already spoken in regards to their recent heroics on each other’s parts. Thank-yous and words of gratitude had already been spoken and now the both of them were looking towards the future.
Vangelis reached out and placed a hand on the man's shoulder in a gesture of camaraderie, accepting that being stuck in a room of military commanders he did not know, about to be promoted to their Commander (though the man did not know it) was hardly a position of relaxed calm.
Moving back towards the table in time to nod to Timaeus as the baron arrived, Vangelis sipped from his cup, his gaze upon the maps of the tabletop, waiting for more men to arrive.
There were a total of fifteen provinces in Colchis across the different isles of the Kirakles. Each one held a Captain - who also sometimes operated as the baron. Or they were separate. But in total, fifteen men and any invited Lieutenants would be adorning the room. Plus, the two brothers of the house of Valaoritis as their hosts and the Commanders of the kingdom.
In total, there would be at least twenty-three men clustered around the table. Interlocking arms that would create both the shield of defence and the spear of attack upon the enemy. Events like this were important. Vangelis had been taught long ago by his father that a General was not the sword of his military might - his fighters were. He was only the head of the operation. The one to direct that sword. He was neither the arm nor the shoulder that moved it. And he wore no armour or helmet himself. He was specifically the mind and will of the army that he would then use to direct the force of his people.
That mind and will remained quiet, standing at the head of the table and allowing the men to murmur amongst themselves and survey the maps of Egypt that lay across the table, as more Captains arrived. Vangelis knew them all, despite not necessarily being formally introduced. The Captain of Pieria was next to walk inside the chamber, then of Dolomesa, of Arcanaes, Elimea, Lord Photis' captain of Illytia was next, then Lazaros of Vlahakis - leader of the men of Almosis. Steadily, the men filed in, taking comfortable locations around the table. Whilst there were no seats, the older, more experienced commanders took stances that suggested they knew they would be here for a while.
Zanon's Captain from Oreboea - Pheodras - was next to arrive and Vangelis looked to him with a specific nod of acknowledgement. His brother, Zanon, was with his father now, handling the attempts on two kings' lives. It would be Pheodras and Vangelis who relayed all information from the meeting back to him. Vangelis' other two brothers, however, were in attendance and had arrived with the Oreboea Captain, prompting a ripple of bows at the appearance of two more princes to the communion. Yiannis reacted with as much stoicism as Vangelis had but Silas seemed to be struggling to withhold a large grin. He had never been to a military meet of this magnitude before; for this was the first war campaign since his promotion to Captain. But at least Yiannis had prepped him and he was managing to maintain his decorum. Even if he did look like a boy in a sweet shop, trying not to seem eager for the taste of sugar.
Looking around the room, there were a few others for whom this was the first major campaign against another kingdom since their own position was achieved and Vangelis took stock of them, hoping that they would prove themselves of value before the day was out...
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Nov 26, 2019 11:15:46 GMT
Posted In The Armoury on Nov 26, 2019 11:15:46 GMT
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As men gradually filed into the room, Vangelis offered little more than a passing glance to each in turn, regardless of their formal bows and welcomings of his presence. Those who knew Vangelis would know that this was par for the course with him - a disregard of all social convention, so long as it wasn't a disregarding of his own rank and position as a prince. Though, even then it was likely that Nike would become more offended than he.
It was difficult to offend the Prince of Colchis. Yet, the man who sidled into the room at the back had managed it. Vangelis glanced his way too, holding his gaze for a moment to make it very clear that he had not missed his entrance nor forgotten the arrangements that would be going ahead during and after this meeting. As far as Vangelis was concerned, the man was now his slave. And he would remain that way until he understood what honour and dignity meant and could be trusted to behave as a nobleman.
Turning away from the table, where he had been assessing that all was accurate in the maps and set up of the information portrayed, Vangelis took the moment of arrivals - as men congregated and spoke hushed addresses of hello - to turn away from the group and step towards where the wine and goblets had been laid out for use. It was here that Stephanos had lingered momentarily and Vangelis simply stood beside him, pouring himself a cup of water from a second jug offered in lieu of the crimson, mulled wine.
There was no need for fine words between the two men, for they had already spoken in regards to their recent heroics on each other’s parts. Thank-yous and words of gratitude had already been spoken and now the both of them were looking towards the future.
Vangelis reached out and placed a hand on the man's shoulder in a gesture of camaraderie, accepting that being stuck in a room of military commanders he did not know, about to be promoted to their Commander (though the man did not know it) was hardly a position of relaxed calm.
Moving back towards the table in time to nod to Timaeus as the baron arrived, Vangelis sipped from his cup, his gaze upon the maps of the tabletop, waiting for more men to arrive.
There were a total of fifteen provinces in Colchis across the different isles of the Kirakles. Each one held a Captain - who also sometimes operated as the baron. Or they were separate. But in total, fifteen men and any invited Lieutenants would be adorning the room. Plus, the two brothers of the house of Valaoritis as their hosts and the Commanders of the kingdom.
In total, there would be at least twenty-three men clustered around the table. Interlocking arms that would create both the shield of defence and the spear of attack upon the enemy. Events like this were important. Vangelis had been taught long ago by his father that a General was not the sword of his military might - his fighters were. He was only the head of the operation. The one to direct that sword. He was neither the arm nor the shoulder that moved it. And he wore no armour or helmet himself. He was specifically the mind and will of the army that he would then use to direct the force of his people.
That mind and will remained quiet, standing at the head of the table and allowing the men to murmur amongst themselves and survey the maps of Egypt that lay across the table, as more Captains arrived. Vangelis knew them all, despite not necessarily being formally introduced. The Captain of Pieria was next to walk inside the chamber, then of Dolomesa, of Arcanaes, Elimea, Lord Photis' captain of Illytia was next, then Lazaros of Vlahakis - leader of the men of Almosis. Steadily, the men filed in, taking comfortable locations around the table. Whilst there were no seats, the older, more experienced commanders took stances that suggested they knew they would be here for a while.
Zanon's Captain from Oreboea - Pheodras - was next to arrive and Vangelis looked to him with a specific nod of acknowledgement. His brother, Zanon, was with his father now, handling the attempts on two kings' lives. It would be Pheodras and Vangelis who relayed all information from the meeting back to him. Vangelis' other two brothers, however, were in attendance and had arrived with the Oreboea Captain, prompting a ripple of bows at the appearance of two more princes to the communion. Yiannis reacted with as much stoicism as Vangelis had but Silas seemed to be struggling to withhold a large grin. He had never been to a military meet of this magnitude before; for this was the first war campaign since his promotion to Captain. But at least Yiannis had prepped him and he was managing to maintain his decorum. Even if he did look like a boy in a sweet shop, trying not to seem eager for the taste of sugar.
Looking around the room, there were a few others for whom this was the first major campaign against another kingdom since their own position was achieved and Vangelis took stock of them, hoping that they would prove themselves of value before the day was out...
As men gradually filed into the room, Vangelis offered little more than a passing glance to each in turn, regardless of their formal bows and welcomings of his presence. Those who knew Vangelis would know that this was par for the course with him - a disregard of all social convention, so long as it wasn't a disregarding of his own rank and position as a prince. Though, even then it was likely that Nike would become more offended than he.
It was difficult to offend the Prince of Colchis. Yet, the man who sidled into the room at the back had managed it. Vangelis glanced his way too, holding his gaze for a moment to make it very clear that he had not missed his entrance nor forgotten the arrangements that would be going ahead during and after this meeting. As far as Vangelis was concerned, the man was now his slave. And he would remain that way until he understood what honour and dignity meant and could be trusted to behave as a nobleman.
Turning away from the table, where he had been assessing that all was accurate in the maps and set up of the information portrayed, Vangelis took the moment of arrivals - as men congregated and spoke hushed addresses of hello - to turn away from the group and step towards where the wine and goblets had been laid out for use. It was here that Stephanos had lingered momentarily and Vangelis simply stood beside him, pouring himself a cup of water from a second jug offered in lieu of the crimson, mulled wine.
There was no need for fine words between the two men, for they had already spoken in regards to their recent heroics on each other’s parts. Thank-yous and words of gratitude had already been spoken and now the both of them were looking towards the future.
Vangelis reached out and placed a hand on the man's shoulder in a gesture of camaraderie, accepting that being stuck in a room of military commanders he did not know, about to be promoted to their Commander (though the man did not know it) was hardly a position of relaxed calm.
Moving back towards the table in time to nod to Timaeus as the baron arrived, Vangelis sipped from his cup, his gaze upon the maps of the tabletop, waiting for more men to arrive.
There were a total of fifteen provinces in Colchis across the different isles of the Kirakles. Each one held a Captain - who also sometimes operated as the baron. Or they were separate. But in total, fifteen men and any invited Lieutenants would be adorning the room. Plus, the two brothers of the house of Valaoritis as their hosts and the Commanders of the kingdom.
In total, there would be at least twenty-three men clustered around the table. Interlocking arms that would create both the shield of defence and the spear of attack upon the enemy. Events like this were important. Vangelis had been taught long ago by his father that a General was not the sword of his military might - his fighters were. He was only the head of the operation. The one to direct that sword. He was neither the arm nor the shoulder that moved it. And he wore no armour or helmet himself. He was specifically the mind and will of the army that he would then use to direct the force of his people.
That mind and will remained quiet, standing at the head of the table and allowing the men to murmur amongst themselves and survey the maps of Egypt that lay across the table, as more Captains arrived. Vangelis knew them all, despite not necessarily being formally introduced. The Captain of Pieria was next to walk inside the chamber, then of Dolomesa, of Arcanaes, Elimea, Lord Photis' captain of Illytia was next, then Lazaros of Vlahakis - leader of the men of Almosis. Steadily, the men filed in, taking comfortable locations around the table. Whilst there were no seats, the older, more experienced commanders took stances that suggested they knew they would be here for a while.
Zanon's Captain from Oreboea - Pheodras - was next to arrive and Vangelis looked to him with a specific nod of acknowledgement. His brother, Zanon, was with his father now, handling the attempts on two kings' lives. It would be Pheodras and Vangelis who relayed all information from the meeting back to him. Vangelis' other two brothers, however, were in attendance and had arrived with the Oreboea Captain, prompting a ripple of bows at the appearance of two more princes to the communion. Yiannis reacted with as much stoicism as Vangelis had but Silas seemed to be struggling to withhold a large grin. He had never been to a military meet of this magnitude before; for this was the first war campaign since his promotion to Captain. But at least Yiannis had prepped him and he was managing to maintain his decorum. Even if he did look like a boy in a sweet shop, trying not to seem eager for the taste of sugar.
Looking around the room, there were a few others for whom this was the first major campaign against another kingdom since their own position was achieved and Vangelis took stock of them, hoping that they would prove themselves of value before the day was out...
If there was one thing Damocles knew, it was war, and he loved every aspect of it. Whether it was in rocky shorelines, or wide-open plains, or desolate city streets, he loved every aspect of it. He loved charges, sieges, defensive positions, and, only when it was the enemy that did so, retreats. Many may have antagonistic feelings towards the act of fighting, towards the act of bloodshed, but this was not truthful to who he was. His heart leapt with anticipated excitement at the news gathered around him, of the incoming campaign that had been raised in collection against Old Egypt, a most welcomed prospect if ever. Of course, given his qualified hands at this sort of affairs, rather than letting his expression be one of unfounded, miserable and preposterous dread, Damocles could only feel his fingers creep with titillating amusement and sudden joy.
But what joy it brought to him thus, to once more engage with his hesitant creditors so as to wring them out of their due glory. To hurt them, wound them, and charge them henceforth with payment justly made in the name of his glory and his might. By their own obstinante flesh, these pusillanimous men of principled beliefs would pay for their severe and utter lack of cleared vision! But only in time. For now, he would keep up appearances, feign loyalty to these title-studded sycophantic mummers and let the Fates charter through what in all matter of form was his own rightful place. This would be a chaotic experience, mayhaps even more so than the one past but an odd decade ago. Yet, just as it was true back then as it was now, chaos had never been a pit to him, but a ladder. Most would try at least once in their lifetime, to scale and to reach forward, only to fail and never try again. Yet, those without the drive or ambition to see forward were destined to break after the fall. Others had been given the chance to make well on their steps, but refused to climb forward, be it for either selfish pride, vanity or hubris. Damocles had no intention of either. He knew his desire and would shoulder through the climb, never resting until he reached the end to that accursed, but most important of chaotic opportunistic ladder.
Despite how many possibilities war offered as a recourse for opportunity, Damocles had received an invitation to the kingdom’s war cabinet, an assembly of some of the most senior leaders of matters military and defense. Personally, after more than 13 years as an officer himself, three as a lieutenant and ten as a captain, he was acquainted with nearly everyone that had been convened to this council of strategy and general guidance. Key to this statement however was the word acquainted. Just because he had spent the majority of his adult life amongst soldiers did not mean he knew every single face that thought itself worthy of occupying a soldiery seat. Nevertheless, as per his baron’s instructors, given his general policy of absolute delegation concerning military affairs to him, Damocles ventured to that ghastly baronial palace, galloping hard on horseback so as to appear at a decent time before that accursedly lily-livered assembly. Upon arrival, he dismantled himself from his horse, leaving his faithful stead in the hands of some stable hand while he strode away towards the gathering hall.
In terms of appearances, a life in the military had done wonders to him. Far from being the gangly, willowy youth that had enlisted up so many years ago, the black-haired man had grown into an image worthy of his commission. With his towering height, strong, Herculean build and piercing grey eyes, Damocles was able to impress upon others a commanding sense of authority that many officers, especially the younger, unproven ones, could not hope to channel through rank and titles alone. His was a proven might, a reputation forged on talent and skill and might and merit, not ancestral heraldry or fawning obsequiousness. He had not dressed to particularly cause an impression, even though he reserved his uniform for the occasion. Garbed in raiments of yellow and blue, as the occasion had merited, the imposing man convincingly carried himself as a proud, faithful captain of that most esteemed House Drakos, complimenting his commanding presence, one that earned him many stares and glances from servants and slaves as he past right through them so as to make way to the chamber he had been addressed at. His ceremonial armor was spotless, reflecting the illustrious backing of his celebrated career, whilst his appearance was meticulously organized, a byproduct of his meticulous nature and, if he was honest, slight narcissism.
Eventually, the heavily marked steps that the man made found their way towards the assembly room. Once inside, Damocles recognized many familiar faces, most of which he had at some point exchanged words with. He made no effort to introduce himself like some unknown stranger at his position. Instead, he smiled and gleamed at his fellow brothers-at-arms, exchanging witty comments and self-deprecating jokes that made more than a few of the otherwise stone-faced men to lighten up and rise to suitable laughter. Never too loud, but still welcomed as a remedy against nervousness. This was his reputation. This was his image. Polite Damocles. Honest Damocles. Friendly Damocles. A master of his trade, but never an enemy to his people. A pious, son of Colchis with a major talent for befriending men and women, regardless of rank or position. This was true since his earliest days in the military, and this was true to this very day, just weeks against his possible, future ascendancy.
“Commander Nike!” addressed the hulking man as he recognized the famed militant. “It has not been long since we’ve broke words last. Thank you in your assistance concerning Lord Dionysios. I fear that had your hands not tempered my touch, I would have been met with stern retribution on behalf of the Thanasi.” appreciated the silver eyed Captain of the Damned as he paid attention to the words of the, admittedly lithe, officer. “I trust we will take away much from this assembly.” And with that, Damocles gave way for the other to respond well to his words, paying fierce attention to the words of the slightly less-built Commander as he waited for the room to swell to full capacity.
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If there was one thing Damocles knew, it was war, and he loved every aspect of it. Whether it was in rocky shorelines, or wide-open plains, or desolate city streets, he loved every aspect of it. He loved charges, sieges, defensive positions, and, only when it was the enemy that did so, retreats. Many may have antagonistic feelings towards the act of fighting, towards the act of bloodshed, but this was not truthful to who he was. His heart leapt with anticipated excitement at the news gathered around him, of the incoming campaign that had been raised in collection against Old Egypt, a most welcomed prospect if ever. Of course, given his qualified hands at this sort of affairs, rather than letting his expression be one of unfounded, miserable and preposterous dread, Damocles could only feel his fingers creep with titillating amusement and sudden joy.
But what joy it brought to him thus, to once more engage with his hesitant creditors so as to wring them out of their due glory. To hurt them, wound them, and charge them henceforth with payment justly made in the name of his glory and his might. By their own obstinante flesh, these pusillanimous men of principled beliefs would pay for their severe and utter lack of cleared vision! But only in time. For now, he would keep up appearances, feign loyalty to these title-studded sycophantic mummers and let the Fates charter through what in all matter of form was his own rightful place. This would be a chaotic experience, mayhaps even more so than the one past but an odd decade ago. Yet, just as it was true back then as it was now, chaos had never been a pit to him, but a ladder. Most would try at least once in their lifetime, to scale and to reach forward, only to fail and never try again. Yet, those without the drive or ambition to see forward were destined to break after the fall. Others had been given the chance to make well on their steps, but refused to climb forward, be it for either selfish pride, vanity or hubris. Damocles had no intention of either. He knew his desire and would shoulder through the climb, never resting until he reached the end to that accursed, but most important of chaotic opportunistic ladder.
Despite how many possibilities war offered as a recourse for opportunity, Damocles had received an invitation to the kingdom’s war cabinet, an assembly of some of the most senior leaders of matters military and defense. Personally, after more than 13 years as an officer himself, three as a lieutenant and ten as a captain, he was acquainted with nearly everyone that had been convened to this council of strategy and general guidance. Key to this statement however was the word acquainted. Just because he had spent the majority of his adult life amongst soldiers did not mean he knew every single face that thought itself worthy of occupying a soldiery seat. Nevertheless, as per his baron’s instructors, given his general policy of absolute delegation concerning military affairs to him, Damocles ventured to that ghastly baronial palace, galloping hard on horseback so as to appear at a decent time before that accursedly lily-livered assembly. Upon arrival, he dismantled himself from his horse, leaving his faithful stead in the hands of some stable hand while he strode away towards the gathering hall.
In terms of appearances, a life in the military had done wonders to him. Far from being the gangly, willowy youth that had enlisted up so many years ago, the black-haired man had grown into an image worthy of his commission. With his towering height, strong, Herculean build and piercing grey eyes, Damocles was able to impress upon others a commanding sense of authority that many officers, especially the younger, unproven ones, could not hope to channel through rank and titles alone. His was a proven might, a reputation forged on talent and skill and might and merit, not ancestral heraldry or fawning obsequiousness. He had not dressed to particularly cause an impression, even though he reserved his uniform for the occasion. Garbed in raiments of yellow and blue, as the occasion had merited, the imposing man convincingly carried himself as a proud, faithful captain of that most esteemed House Drakos, complimenting his commanding presence, one that earned him many stares and glances from servants and slaves as he past right through them so as to make way to the chamber he had been addressed at. His ceremonial armor was spotless, reflecting the illustrious backing of his celebrated career, whilst his appearance was meticulously organized, a byproduct of his meticulous nature and, if he was honest, slight narcissism.
Eventually, the heavily marked steps that the man made found their way towards the assembly room. Once inside, Damocles recognized many familiar faces, most of which he had at some point exchanged words with. He made no effort to introduce himself like some unknown stranger at his position. Instead, he smiled and gleamed at his fellow brothers-at-arms, exchanging witty comments and self-deprecating jokes that made more than a few of the otherwise stone-faced men to lighten up and rise to suitable laughter. Never too loud, but still welcomed as a remedy against nervousness. This was his reputation. This was his image. Polite Damocles. Honest Damocles. Friendly Damocles. A master of his trade, but never an enemy to his people. A pious, son of Colchis with a major talent for befriending men and women, regardless of rank or position. This was true since his earliest days in the military, and this was true to this very day, just weeks against his possible, future ascendancy.
“Commander Nike!” addressed the hulking man as he recognized the famed militant. “It has not been long since we’ve broke words last. Thank you in your assistance concerning Lord Dionysios. I fear that had your hands not tempered my touch, I would have been met with stern retribution on behalf of the Thanasi.” appreciated the silver eyed Captain of the Damned as he paid attention to the words of the, admittedly lithe, officer. “I trust we will take away much from this assembly.” And with that, Damocles gave way for the other to respond well to his words, paying fierce attention to the words of the slightly less-built Commander as he waited for the room to swell to full capacity.
If there was one thing Damocles knew, it was war, and he loved every aspect of it. Whether it was in rocky shorelines, or wide-open plains, or desolate city streets, he loved every aspect of it. He loved charges, sieges, defensive positions, and, only when it was the enemy that did so, retreats. Many may have antagonistic feelings towards the act of fighting, towards the act of bloodshed, but this was not truthful to who he was. His heart leapt with anticipated excitement at the news gathered around him, of the incoming campaign that had been raised in collection against Old Egypt, a most welcomed prospect if ever. Of course, given his qualified hands at this sort of affairs, rather than letting his expression be one of unfounded, miserable and preposterous dread, Damocles could only feel his fingers creep with titillating amusement and sudden joy.
But what joy it brought to him thus, to once more engage with his hesitant creditors so as to wring them out of their due glory. To hurt them, wound them, and charge them henceforth with payment justly made in the name of his glory and his might. By their own obstinante flesh, these pusillanimous men of principled beliefs would pay for their severe and utter lack of cleared vision! But only in time. For now, he would keep up appearances, feign loyalty to these title-studded sycophantic mummers and let the Fates charter through what in all matter of form was his own rightful place. This would be a chaotic experience, mayhaps even more so than the one past but an odd decade ago. Yet, just as it was true back then as it was now, chaos had never been a pit to him, but a ladder. Most would try at least once in their lifetime, to scale and to reach forward, only to fail and never try again. Yet, those without the drive or ambition to see forward were destined to break after the fall. Others had been given the chance to make well on their steps, but refused to climb forward, be it for either selfish pride, vanity or hubris. Damocles had no intention of either. He knew his desire and would shoulder through the climb, never resting until he reached the end to that accursed, but most important of chaotic opportunistic ladder.
Despite how many possibilities war offered as a recourse for opportunity, Damocles had received an invitation to the kingdom’s war cabinet, an assembly of some of the most senior leaders of matters military and defense. Personally, after more than 13 years as an officer himself, three as a lieutenant and ten as a captain, he was acquainted with nearly everyone that had been convened to this council of strategy and general guidance. Key to this statement however was the word acquainted. Just because he had spent the majority of his adult life amongst soldiers did not mean he knew every single face that thought itself worthy of occupying a soldiery seat. Nevertheless, as per his baron’s instructors, given his general policy of absolute delegation concerning military affairs to him, Damocles ventured to that ghastly baronial palace, galloping hard on horseback so as to appear at a decent time before that accursedly lily-livered assembly. Upon arrival, he dismantled himself from his horse, leaving his faithful stead in the hands of some stable hand while he strode away towards the gathering hall.
In terms of appearances, a life in the military had done wonders to him. Far from being the gangly, willowy youth that had enlisted up so many years ago, the black-haired man had grown into an image worthy of his commission. With his towering height, strong, Herculean build and piercing grey eyes, Damocles was able to impress upon others a commanding sense of authority that many officers, especially the younger, unproven ones, could not hope to channel through rank and titles alone. His was a proven might, a reputation forged on talent and skill and might and merit, not ancestral heraldry or fawning obsequiousness. He had not dressed to particularly cause an impression, even though he reserved his uniform for the occasion. Garbed in raiments of yellow and blue, as the occasion had merited, the imposing man convincingly carried himself as a proud, faithful captain of that most esteemed House Drakos, complimenting his commanding presence, one that earned him many stares and glances from servants and slaves as he past right through them so as to make way to the chamber he had been addressed at. His ceremonial armor was spotless, reflecting the illustrious backing of his celebrated career, whilst his appearance was meticulously organized, a byproduct of his meticulous nature and, if he was honest, slight narcissism.
Eventually, the heavily marked steps that the man made found their way towards the assembly room. Once inside, Damocles recognized many familiar faces, most of which he had at some point exchanged words with. He made no effort to introduce himself like some unknown stranger at his position. Instead, he smiled and gleamed at his fellow brothers-at-arms, exchanging witty comments and self-deprecating jokes that made more than a few of the otherwise stone-faced men to lighten up and rise to suitable laughter. Never too loud, but still welcomed as a remedy against nervousness. This was his reputation. This was his image. Polite Damocles. Honest Damocles. Friendly Damocles. A master of his trade, but never an enemy to his people. A pious, son of Colchis with a major talent for befriending men and women, regardless of rank or position. This was true since his earliest days in the military, and this was true to this very day, just weeks against his possible, future ascendancy.
“Commander Nike!” addressed the hulking man as he recognized the famed militant. “It has not been long since we’ve broke words last. Thank you in your assistance concerning Lord Dionysios. I fear that had your hands not tempered my touch, I would have been met with stern retribution on behalf of the Thanasi.” appreciated the silver eyed Captain of the Damned as he paid attention to the words of the, admittedly lithe, officer. “I trust we will take away much from this assembly.” And with that, Damocles gave way for the other to respond well to his words, paying fierce attention to the words of the slightly less-built Commander as he waited for the room to swell to full capacity.
That he was in Colchis planning a military meeting grated like nothing else on this earth had done since the news that no, he could not go home. No, he would not be getting his throne back any time soon, possibly ever, and yes, he was stuck on this rocky island. Vangelis was being his usually kind self by even allowing him to be here at all and he was attempting to not be the storming raincloud he so desperately wanted to. Instead, he forced himself to wear a more neutral expression, having to remind himself that literally no one in Colchis cared a single bit about his unfortunate position. Their thoughts were on Egypt and the coming war, and so should his be.
He’d never been to the Valaoritis manor but that was of little consequence. Vangelis had been his guide and the two came together. Once they were in the room, the crown prince pointed him toward the wine and Stephanos made a beeline for it and was disappointed, though unsurprised, to find it watered down. No one needed to be drunk in this meeting. He took his cup and stood a little off to the side of the table, though within unobstructed view. It was not lost on him that he was here by charity. He had experience, yes, but there were others that could have led military units.
When his ego finally spun itself out to a proper level, he’d be more grateful than not, though he hadn’t reached that point quite yet. For now, he was dressed in much the same way Vangelis was, though his chiton was white instead of black and his weapons were borrowed - not his own, and the rings still on his fingers, his house signet and the one he’d worn as king, were worthless. They felt foreign, their weight meant for someone else. He drank deeply and stared holes into the map of the achingly familiar terrain of Taengea.
Stephanos’s eye was drawn as Captain Maleos entered and bowed. He did not react because it wasn’t him that Maleos was bowing to. Nike was there and Stephanos was still sorting out how he felt about the commander. When they’d escaped from Taengea, he probably wouldn’t have been at all sad if Nike had died a horrendous death, but with the stress ebbing, his feelings about the man had mellowed somewhat and left him feeling almost as he had before - ambivalent.
He watched Lord Silanos slink in to the back of the room and then rested his gaze on Lord Timaeus, who was as different from his brother as anyone could be. The two of them reminded him a very little bit of the way he and his own brother had been, though he and Zacharias had actually liked each other. The impression he got from these two was that they merely tolerated the other being alive.
He was snapped out of his thoughts by Vangelis’s hand resting heavily on his shoulder and he glanced over, blinking. The two of them exchanged a look and then Vangelis went back over to the table and Stephanos trailed after him, not wanting to be the only one standing in front of the wine. He wasn’t guarding it, after all. No reason to camp out there. The room was crowded now and if he didn’t get nearer to the table now, he wouldn’t have a chance later.
When Damocles entered, Stephanos decided that right then would be the best time to drink as deeply from his cup as possible and to even turn his back so that he could go get more. He stayed by the wine until he felt that he could maintain a calm expression, but a smile kept threatening and then chose to hide his mouth on the rim of his cup and watch for Nike’s reaction to the attention.
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Nov 30, 2019 16:04:51 GMT
Posted In The Armoury on Nov 30, 2019 16:04:51 GMT
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That he was in Colchis planning a military meeting grated like nothing else on this earth had done since the news that no, he could not go home. No, he would not be getting his throne back any time soon, possibly ever, and yes, he was stuck on this rocky island. Vangelis was being his usually kind self by even allowing him to be here at all and he was attempting to not be the storming raincloud he so desperately wanted to. Instead, he forced himself to wear a more neutral expression, having to remind himself that literally no one in Colchis cared a single bit about his unfortunate position. Their thoughts were on Egypt and the coming war, and so should his be.
He’d never been to the Valaoritis manor but that was of little consequence. Vangelis had been his guide and the two came together. Once they were in the room, the crown prince pointed him toward the wine and Stephanos made a beeline for it and was disappointed, though unsurprised, to find it watered down. No one needed to be drunk in this meeting. He took his cup and stood a little off to the side of the table, though within unobstructed view. It was not lost on him that he was here by charity. He had experience, yes, but there were others that could have led military units.
When his ego finally spun itself out to a proper level, he’d be more grateful than not, though he hadn’t reached that point quite yet. For now, he was dressed in much the same way Vangelis was, though his chiton was white instead of black and his weapons were borrowed - not his own, and the rings still on his fingers, his house signet and the one he’d worn as king, were worthless. They felt foreign, their weight meant for someone else. He drank deeply and stared holes into the map of the achingly familiar terrain of Taengea.
Stephanos’s eye was drawn as Captain Maleos entered and bowed. He did not react because it wasn’t him that Maleos was bowing to. Nike was there and Stephanos was still sorting out how he felt about the commander. When they’d escaped from Taengea, he probably wouldn’t have been at all sad if Nike had died a horrendous death, but with the stress ebbing, his feelings about the man had mellowed somewhat and left him feeling almost as he had before - ambivalent.
He watched Lord Silanos slink in to the back of the room and then rested his gaze on Lord Timaeus, who was as different from his brother as anyone could be. The two of them reminded him a very little bit of the way he and his own brother had been, though he and Zacharias had actually liked each other. The impression he got from these two was that they merely tolerated the other being alive.
He was snapped out of his thoughts by Vangelis’s hand resting heavily on his shoulder and he glanced over, blinking. The two of them exchanged a look and then Vangelis went back over to the table and Stephanos trailed after him, not wanting to be the only one standing in front of the wine. He wasn’t guarding it, after all. No reason to camp out there. The room was crowded now and if he didn’t get nearer to the table now, he wouldn’t have a chance later.
When Damocles entered, Stephanos decided that right then would be the best time to drink as deeply from his cup as possible and to even turn his back so that he could go get more. He stayed by the wine until he felt that he could maintain a calm expression, but a smile kept threatening and then chose to hide his mouth on the rim of his cup and watch for Nike’s reaction to the attention.
That he was in Colchis planning a military meeting grated like nothing else on this earth had done since the news that no, he could not go home. No, he would not be getting his throne back any time soon, possibly ever, and yes, he was stuck on this rocky island. Vangelis was being his usually kind self by even allowing him to be here at all and he was attempting to not be the storming raincloud he so desperately wanted to. Instead, he forced himself to wear a more neutral expression, having to remind himself that literally no one in Colchis cared a single bit about his unfortunate position. Their thoughts were on Egypt and the coming war, and so should his be.
He’d never been to the Valaoritis manor but that was of little consequence. Vangelis had been his guide and the two came together. Once they were in the room, the crown prince pointed him toward the wine and Stephanos made a beeline for it and was disappointed, though unsurprised, to find it watered down. No one needed to be drunk in this meeting. He took his cup and stood a little off to the side of the table, though within unobstructed view. It was not lost on him that he was here by charity. He had experience, yes, but there were others that could have led military units.
When his ego finally spun itself out to a proper level, he’d be more grateful than not, though he hadn’t reached that point quite yet. For now, he was dressed in much the same way Vangelis was, though his chiton was white instead of black and his weapons were borrowed - not his own, and the rings still on his fingers, his house signet and the one he’d worn as king, were worthless. They felt foreign, their weight meant for someone else. He drank deeply and stared holes into the map of the achingly familiar terrain of Taengea.
Stephanos’s eye was drawn as Captain Maleos entered and bowed. He did not react because it wasn’t him that Maleos was bowing to. Nike was there and Stephanos was still sorting out how he felt about the commander. When they’d escaped from Taengea, he probably wouldn’t have been at all sad if Nike had died a horrendous death, but with the stress ebbing, his feelings about the man had mellowed somewhat and left him feeling almost as he had before - ambivalent.
He watched Lord Silanos slink in to the back of the room and then rested his gaze on Lord Timaeus, who was as different from his brother as anyone could be. The two of them reminded him a very little bit of the way he and his own brother had been, though he and Zacharias had actually liked each other. The impression he got from these two was that they merely tolerated the other being alive.
He was snapped out of his thoughts by Vangelis’s hand resting heavily on his shoulder and he glanced over, blinking. The two of them exchanged a look and then Vangelis went back over to the table and Stephanos trailed after him, not wanting to be the only one standing in front of the wine. He wasn’t guarding it, after all. No reason to camp out there. The room was crowded now and if he didn’t get nearer to the table now, he wouldn’t have a chance later.
When Damocles entered, Stephanos decided that right then would be the best time to drink as deeply from his cup as possible and to even turn his back so that he could go get more. He stayed by the wine until he felt that he could maintain a calm expression, but a smile kept threatening and then chose to hide his mouth on the rim of his cup and watch for Nike’s reaction to the attention.
Maleos hated the formalities of these sorts of meetings, though he loved the content, he much preferred the urgency of combat discussion while on campaign, the stimulation of outwitting your opponent, of showing your strength and grit as a leader and as a soldier. There was almost nothing that Maleos loved more than the thrill of being out on campaign, and he was rearing to go back out to war after sitting around for so long with idle hands. He knew that it would be a little while yet before they were back out and active, and he knew that there would be a few more formalities before he could strap on his real armour and feel the sturdy metal of his sword in his hand. But all of this meant there was a very real threat, and it meant that soon Maleos would once more step out against the enemies and lay his life on the line for Colchis and its people. The warrior in him screamed for blood, for the excitement of the fight, and for the moment he did his best to push that part of him back. Though his reputation stood for itself, and it was no secret that he had himself ended the lives of many men, there was no room for pure bloodlust in a meeting like this. This was strategy and social traditions, and while he was fairly skilled at the first part, the social part would be his downfall if he let himself be distracted.
Maleos did not miss the arrival of Silanos, though the Lord kept to himself in the back of the room, he noted that the man looked worn down, though less so than when he was under Maleos’ command. He had not allowed the man any wine or other vices under his leadership, and the early morning wake up calls, food from the mess hall, and daily drills had worn Silanos down, but as far as Maleos could tell, it had not driven the point home. Silanos seemed to be in a worse mood, but no different in attitude. Maleos was glad to see him out from under his command, happy to return to his drills with his unit and forget about the pathetic Lord who would likely get himself killed rather than grow up and act like a man. It was of no consequence to Maleos what Silanos chose to do, though he did feel for his Baron and best friend. The stresses of dealing with such a brother were clear in the tired look on his face. Maleos would not say it out loud to Timaeus, but he seemed to have aged much faster than he should have, and the Captain knew the culprit to be the mischievous brother that Timaeus did his best to reign in. It was not a job that Maleos would wish on anyone, and he couldn’t remember a time where he was so thankful to have a brother like his own. He wasn’t particularly close with Lycus, but at least his brother wasn’t as embarrassing and disappointing as Silanos.
His attentions were turned from one brother to the other as Timaeus approached him and greeted him. A rare smile came across Maleos’ face upon seeing his oldest friend and most trusted confidant. There was not much of a danger of a riveting conversation from the Crown Prince, and so Maleos chose to turn his attentions to Timaeus for the moment, once he had received a curt nod from Vangelis as a greeting. He had given sufficient enough time for any conversation that might have blossomed from his greeting to the prince, so when none had come he thought it would be appropriate for him to engage in conversation elsewhere. He was not the best with social conventions, but he at least knew the most basic of polite actions, enough to make sure that in most court situations he would not embarrass himself or offend someone.
Anything beyond that was out of his league, though not through his own fault. He tried his best, he just was no the charismatic type who could charm anyone he met. He was an amazing swordsman, a loyal soldier and a strong leader, and the things that he did in those areas he did well. Those were the things he found important, and though his ambitions were aimed to higher position in the military ranks, he never cared much about the higher-class things in society. What drove him was not the status or the money, but more making a name for himself and sealing his story in history. He wanted future generations to remember his name, to speak of him as a fabled military leader. So, while he was not the best when it came to making friends and charming people, he would continue to do his best with such things, as it was an unfortunate side affect of his position as Captain.
“My lord.” He greeted, giving him a bit of a bow. He knew that in these sorts of public situations, he needed to be more formal, no matter how close of a relationship he had with Timaeus. When things were said and done, his best friend was still his Baron and superior, and he would show him such respect, especially in front of other people. He would not want to embarrass Tim by acting more casual towards him, and Maleos himself would see it as a sign of disrespect on his behalf. It was different when the two men were behind closed doors and spending time together as just friends. Here they were gathered as two important men in the Colchian military ranks, to discuss the coming war and what it meant for the provinces. Here Timaeus was less his best friend and more his Baron. Maleos was used to the switching of their relationship based on the situation by now, so it was second nature to him to greet him as one over the other.
Maleos bit back a little snicker as Tim inquired about his feelings on being rid of his spoiled brother from under his command. He did not wish to rub it in Tim’s face how awful his brother was, he was sure that the Baron was aware and had thoughts of his own on the subject. The Captain hadn’t planned on bringing it up to start with, but now that his friend had brought it up, he thought it appropriate to at least give him a reply. He would keep his stories for a later date, hopefully one that would come sometime soon where the two could spend some time together with a few glasses of wine and laugh about Silanos and his misadventures as part of Maleos’ unit of soldiers. He doubted they would have the chance though, with Timaeus dealing with Silanos once more and the war looming overhead, there would be little time for casual chats with friends. Despite the impending busy time for both men, Maleos still held hope that they would find at least a small amount of time to have at least a brief discussion when there were less ears around to overhear them.
“I cannot say that I miss him haunting my barracks. His incessant whining was beginning to bring down morale.” He replied, only half joking. His men were not impressed with Silanos hanging around their ranks, especially when word had gotten out that Silanos had the opportunity for a one on one training session with Maleos. It was something that his men would give almost anything for, to be trained by Maleos without the distraction of other soldiers around them. His sword skills were well known among his unit and most would love the chance to at least attempt to learn some new skills. He did his best to teach them all and keep them at their peak performance, but with a large group, it was harder for them to pick up the finer points of the swordsmanship skills that their leader held. If he had the time, he would pull each and every one of them aside and train them with the sword personally, unfortunately with his unit growing and his duties expanding as well, he was finding that he was spending less and less time actually doing the drills with his men himself and relying more and more on Daxos’ assistance in such things. He hoped that soon the man would get the promotion he wanted to Lieutenant, and then he could officially pass some responsibilities on to him. As it stood, though Daxos proved to be a great help with Maleos otherwise occupied, the man still remained a regular soldier.
“We have much to discuss. A lot has transpired since last we had a moment to ourselves.” Maleos commented, keeping his voice low as it was a conversation of a personal nature. He wished to tell Timaeus about his recent feelings, news that the Captain was sure would shock the other male. In all the years that the two had been colleagues and friends, Maleos had never shown an interest in a woman, not even the whores that Timaeus had encouraged him to solicit. He had never felt any inclinations towards any of them, preferring to spend his time training his men and working on his career instead of being distracted by women. Now? He found himself unable to control how he felt, and he was conflicted about his new-found feelings to say the least. He was almost certain that Tim would die of shock upon hearing his friend had eyes for a woman. Though Maleos was not sure if Timaeus knew Leto, and if he did he could only hope that it was on good terms. If he were to decide to pursue Leto, he would need Tim’s blessing, both as his baron and as his best friend. Though, he supposed if Tim did not approve of her, he would court her anyways, even if the other man’s opinion of his potential future wife was important to him. He did not think that Tim was the type of man to deny a marriage for Maleos should his relationship with Leto lead to that point, no matter his opinion on the woman. He thought perhaps his friend would just be happy to know that Maleos even had a chance at a potential marriage. Though it remained to be seen if Leto would hold the same feelings as Maleos. He was doing his best to be hopeful and trying to keep the negative thoughts from invading his mind. There was no way that fate would lead him back to Leto after the passing of so many years just to taunt him with the prospect of love but never allow him to feel it returned.
He fell silent for a moment as his thoughts went once more to Leto, a path that he had often found himself wandering since their fated meeting outside the temples. He remembered the feeling that day, of his feet taking him towards the temples for a reason, though the reason had been unknown to him at the time. He was not sure if it was intervention by the Gods that had led him to those temples that day, or pure luck that his wandering had taken him that way, but either way he was thankful for what ever force it was that brought him that way. It was not a place he visited often, the temple devoted to his own God being located elsewhere, though he had been to the other temples a few times depending on what prayers needed to be said. For the most part, that area went without his presence, and yet that day had found him there, along with someone that he had only met once in his childhood. Despite it having been so many years previous that the two had met, and the encounter had been rather brief, Maleos remembered that day well. A pivotal point in the young man’s life, it had been the day that he had purchased his first sword, a dream of his since he was old enough to lust after such things. The sword still stayed with him to that day, though years of use had seen it worn down and getting tired, he remained faithful to the blade, though he knew that soon enough he would need to replace it, despite the careful maintenance from the Captain.
More importantly, that day had been the first time he would meet Leto, back then she was a bit rebellious, practicing with swords alongside Maleos, despite knowing her parents protests of her using them. She had been full of life and full of ambition, quick witted and headstrong, Maleos had not realized any of these things about her until he had reflected back on their first meeting after running into her so many years later. He was not sure at the time why the memory of the young, curly haired woman had stuck so hard in his mind, but the more he ran into her, the more sure he was that it was more than a coincidence. For her to reappear in his life after such a long time and make Maleos smile and laugh like they had been close friends all that time, it was not a thing that happened to him often. And the feelings he had were not ones that was used to, and most certainly not ones that he was going to allow to pass by without acting on them. He was not sure of her feelings towards him, though he hoped she felt similar, but he planned on confessing such things before he was to march off to war. He thought he had more time before he would need to be away for an extended period, more time to get to know her and try to impress her, but the time was now or never, for there was no guarantee he would return from the war. Despite his skills, every man could fall, and he was just a man after all. He was not foolish or cocky enough to think himself unable to be defeated.
He had plans to write to her, to see if she would meet him so that he may confess his feelings to her in private. He was not sure how easy it would be for her to get away from her household and meet him some where that no one could overhear them, but he would pick a place and put his offer out there, and if she showed up, then he would take it as a good sign. Though with her brother back in Midas, it might not be possible for her to meet him, after all the man was paid to know things, he could only hope that being his sister would mean that Leto would be able to slip out undetected by him and meet Maleos without raising suspicion.
He was far too nervous about the prospect of confessing his feelings for a woman for a man who had made a long-term career of facing down enemies armed with weapons and a lust to see his blood on the end of them. He thought it was easier to face down an entire army than it was to face the prospect of telling Leto how he felt, it was not something he had ever done, and all of it was completely new territory for him, but he knew that he needed to get the words out, to see if there was a chance she felt the same before he marched to face the Egyptians, otherwise not knowing if she might have felt the same would prove a distraction for a man who should not be distracted during such a critical time.
He was a man of discipline, a man who had worked his entire life to achieve his rank, his title and his military glory, and yet he now found himself fighting a losing battle against intrusive thoughts of the dark-haired beauty. He found that more often than not, in idle moments, his thoughts would turn to her dark curls, her pale skin that no doubt would feel soft under his rough touch, and his favourite feature of hers, those beautiful blue-green eyes. Despite the formalities required of their last few meetings, he could see that same old mischief sparkling in her eyes, and the thought of that warmed him. Though her brothers’ job had brought her to Midas and had her in the lap of those of high social status, he could still see that same wild young woman, with her curls all over the place, sword in her hand like she was born with it.
Maleos realized he had been standing there for a while now, lost in his own thoughts about the woman that he wished to court, and hoped that he had not missed anything important. Not much time must have passed, for Timaeus barely seemed to notice that Maleos was in his own head. He had to remind himself that he needed to focus, he would have the opportunity to write Leto and ask her to meet him soon, and until this meeting was over and the rest of his duties were attended, there was nothing he could do about his feelings for the dark-haired woman.
The next few moments would see the arrival of Captain Damocles, the man that Maleos was dreading to see more than Silanos. Sure, the stories of the man held him in the light of war hero, and many spoke of his accomplishments, but Maleos was not impressed with him. His fellow Captain annoyed the younger man, his tales of boyhood pranks and lustful adventures with multiple women were not things that impressed Maleos, nor were they things that he had participated in himself. He recalled the stories that Damocles had told at the feast before all hell had broken loose in the Dikastirio chamber, stories that Maleos would much rather forget. If it were possible to burn such things from one’s memory, Maleos would gladly do so, no matter the pain it cost. He dreaded the idea that the other man would be coming over and greeting him in that loud voice, perhaps regaling him with some tale of his latest romp at the whore house. Fortunately, the greeting and tale never came, as Damocles instead chose to turn his attentions on one of the Commanders that Maleos could not remember officially meeting, though he knew the man from reputation. If the man was so friendly with Damocles, Maleos was not sure that he wanted to get to know him. There was just something about Captain Damocles that rubbed Maleos the wrong way, and he was glad that at least for the moment, the other male was more interested in interacting with others.
He let his eyes scan the rest of the room, noting faces of those he had met and those he had yet to meet. For the most part he would know everyone there, at least by their name and reputation if not from personal experience. He had been in the military for half his life, and between the time he had enlisted as a base soldier and the present, he had met many men and committed their names to memory. Though not all of them yet lived, there was always more men to rise up and replace them. So was the way of life, death brought about opportunity for those who were younger and survived. Most were not in Maleos’ position, where he had been promoted to Captain only because his own Captain had removed himself further from the military to instead take up his duties as Baron. Most Captains were able to capture their positions only upon the death of their previous superior officer, or their retirement if the men were lucky. Though not many military men lived to see retirement. Maleos hoped his name would be among them one day, but he knew the odds were stacked against him.
Though it was not the first time he had beaten the odds, the fact that he stood there now, as a seasoned Captain despite his background spoke volumes. Most knew of his common blood, though few knew that he had survived being abandoned on the streets as a new born baby. The Gods had truly blessed him that day, for his adoptive father to have come walking along those streets only to be such a man who would take in an abandoned baby despite having three children of his own. He could have gone down any street, could have been walking home earlier in the day and missed the crying infant who was left to die, or he could have simply decided that he could not take care of another child and left him there. And yet here he stood, strong, healthy, accomplished and proud. It was not often that Maleos thought of his birth father, but he could not help but wonder why the man had abandoned him, how one could just leave their child on the streets to die. He also could not help but wonder if the man knew who he was, if he realized that the son he had left would grow up to become a Captain and one with such skill. Maleos hoped to meet the man, if only to tell him how he despised the man, and perhaps knock him on his ass for leaving his child to die.
There was no one else there so far that held particular interest for him, he had already made his introduction to the crown prince, and was not about to bother him with any thing further, as he was sure the man had a lot on his mind, and if he wished to discuss things further with Maleos, the Captain was sure he would approach him and do just that. He certainly was not about to willingly be drawn into conversation with Silanos or Damocles. He much preferred to stay right where he was, with Timaeus for companionship until the meeting well and truly started. Once all those who were invited had gathered and plans began to be discussed, there would be no time for wandering thoughts and idle chitchat, so Maleos figured he ought to get as many words in with Timaeus as he could, for he did not know if they would have a chance soon to speak of anything other than the impending battle with Egypt. Though Maleos did enjoy discussions of war and battle plans, he craved the opportunity to catch up with Timaeus, to discuss other topics. With all of the recent events, things had felt absolutely crazy. Feelings for Leto aside, Maleos had begun to start feeling a bit overwhelmed in general, finding that his temper was getting a little bit worse. He tried to remember the words of patience his mother had preached to him growing up, but he found that they were becoming less effective than they had been in his younger years. He was not sure what it was, but his guess was just the pure amount that he had on his plate right now. The murder investigation for the Priestess Kallista had seemed to set off some sort of domino effect, after her arrival at his barracks, things just seemed to pile up more and more on him until he was truly starting to feel all of his twenty-seven years weighing upon him. Not that he would admit these things to anyone, he was not the type to show that kind of weakness. It was one thing to discuss his feelings towards a woman with his best friend, it was another thing to admit to his Baron that he was feeling tired, overwhelmed and increasingly angry. Maleos would not do anything that might pose a risk to any future potential promotions. Not after he had dedicated his life to seeking exactly that.
“Tell me, how does everyone in your house fare, my lord? As long as it has been since we have last had a chance to talk, it has been longer still since I have spoken with the others in your family. I believe the last time that I have seen Roxana was during the rebuilding efforts after the fires.” Maleos asked, out of politeness but also because he was genuinely curious. Over the years he had spent much time with Timaeus, and by association, much time around the other members of his household. It felt like it had been ages since he had seen or spoken to any of them, aside from Silanos, but Maleos would just as soon forget about his interactions with the man. It was easy to pretend that the brat had no relation to Timaeus, for in many ways the brothers were very different. That much was clear in their opposite relationships with Maleos. The Captain would be able to tolerate Silanos more if the man had a semblance of a spine, but he had no patience for cowards, and that was exactly what he saw Silanos as. He had made his view of the Lord very clear while his title had been stripped and he had been placed among the common soldiers of Maleos’ unit. Now though, if Silanos were to approach him, Maleos would need to address him once more as a Lord, despite their recent history. He was almost surprised that Silanos did not approach him simply to force Maleos to use his title and bask in the little glory the man thought he had. Perhaps Tim’s younger brother had learned some small lesson of humility, though the Captain somehow doubted it. There must have been something more going on than Maleos was aware of, for Silanos to be hiding in such a manner.
Maleos shifted a little on his feet, the air in the room was starting to get a bit tense as the seconds passed, every man there feeling the weight of the impending war. Colchis seemed to perpetually be in conflict, though as of recent years, the conflict had been mostly contained to fighting the barbarian savages on their own lands. This would be the first major war with another civilization in recent years, and Maleos hoped that every man in this room was taking it seriously. Innocent lives needed to be defended, as did their way of life and their lands. Perhaps Maleos was a bit too passionate about Colchis and her glory, but he would not have it any other way. He had dedicated his life to his home, and he would give his dying breath for her if need be. To Maleos, there was no greater thing to dedicate his life to, and a death on the battlefield for him was likely, and he would go down with his sword in his hand, taking as many enemies of Colchis with him as he could. As great as it would be for him to be able to ascend higher and retire without losing his life, he was not afraid to die fighting either. He had gone into the military knowing that an early death was likely, and he was lucky that he had even made it this far. Many men could not count themselves among the living, he had seen a fair few military men meet their deaths while out on campaign.
He recalled the time he had come closest to death, and surprisingly it hadn’t even been due to combat. It had been due to exhaustion and a stupid decision by two young men who wanted nothing more to get home and escape each other’s company. The stumble of a horse pushed too far had seen both of them over the side of a cliff, hanging for their lives on fragile stone, with muscles aching in protest from a campaign that had dragged on far too long for both of them. He could recall thinking in the moments before the fall, how boring his companion was, and he could remember urging his horse on despite the beast’s protests, in a hurry to return to his house in Eubocris and collapse in his bed, away from the other man’s company. Now the two stood side by side, ready to participate in a meeting in regard to a coming war, closer than brothers. It was hard to believe that only a few years ago he and Timaeus had disliked each other’s company so much that they nearly lost their lives over it. Now Maleos hope for some time to spend with his best friend alone. It was funny how things worked, and strange. Perhaps the two men were fated to be friends, just as Maleos was fated to run into Leto again years after their first meeting. Had Maleos and Timaeus not bonded that day, perhaps Maleos would never have made Captain. Sure, he had the skills to deserve it, but a lot of what it took to rise in the ranks was knowing the right people and getting into the right social circles. As much as Maleos hated it, the military ranks were almost as much political and social maneuvering as they were actually holding skill for all things combat.
He shifted once more, a subtle movement that he doubted anyone would notice. As proud as he was to wear the uniform of a Captain and the clean and polished formal armour that he had chosen, he hated every second of it. If it were up to him they would all just wear what was comfortable. As long as they were fully clothed, he did not know why it should matter what they wore. Unfortunately for him, appearances mattered, and if he had any hopes of making a good impression on those who could possibly help him obtain a higher rank, he needed to present himself as a man of high class. Or at least as much as he was able to present himself in such light.
He stood there and waited, hoping for the meeting to start soon so he could be distracted from his own discomfort in clothing choice. He knew once everything began, he would be far too busy listening, contributing and memorizing to care what he wore or how it felt. Other things seemed to simply fade away when his mind was occupied with military matters, he had been that way since he was a boy.
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Maleos hated the formalities of these sorts of meetings, though he loved the content, he much preferred the urgency of combat discussion while on campaign, the stimulation of outwitting your opponent, of showing your strength and grit as a leader and as a soldier. There was almost nothing that Maleos loved more than the thrill of being out on campaign, and he was rearing to go back out to war after sitting around for so long with idle hands. He knew that it would be a little while yet before they were back out and active, and he knew that there would be a few more formalities before he could strap on his real armour and feel the sturdy metal of his sword in his hand. But all of this meant there was a very real threat, and it meant that soon Maleos would once more step out against the enemies and lay his life on the line for Colchis and its people. The warrior in him screamed for blood, for the excitement of the fight, and for the moment he did his best to push that part of him back. Though his reputation stood for itself, and it was no secret that he had himself ended the lives of many men, there was no room for pure bloodlust in a meeting like this. This was strategy and social traditions, and while he was fairly skilled at the first part, the social part would be his downfall if he let himself be distracted.
Maleos did not miss the arrival of Silanos, though the Lord kept to himself in the back of the room, he noted that the man looked worn down, though less so than when he was under Maleos’ command. He had not allowed the man any wine or other vices under his leadership, and the early morning wake up calls, food from the mess hall, and daily drills had worn Silanos down, but as far as Maleos could tell, it had not driven the point home. Silanos seemed to be in a worse mood, but no different in attitude. Maleos was glad to see him out from under his command, happy to return to his drills with his unit and forget about the pathetic Lord who would likely get himself killed rather than grow up and act like a man. It was of no consequence to Maleos what Silanos chose to do, though he did feel for his Baron and best friend. The stresses of dealing with such a brother were clear in the tired look on his face. Maleos would not say it out loud to Timaeus, but he seemed to have aged much faster than he should have, and the Captain knew the culprit to be the mischievous brother that Timaeus did his best to reign in. It was not a job that Maleos would wish on anyone, and he couldn’t remember a time where he was so thankful to have a brother like his own. He wasn’t particularly close with Lycus, but at least his brother wasn’t as embarrassing and disappointing as Silanos.
His attentions were turned from one brother to the other as Timaeus approached him and greeted him. A rare smile came across Maleos’ face upon seeing his oldest friend and most trusted confidant. There was not much of a danger of a riveting conversation from the Crown Prince, and so Maleos chose to turn his attentions to Timaeus for the moment, once he had received a curt nod from Vangelis as a greeting. He had given sufficient enough time for any conversation that might have blossomed from his greeting to the prince, so when none had come he thought it would be appropriate for him to engage in conversation elsewhere. He was not the best with social conventions, but he at least knew the most basic of polite actions, enough to make sure that in most court situations he would not embarrass himself or offend someone.
Anything beyond that was out of his league, though not through his own fault. He tried his best, he just was no the charismatic type who could charm anyone he met. He was an amazing swordsman, a loyal soldier and a strong leader, and the things that he did in those areas he did well. Those were the things he found important, and though his ambitions were aimed to higher position in the military ranks, he never cared much about the higher-class things in society. What drove him was not the status or the money, but more making a name for himself and sealing his story in history. He wanted future generations to remember his name, to speak of him as a fabled military leader. So, while he was not the best when it came to making friends and charming people, he would continue to do his best with such things, as it was an unfortunate side affect of his position as Captain.
“My lord.” He greeted, giving him a bit of a bow. He knew that in these sorts of public situations, he needed to be more formal, no matter how close of a relationship he had with Timaeus. When things were said and done, his best friend was still his Baron and superior, and he would show him such respect, especially in front of other people. He would not want to embarrass Tim by acting more casual towards him, and Maleos himself would see it as a sign of disrespect on his behalf. It was different when the two men were behind closed doors and spending time together as just friends. Here they were gathered as two important men in the Colchian military ranks, to discuss the coming war and what it meant for the provinces. Here Timaeus was less his best friend and more his Baron. Maleos was used to the switching of their relationship based on the situation by now, so it was second nature to him to greet him as one over the other.
Maleos bit back a little snicker as Tim inquired about his feelings on being rid of his spoiled brother from under his command. He did not wish to rub it in Tim’s face how awful his brother was, he was sure that the Baron was aware and had thoughts of his own on the subject. The Captain hadn’t planned on bringing it up to start with, but now that his friend had brought it up, he thought it appropriate to at least give him a reply. He would keep his stories for a later date, hopefully one that would come sometime soon where the two could spend some time together with a few glasses of wine and laugh about Silanos and his misadventures as part of Maleos’ unit of soldiers. He doubted they would have the chance though, with Timaeus dealing with Silanos once more and the war looming overhead, there would be little time for casual chats with friends. Despite the impending busy time for both men, Maleos still held hope that they would find at least a small amount of time to have at least a brief discussion when there were less ears around to overhear them.
“I cannot say that I miss him haunting my barracks. His incessant whining was beginning to bring down morale.” He replied, only half joking. His men were not impressed with Silanos hanging around their ranks, especially when word had gotten out that Silanos had the opportunity for a one on one training session with Maleos. It was something that his men would give almost anything for, to be trained by Maleos without the distraction of other soldiers around them. His sword skills were well known among his unit and most would love the chance to at least attempt to learn some new skills. He did his best to teach them all and keep them at their peak performance, but with a large group, it was harder for them to pick up the finer points of the swordsmanship skills that their leader held. If he had the time, he would pull each and every one of them aside and train them with the sword personally, unfortunately with his unit growing and his duties expanding as well, he was finding that he was spending less and less time actually doing the drills with his men himself and relying more and more on Daxos’ assistance in such things. He hoped that soon the man would get the promotion he wanted to Lieutenant, and then he could officially pass some responsibilities on to him. As it stood, though Daxos proved to be a great help with Maleos otherwise occupied, the man still remained a regular soldier.
“We have much to discuss. A lot has transpired since last we had a moment to ourselves.” Maleos commented, keeping his voice low as it was a conversation of a personal nature. He wished to tell Timaeus about his recent feelings, news that the Captain was sure would shock the other male. In all the years that the two had been colleagues and friends, Maleos had never shown an interest in a woman, not even the whores that Timaeus had encouraged him to solicit. He had never felt any inclinations towards any of them, preferring to spend his time training his men and working on his career instead of being distracted by women. Now? He found himself unable to control how he felt, and he was conflicted about his new-found feelings to say the least. He was almost certain that Tim would die of shock upon hearing his friend had eyes for a woman. Though Maleos was not sure if Timaeus knew Leto, and if he did he could only hope that it was on good terms. If he were to decide to pursue Leto, he would need Tim’s blessing, both as his baron and as his best friend. Though, he supposed if Tim did not approve of her, he would court her anyways, even if the other man’s opinion of his potential future wife was important to him. He did not think that Tim was the type of man to deny a marriage for Maleos should his relationship with Leto lead to that point, no matter his opinion on the woman. He thought perhaps his friend would just be happy to know that Maleos even had a chance at a potential marriage. Though it remained to be seen if Leto would hold the same feelings as Maleos. He was doing his best to be hopeful and trying to keep the negative thoughts from invading his mind. There was no way that fate would lead him back to Leto after the passing of so many years just to taunt him with the prospect of love but never allow him to feel it returned.
He fell silent for a moment as his thoughts went once more to Leto, a path that he had often found himself wandering since their fated meeting outside the temples. He remembered the feeling that day, of his feet taking him towards the temples for a reason, though the reason had been unknown to him at the time. He was not sure if it was intervention by the Gods that had led him to those temples that day, or pure luck that his wandering had taken him that way, but either way he was thankful for what ever force it was that brought him that way. It was not a place he visited often, the temple devoted to his own God being located elsewhere, though he had been to the other temples a few times depending on what prayers needed to be said. For the most part, that area went without his presence, and yet that day had found him there, along with someone that he had only met once in his childhood. Despite it having been so many years previous that the two had met, and the encounter had been rather brief, Maleos remembered that day well. A pivotal point in the young man’s life, it had been the day that he had purchased his first sword, a dream of his since he was old enough to lust after such things. The sword still stayed with him to that day, though years of use had seen it worn down and getting tired, he remained faithful to the blade, though he knew that soon enough he would need to replace it, despite the careful maintenance from the Captain.
More importantly, that day had been the first time he would meet Leto, back then she was a bit rebellious, practicing with swords alongside Maleos, despite knowing her parents protests of her using them. She had been full of life and full of ambition, quick witted and headstrong, Maleos had not realized any of these things about her until he had reflected back on their first meeting after running into her so many years later. He was not sure at the time why the memory of the young, curly haired woman had stuck so hard in his mind, but the more he ran into her, the more sure he was that it was more than a coincidence. For her to reappear in his life after such a long time and make Maleos smile and laugh like they had been close friends all that time, it was not a thing that happened to him often. And the feelings he had were not ones that was used to, and most certainly not ones that he was going to allow to pass by without acting on them. He was not sure of her feelings towards him, though he hoped she felt similar, but he planned on confessing such things before he was to march off to war. He thought he had more time before he would need to be away for an extended period, more time to get to know her and try to impress her, but the time was now or never, for there was no guarantee he would return from the war. Despite his skills, every man could fall, and he was just a man after all. He was not foolish or cocky enough to think himself unable to be defeated.
He had plans to write to her, to see if she would meet him so that he may confess his feelings to her in private. He was not sure how easy it would be for her to get away from her household and meet him some where that no one could overhear them, but he would pick a place and put his offer out there, and if she showed up, then he would take it as a good sign. Though with her brother back in Midas, it might not be possible for her to meet him, after all the man was paid to know things, he could only hope that being his sister would mean that Leto would be able to slip out undetected by him and meet Maleos without raising suspicion.
He was far too nervous about the prospect of confessing his feelings for a woman for a man who had made a long-term career of facing down enemies armed with weapons and a lust to see his blood on the end of them. He thought it was easier to face down an entire army than it was to face the prospect of telling Leto how he felt, it was not something he had ever done, and all of it was completely new territory for him, but he knew that he needed to get the words out, to see if there was a chance she felt the same before he marched to face the Egyptians, otherwise not knowing if she might have felt the same would prove a distraction for a man who should not be distracted during such a critical time.
He was a man of discipline, a man who had worked his entire life to achieve his rank, his title and his military glory, and yet he now found himself fighting a losing battle against intrusive thoughts of the dark-haired beauty. He found that more often than not, in idle moments, his thoughts would turn to her dark curls, her pale skin that no doubt would feel soft under his rough touch, and his favourite feature of hers, those beautiful blue-green eyes. Despite the formalities required of their last few meetings, he could see that same old mischief sparkling in her eyes, and the thought of that warmed him. Though her brothers’ job had brought her to Midas and had her in the lap of those of high social status, he could still see that same wild young woman, with her curls all over the place, sword in her hand like she was born with it.
Maleos realized he had been standing there for a while now, lost in his own thoughts about the woman that he wished to court, and hoped that he had not missed anything important. Not much time must have passed, for Timaeus barely seemed to notice that Maleos was in his own head. He had to remind himself that he needed to focus, he would have the opportunity to write Leto and ask her to meet him soon, and until this meeting was over and the rest of his duties were attended, there was nothing he could do about his feelings for the dark-haired woman.
The next few moments would see the arrival of Captain Damocles, the man that Maleos was dreading to see more than Silanos. Sure, the stories of the man held him in the light of war hero, and many spoke of his accomplishments, but Maleos was not impressed with him. His fellow Captain annoyed the younger man, his tales of boyhood pranks and lustful adventures with multiple women were not things that impressed Maleos, nor were they things that he had participated in himself. He recalled the stories that Damocles had told at the feast before all hell had broken loose in the Dikastirio chamber, stories that Maleos would much rather forget. If it were possible to burn such things from one’s memory, Maleos would gladly do so, no matter the pain it cost. He dreaded the idea that the other man would be coming over and greeting him in that loud voice, perhaps regaling him with some tale of his latest romp at the whore house. Fortunately, the greeting and tale never came, as Damocles instead chose to turn his attentions on one of the Commanders that Maleos could not remember officially meeting, though he knew the man from reputation. If the man was so friendly with Damocles, Maleos was not sure that he wanted to get to know him. There was just something about Captain Damocles that rubbed Maleos the wrong way, and he was glad that at least for the moment, the other male was more interested in interacting with others.
He let his eyes scan the rest of the room, noting faces of those he had met and those he had yet to meet. For the most part he would know everyone there, at least by their name and reputation if not from personal experience. He had been in the military for half his life, and between the time he had enlisted as a base soldier and the present, he had met many men and committed their names to memory. Though not all of them yet lived, there was always more men to rise up and replace them. So was the way of life, death brought about opportunity for those who were younger and survived. Most were not in Maleos’ position, where he had been promoted to Captain only because his own Captain had removed himself further from the military to instead take up his duties as Baron. Most Captains were able to capture their positions only upon the death of their previous superior officer, or their retirement if the men were lucky. Though not many military men lived to see retirement. Maleos hoped his name would be among them one day, but he knew the odds were stacked against him.
Though it was not the first time he had beaten the odds, the fact that he stood there now, as a seasoned Captain despite his background spoke volumes. Most knew of his common blood, though few knew that he had survived being abandoned on the streets as a new born baby. The Gods had truly blessed him that day, for his adoptive father to have come walking along those streets only to be such a man who would take in an abandoned baby despite having three children of his own. He could have gone down any street, could have been walking home earlier in the day and missed the crying infant who was left to die, or he could have simply decided that he could not take care of another child and left him there. And yet here he stood, strong, healthy, accomplished and proud. It was not often that Maleos thought of his birth father, but he could not help but wonder why the man had abandoned him, how one could just leave their child on the streets to die. He also could not help but wonder if the man knew who he was, if he realized that the son he had left would grow up to become a Captain and one with such skill. Maleos hoped to meet the man, if only to tell him how he despised the man, and perhaps knock him on his ass for leaving his child to die.
There was no one else there so far that held particular interest for him, he had already made his introduction to the crown prince, and was not about to bother him with any thing further, as he was sure the man had a lot on his mind, and if he wished to discuss things further with Maleos, the Captain was sure he would approach him and do just that. He certainly was not about to willingly be drawn into conversation with Silanos or Damocles. He much preferred to stay right where he was, with Timaeus for companionship until the meeting well and truly started. Once all those who were invited had gathered and plans began to be discussed, there would be no time for wandering thoughts and idle chitchat, so Maleos figured he ought to get as many words in with Timaeus as he could, for he did not know if they would have a chance soon to speak of anything other than the impending battle with Egypt. Though Maleos did enjoy discussions of war and battle plans, he craved the opportunity to catch up with Timaeus, to discuss other topics. With all of the recent events, things had felt absolutely crazy. Feelings for Leto aside, Maleos had begun to start feeling a bit overwhelmed in general, finding that his temper was getting a little bit worse. He tried to remember the words of patience his mother had preached to him growing up, but he found that they were becoming less effective than they had been in his younger years. He was not sure what it was, but his guess was just the pure amount that he had on his plate right now. The murder investigation for the Priestess Kallista had seemed to set off some sort of domino effect, after her arrival at his barracks, things just seemed to pile up more and more on him until he was truly starting to feel all of his twenty-seven years weighing upon him. Not that he would admit these things to anyone, he was not the type to show that kind of weakness. It was one thing to discuss his feelings towards a woman with his best friend, it was another thing to admit to his Baron that he was feeling tired, overwhelmed and increasingly angry. Maleos would not do anything that might pose a risk to any future potential promotions. Not after he had dedicated his life to seeking exactly that.
“Tell me, how does everyone in your house fare, my lord? As long as it has been since we have last had a chance to talk, it has been longer still since I have spoken with the others in your family. I believe the last time that I have seen Roxana was during the rebuilding efforts after the fires.” Maleos asked, out of politeness but also because he was genuinely curious. Over the years he had spent much time with Timaeus, and by association, much time around the other members of his household. It felt like it had been ages since he had seen or spoken to any of them, aside from Silanos, but Maleos would just as soon forget about his interactions with the man. It was easy to pretend that the brat had no relation to Timaeus, for in many ways the brothers were very different. That much was clear in their opposite relationships with Maleos. The Captain would be able to tolerate Silanos more if the man had a semblance of a spine, but he had no patience for cowards, and that was exactly what he saw Silanos as. He had made his view of the Lord very clear while his title had been stripped and he had been placed among the common soldiers of Maleos’ unit. Now though, if Silanos were to approach him, Maleos would need to address him once more as a Lord, despite their recent history. He was almost surprised that Silanos did not approach him simply to force Maleos to use his title and bask in the little glory the man thought he had. Perhaps Tim’s younger brother had learned some small lesson of humility, though the Captain somehow doubted it. There must have been something more going on than Maleos was aware of, for Silanos to be hiding in such a manner.
Maleos shifted a little on his feet, the air in the room was starting to get a bit tense as the seconds passed, every man there feeling the weight of the impending war. Colchis seemed to perpetually be in conflict, though as of recent years, the conflict had been mostly contained to fighting the barbarian savages on their own lands. This would be the first major war with another civilization in recent years, and Maleos hoped that every man in this room was taking it seriously. Innocent lives needed to be defended, as did their way of life and their lands. Perhaps Maleos was a bit too passionate about Colchis and her glory, but he would not have it any other way. He had dedicated his life to his home, and he would give his dying breath for her if need be. To Maleos, there was no greater thing to dedicate his life to, and a death on the battlefield for him was likely, and he would go down with his sword in his hand, taking as many enemies of Colchis with him as he could. As great as it would be for him to be able to ascend higher and retire without losing his life, he was not afraid to die fighting either. He had gone into the military knowing that an early death was likely, and he was lucky that he had even made it this far. Many men could not count themselves among the living, he had seen a fair few military men meet their deaths while out on campaign.
He recalled the time he had come closest to death, and surprisingly it hadn’t even been due to combat. It had been due to exhaustion and a stupid decision by two young men who wanted nothing more to get home and escape each other’s company. The stumble of a horse pushed too far had seen both of them over the side of a cliff, hanging for their lives on fragile stone, with muscles aching in protest from a campaign that had dragged on far too long for both of them. He could recall thinking in the moments before the fall, how boring his companion was, and he could remember urging his horse on despite the beast’s protests, in a hurry to return to his house in Eubocris and collapse in his bed, away from the other man’s company. Now the two stood side by side, ready to participate in a meeting in regard to a coming war, closer than brothers. It was hard to believe that only a few years ago he and Timaeus had disliked each other’s company so much that they nearly lost their lives over it. Now Maleos hope for some time to spend with his best friend alone. It was funny how things worked, and strange. Perhaps the two men were fated to be friends, just as Maleos was fated to run into Leto again years after their first meeting. Had Maleos and Timaeus not bonded that day, perhaps Maleos would never have made Captain. Sure, he had the skills to deserve it, but a lot of what it took to rise in the ranks was knowing the right people and getting into the right social circles. As much as Maleos hated it, the military ranks were almost as much political and social maneuvering as they were actually holding skill for all things combat.
He shifted once more, a subtle movement that he doubted anyone would notice. As proud as he was to wear the uniform of a Captain and the clean and polished formal armour that he had chosen, he hated every second of it. If it were up to him they would all just wear what was comfortable. As long as they were fully clothed, he did not know why it should matter what they wore. Unfortunately for him, appearances mattered, and if he had any hopes of making a good impression on those who could possibly help him obtain a higher rank, he needed to present himself as a man of high class. Or at least as much as he was able to present himself in such light.
He stood there and waited, hoping for the meeting to start soon so he could be distracted from his own discomfort in clothing choice. He knew once everything began, he would be far too busy listening, contributing and memorizing to care what he wore or how it felt. Other things seemed to simply fade away when his mind was occupied with military matters, he had been that way since he was a boy.
Maleos hated the formalities of these sorts of meetings, though he loved the content, he much preferred the urgency of combat discussion while on campaign, the stimulation of outwitting your opponent, of showing your strength and grit as a leader and as a soldier. There was almost nothing that Maleos loved more than the thrill of being out on campaign, and he was rearing to go back out to war after sitting around for so long with idle hands. He knew that it would be a little while yet before they were back out and active, and he knew that there would be a few more formalities before he could strap on his real armour and feel the sturdy metal of his sword in his hand. But all of this meant there was a very real threat, and it meant that soon Maleos would once more step out against the enemies and lay his life on the line for Colchis and its people. The warrior in him screamed for blood, for the excitement of the fight, and for the moment he did his best to push that part of him back. Though his reputation stood for itself, and it was no secret that he had himself ended the lives of many men, there was no room for pure bloodlust in a meeting like this. This was strategy and social traditions, and while he was fairly skilled at the first part, the social part would be his downfall if he let himself be distracted.
Maleos did not miss the arrival of Silanos, though the Lord kept to himself in the back of the room, he noted that the man looked worn down, though less so than when he was under Maleos’ command. He had not allowed the man any wine or other vices under his leadership, and the early morning wake up calls, food from the mess hall, and daily drills had worn Silanos down, but as far as Maleos could tell, it had not driven the point home. Silanos seemed to be in a worse mood, but no different in attitude. Maleos was glad to see him out from under his command, happy to return to his drills with his unit and forget about the pathetic Lord who would likely get himself killed rather than grow up and act like a man. It was of no consequence to Maleos what Silanos chose to do, though he did feel for his Baron and best friend. The stresses of dealing with such a brother were clear in the tired look on his face. Maleos would not say it out loud to Timaeus, but he seemed to have aged much faster than he should have, and the Captain knew the culprit to be the mischievous brother that Timaeus did his best to reign in. It was not a job that Maleos would wish on anyone, and he couldn’t remember a time where he was so thankful to have a brother like his own. He wasn’t particularly close with Lycus, but at least his brother wasn’t as embarrassing and disappointing as Silanos.
His attentions were turned from one brother to the other as Timaeus approached him and greeted him. A rare smile came across Maleos’ face upon seeing his oldest friend and most trusted confidant. There was not much of a danger of a riveting conversation from the Crown Prince, and so Maleos chose to turn his attentions to Timaeus for the moment, once he had received a curt nod from Vangelis as a greeting. He had given sufficient enough time for any conversation that might have blossomed from his greeting to the prince, so when none had come he thought it would be appropriate for him to engage in conversation elsewhere. He was not the best with social conventions, but he at least knew the most basic of polite actions, enough to make sure that in most court situations he would not embarrass himself or offend someone.
Anything beyond that was out of his league, though not through his own fault. He tried his best, he just was no the charismatic type who could charm anyone he met. He was an amazing swordsman, a loyal soldier and a strong leader, and the things that he did in those areas he did well. Those were the things he found important, and though his ambitions were aimed to higher position in the military ranks, he never cared much about the higher-class things in society. What drove him was not the status or the money, but more making a name for himself and sealing his story in history. He wanted future generations to remember his name, to speak of him as a fabled military leader. So, while he was not the best when it came to making friends and charming people, he would continue to do his best with such things, as it was an unfortunate side affect of his position as Captain.
“My lord.” He greeted, giving him a bit of a bow. He knew that in these sorts of public situations, he needed to be more formal, no matter how close of a relationship he had with Timaeus. When things were said and done, his best friend was still his Baron and superior, and he would show him such respect, especially in front of other people. He would not want to embarrass Tim by acting more casual towards him, and Maleos himself would see it as a sign of disrespect on his behalf. It was different when the two men were behind closed doors and spending time together as just friends. Here they were gathered as two important men in the Colchian military ranks, to discuss the coming war and what it meant for the provinces. Here Timaeus was less his best friend and more his Baron. Maleos was used to the switching of their relationship based on the situation by now, so it was second nature to him to greet him as one over the other.
Maleos bit back a little snicker as Tim inquired about his feelings on being rid of his spoiled brother from under his command. He did not wish to rub it in Tim’s face how awful his brother was, he was sure that the Baron was aware and had thoughts of his own on the subject. The Captain hadn’t planned on bringing it up to start with, but now that his friend had brought it up, he thought it appropriate to at least give him a reply. He would keep his stories for a later date, hopefully one that would come sometime soon where the two could spend some time together with a few glasses of wine and laugh about Silanos and his misadventures as part of Maleos’ unit of soldiers. He doubted they would have the chance though, with Timaeus dealing with Silanos once more and the war looming overhead, there would be little time for casual chats with friends. Despite the impending busy time for both men, Maleos still held hope that they would find at least a small amount of time to have at least a brief discussion when there were less ears around to overhear them.
“I cannot say that I miss him haunting my barracks. His incessant whining was beginning to bring down morale.” He replied, only half joking. His men were not impressed with Silanos hanging around their ranks, especially when word had gotten out that Silanos had the opportunity for a one on one training session with Maleos. It was something that his men would give almost anything for, to be trained by Maleos without the distraction of other soldiers around them. His sword skills were well known among his unit and most would love the chance to at least attempt to learn some new skills. He did his best to teach them all and keep them at their peak performance, but with a large group, it was harder for them to pick up the finer points of the swordsmanship skills that their leader held. If he had the time, he would pull each and every one of them aside and train them with the sword personally, unfortunately with his unit growing and his duties expanding as well, he was finding that he was spending less and less time actually doing the drills with his men himself and relying more and more on Daxos’ assistance in such things. He hoped that soon the man would get the promotion he wanted to Lieutenant, and then he could officially pass some responsibilities on to him. As it stood, though Daxos proved to be a great help with Maleos otherwise occupied, the man still remained a regular soldier.
“We have much to discuss. A lot has transpired since last we had a moment to ourselves.” Maleos commented, keeping his voice low as it was a conversation of a personal nature. He wished to tell Timaeus about his recent feelings, news that the Captain was sure would shock the other male. In all the years that the two had been colleagues and friends, Maleos had never shown an interest in a woman, not even the whores that Timaeus had encouraged him to solicit. He had never felt any inclinations towards any of them, preferring to spend his time training his men and working on his career instead of being distracted by women. Now? He found himself unable to control how he felt, and he was conflicted about his new-found feelings to say the least. He was almost certain that Tim would die of shock upon hearing his friend had eyes for a woman. Though Maleos was not sure if Timaeus knew Leto, and if he did he could only hope that it was on good terms. If he were to decide to pursue Leto, he would need Tim’s blessing, both as his baron and as his best friend. Though, he supposed if Tim did not approve of her, he would court her anyways, even if the other man’s opinion of his potential future wife was important to him. He did not think that Tim was the type of man to deny a marriage for Maleos should his relationship with Leto lead to that point, no matter his opinion on the woman. He thought perhaps his friend would just be happy to know that Maleos even had a chance at a potential marriage. Though it remained to be seen if Leto would hold the same feelings as Maleos. He was doing his best to be hopeful and trying to keep the negative thoughts from invading his mind. There was no way that fate would lead him back to Leto after the passing of so many years just to taunt him with the prospect of love but never allow him to feel it returned.
He fell silent for a moment as his thoughts went once more to Leto, a path that he had often found himself wandering since their fated meeting outside the temples. He remembered the feeling that day, of his feet taking him towards the temples for a reason, though the reason had been unknown to him at the time. He was not sure if it was intervention by the Gods that had led him to those temples that day, or pure luck that his wandering had taken him that way, but either way he was thankful for what ever force it was that brought him that way. It was not a place he visited often, the temple devoted to his own God being located elsewhere, though he had been to the other temples a few times depending on what prayers needed to be said. For the most part, that area went without his presence, and yet that day had found him there, along with someone that he had only met once in his childhood. Despite it having been so many years previous that the two had met, and the encounter had been rather brief, Maleos remembered that day well. A pivotal point in the young man’s life, it had been the day that he had purchased his first sword, a dream of his since he was old enough to lust after such things. The sword still stayed with him to that day, though years of use had seen it worn down and getting tired, he remained faithful to the blade, though he knew that soon enough he would need to replace it, despite the careful maintenance from the Captain.
More importantly, that day had been the first time he would meet Leto, back then she was a bit rebellious, practicing with swords alongside Maleos, despite knowing her parents protests of her using them. She had been full of life and full of ambition, quick witted and headstrong, Maleos had not realized any of these things about her until he had reflected back on their first meeting after running into her so many years later. He was not sure at the time why the memory of the young, curly haired woman had stuck so hard in his mind, but the more he ran into her, the more sure he was that it was more than a coincidence. For her to reappear in his life after such a long time and make Maleos smile and laugh like they had been close friends all that time, it was not a thing that happened to him often. And the feelings he had were not ones that was used to, and most certainly not ones that he was going to allow to pass by without acting on them. He was not sure of her feelings towards him, though he hoped she felt similar, but he planned on confessing such things before he was to march off to war. He thought he had more time before he would need to be away for an extended period, more time to get to know her and try to impress her, but the time was now or never, for there was no guarantee he would return from the war. Despite his skills, every man could fall, and he was just a man after all. He was not foolish or cocky enough to think himself unable to be defeated.
He had plans to write to her, to see if she would meet him so that he may confess his feelings to her in private. He was not sure how easy it would be for her to get away from her household and meet him some where that no one could overhear them, but he would pick a place and put his offer out there, and if she showed up, then he would take it as a good sign. Though with her brother back in Midas, it might not be possible for her to meet him, after all the man was paid to know things, he could only hope that being his sister would mean that Leto would be able to slip out undetected by him and meet Maleos without raising suspicion.
He was far too nervous about the prospect of confessing his feelings for a woman for a man who had made a long-term career of facing down enemies armed with weapons and a lust to see his blood on the end of them. He thought it was easier to face down an entire army than it was to face the prospect of telling Leto how he felt, it was not something he had ever done, and all of it was completely new territory for him, but he knew that he needed to get the words out, to see if there was a chance she felt the same before he marched to face the Egyptians, otherwise not knowing if she might have felt the same would prove a distraction for a man who should not be distracted during such a critical time.
He was a man of discipline, a man who had worked his entire life to achieve his rank, his title and his military glory, and yet he now found himself fighting a losing battle against intrusive thoughts of the dark-haired beauty. He found that more often than not, in idle moments, his thoughts would turn to her dark curls, her pale skin that no doubt would feel soft under his rough touch, and his favourite feature of hers, those beautiful blue-green eyes. Despite the formalities required of their last few meetings, he could see that same old mischief sparkling in her eyes, and the thought of that warmed him. Though her brothers’ job had brought her to Midas and had her in the lap of those of high social status, he could still see that same wild young woman, with her curls all over the place, sword in her hand like she was born with it.
Maleos realized he had been standing there for a while now, lost in his own thoughts about the woman that he wished to court, and hoped that he had not missed anything important. Not much time must have passed, for Timaeus barely seemed to notice that Maleos was in his own head. He had to remind himself that he needed to focus, he would have the opportunity to write Leto and ask her to meet him soon, and until this meeting was over and the rest of his duties were attended, there was nothing he could do about his feelings for the dark-haired woman.
The next few moments would see the arrival of Captain Damocles, the man that Maleos was dreading to see more than Silanos. Sure, the stories of the man held him in the light of war hero, and many spoke of his accomplishments, but Maleos was not impressed with him. His fellow Captain annoyed the younger man, his tales of boyhood pranks and lustful adventures with multiple women were not things that impressed Maleos, nor were they things that he had participated in himself. He recalled the stories that Damocles had told at the feast before all hell had broken loose in the Dikastirio chamber, stories that Maleos would much rather forget. If it were possible to burn such things from one’s memory, Maleos would gladly do so, no matter the pain it cost. He dreaded the idea that the other man would be coming over and greeting him in that loud voice, perhaps regaling him with some tale of his latest romp at the whore house. Fortunately, the greeting and tale never came, as Damocles instead chose to turn his attentions on one of the Commanders that Maleos could not remember officially meeting, though he knew the man from reputation. If the man was so friendly with Damocles, Maleos was not sure that he wanted to get to know him. There was just something about Captain Damocles that rubbed Maleos the wrong way, and he was glad that at least for the moment, the other male was more interested in interacting with others.
He let his eyes scan the rest of the room, noting faces of those he had met and those he had yet to meet. For the most part he would know everyone there, at least by their name and reputation if not from personal experience. He had been in the military for half his life, and between the time he had enlisted as a base soldier and the present, he had met many men and committed their names to memory. Though not all of them yet lived, there was always more men to rise up and replace them. So was the way of life, death brought about opportunity for those who were younger and survived. Most were not in Maleos’ position, where he had been promoted to Captain only because his own Captain had removed himself further from the military to instead take up his duties as Baron. Most Captains were able to capture their positions only upon the death of their previous superior officer, or their retirement if the men were lucky. Though not many military men lived to see retirement. Maleos hoped his name would be among them one day, but he knew the odds were stacked against him.
Though it was not the first time he had beaten the odds, the fact that he stood there now, as a seasoned Captain despite his background spoke volumes. Most knew of his common blood, though few knew that he had survived being abandoned on the streets as a new born baby. The Gods had truly blessed him that day, for his adoptive father to have come walking along those streets only to be such a man who would take in an abandoned baby despite having three children of his own. He could have gone down any street, could have been walking home earlier in the day and missed the crying infant who was left to die, or he could have simply decided that he could not take care of another child and left him there. And yet here he stood, strong, healthy, accomplished and proud. It was not often that Maleos thought of his birth father, but he could not help but wonder why the man had abandoned him, how one could just leave their child on the streets to die. He also could not help but wonder if the man knew who he was, if he realized that the son he had left would grow up to become a Captain and one with such skill. Maleos hoped to meet the man, if only to tell him how he despised the man, and perhaps knock him on his ass for leaving his child to die.
There was no one else there so far that held particular interest for him, he had already made his introduction to the crown prince, and was not about to bother him with any thing further, as he was sure the man had a lot on his mind, and if he wished to discuss things further with Maleos, the Captain was sure he would approach him and do just that. He certainly was not about to willingly be drawn into conversation with Silanos or Damocles. He much preferred to stay right where he was, with Timaeus for companionship until the meeting well and truly started. Once all those who were invited had gathered and plans began to be discussed, there would be no time for wandering thoughts and idle chitchat, so Maleos figured he ought to get as many words in with Timaeus as he could, for he did not know if they would have a chance soon to speak of anything other than the impending battle with Egypt. Though Maleos did enjoy discussions of war and battle plans, he craved the opportunity to catch up with Timaeus, to discuss other topics. With all of the recent events, things had felt absolutely crazy. Feelings for Leto aside, Maleos had begun to start feeling a bit overwhelmed in general, finding that his temper was getting a little bit worse. He tried to remember the words of patience his mother had preached to him growing up, but he found that they were becoming less effective than they had been in his younger years. He was not sure what it was, but his guess was just the pure amount that he had on his plate right now. The murder investigation for the Priestess Kallista had seemed to set off some sort of domino effect, after her arrival at his barracks, things just seemed to pile up more and more on him until he was truly starting to feel all of his twenty-seven years weighing upon him. Not that he would admit these things to anyone, he was not the type to show that kind of weakness. It was one thing to discuss his feelings towards a woman with his best friend, it was another thing to admit to his Baron that he was feeling tired, overwhelmed and increasingly angry. Maleos would not do anything that might pose a risk to any future potential promotions. Not after he had dedicated his life to seeking exactly that.
“Tell me, how does everyone in your house fare, my lord? As long as it has been since we have last had a chance to talk, it has been longer still since I have spoken with the others in your family. I believe the last time that I have seen Roxana was during the rebuilding efforts after the fires.” Maleos asked, out of politeness but also because he was genuinely curious. Over the years he had spent much time with Timaeus, and by association, much time around the other members of his household. It felt like it had been ages since he had seen or spoken to any of them, aside from Silanos, but Maleos would just as soon forget about his interactions with the man. It was easy to pretend that the brat had no relation to Timaeus, for in many ways the brothers were very different. That much was clear in their opposite relationships with Maleos. The Captain would be able to tolerate Silanos more if the man had a semblance of a spine, but he had no patience for cowards, and that was exactly what he saw Silanos as. He had made his view of the Lord very clear while his title had been stripped and he had been placed among the common soldiers of Maleos’ unit. Now though, if Silanos were to approach him, Maleos would need to address him once more as a Lord, despite their recent history. He was almost surprised that Silanos did not approach him simply to force Maleos to use his title and bask in the little glory the man thought he had. Perhaps Tim’s younger brother had learned some small lesson of humility, though the Captain somehow doubted it. There must have been something more going on than Maleos was aware of, for Silanos to be hiding in such a manner.
Maleos shifted a little on his feet, the air in the room was starting to get a bit tense as the seconds passed, every man there feeling the weight of the impending war. Colchis seemed to perpetually be in conflict, though as of recent years, the conflict had been mostly contained to fighting the barbarian savages on their own lands. This would be the first major war with another civilization in recent years, and Maleos hoped that every man in this room was taking it seriously. Innocent lives needed to be defended, as did their way of life and their lands. Perhaps Maleos was a bit too passionate about Colchis and her glory, but he would not have it any other way. He had dedicated his life to his home, and he would give his dying breath for her if need be. To Maleos, there was no greater thing to dedicate his life to, and a death on the battlefield for him was likely, and he would go down with his sword in his hand, taking as many enemies of Colchis with him as he could. As great as it would be for him to be able to ascend higher and retire without losing his life, he was not afraid to die fighting either. He had gone into the military knowing that an early death was likely, and he was lucky that he had even made it this far. Many men could not count themselves among the living, he had seen a fair few military men meet their deaths while out on campaign.
He recalled the time he had come closest to death, and surprisingly it hadn’t even been due to combat. It had been due to exhaustion and a stupid decision by two young men who wanted nothing more to get home and escape each other’s company. The stumble of a horse pushed too far had seen both of them over the side of a cliff, hanging for their lives on fragile stone, with muscles aching in protest from a campaign that had dragged on far too long for both of them. He could recall thinking in the moments before the fall, how boring his companion was, and he could remember urging his horse on despite the beast’s protests, in a hurry to return to his house in Eubocris and collapse in his bed, away from the other man’s company. Now the two stood side by side, ready to participate in a meeting in regard to a coming war, closer than brothers. It was hard to believe that only a few years ago he and Timaeus had disliked each other’s company so much that they nearly lost their lives over it. Now Maleos hope for some time to spend with his best friend alone. It was funny how things worked, and strange. Perhaps the two men were fated to be friends, just as Maleos was fated to run into Leto again years after their first meeting. Had Maleos and Timaeus not bonded that day, perhaps Maleos would never have made Captain. Sure, he had the skills to deserve it, but a lot of what it took to rise in the ranks was knowing the right people and getting into the right social circles. As much as Maleos hated it, the military ranks were almost as much political and social maneuvering as they were actually holding skill for all things combat.
He shifted once more, a subtle movement that he doubted anyone would notice. As proud as he was to wear the uniform of a Captain and the clean and polished formal armour that he had chosen, he hated every second of it. If it were up to him they would all just wear what was comfortable. As long as they were fully clothed, he did not know why it should matter what they wore. Unfortunately for him, appearances mattered, and if he had any hopes of making a good impression on those who could possibly help him obtain a higher rank, he needed to present himself as a man of high class. Or at least as much as he was able to present himself in such light.
He stood there and waited, hoping for the meeting to start soon so he could be distracted from his own discomfort in clothing choice. He knew once everything began, he would be far too busy listening, contributing and memorizing to care what he wore or how it felt. Other things seemed to simply fade away when his mind was occupied with military matters, he had been that way since he was a boy.
As the men walked in, some greeted her, other's did not. Afterall, some of them outranked Nike, but as one with no title, noble family or rich relatives to back her name, Nike has worked long and hard to gain the position and title she held today, so she had the benefit of having men working under her as well. Yet the only greeting Nike gave in return was a slight nod of her head. Her hand remained on her belt, but she remained observant. Most of them, she knew. Maleos, a man who held the rank of Captain, and has worked with the military unit of Eubocris for a long time now, under the baron who had taken over after the ill-timed death of the elder brother to the Valaoritis heirdom.
Baron Timaeus was an interesting character himself, a man Nike remembered working with many winters ago when he was little more then a teenager, still unaware of his fate in the future to take over the barony. Back then, Timaeus had been overeager and ambitious in his military career - quite unlike the man Nike observed today, although she had exchanged scarce few words with the man since then.
In the shadows of the back, she noted the arrival of the younger of the Valaoritis', but aside from keeping note of his whereabouts, she did not comment further on his actions. Nike knew of his transgressions, and of the consequences that was to follow. If he wished to keep a low profile today, then so be it... whatever he had to face would be held outside on the sparring field.
The arrival of princes Yiannis and Silas got a bow from Nike as they approached their elder brother, the woman having worked with all brothers of the household she served before, and maintained a good relationship with all of them - well, cordial when it came to Yiannis, but she doubted anyone could say they knew the shadow prince that well. She exchanged a small, undetectable grin with Silas, but was quickly distracted when her name was called.
Her features held an impercetible shift of slight annoyance and irritation, for Nike hated being called to attention. It had been a habit long ingrained in her since the days when she lived in the docksides of Midas in her first few days of arrival, attempting to remain safe. That same habit carried through to her working in the military, for being undetectable equated to being safe, with the large secret she carried. It was only in recent years since her promotion into the role of Commander and personal bodyguard has she not minded the slight role she'd have to take in the spotlight, but even then to be singled out as Damocles has done to her brushed her up the wrong way.
It would be wrong however, to cause a scene. As such, Nike simply gave a tight smile, and nodded in return to his thanks. "We help each other out, Captain Damocles. Tis only my duty." It wouldn't have done well to have blood splattered on such a joyous occasion afterall, and certainly not when young Prince Dion stood a mere few feet away. Nike had doubted Princess Evras would've wanted such a scene witnessed by her fifteen year old son, not just yet. She nodded, and tilted her head in a motion for the captain to take a seat for now. "There is much to be done for us in this day, Captain. It is why Prince Vangelis has called us all here, afterall." While she may feel terse, Nike did not allow such feelings to reach her eyes nor her actions, knowing full well the ramifications. As a Commander, she had to have political tact atop of military prowess afterall.
As the door opened once again, Nike looked up again when more arrived through the doors of the armoury until, at last, it appeared as if all had arrived, the Captains and military leaders of the Colchian army. With a sweep over everyone, Nike turned to check with Vangelis, speaking only after he's given her the signal. "Shall we all take a begin?" she spoke in a voice far louder then she had been using in conversation, enough so everyone within the area would hear her. "There is much to be discussed with the imminent threat looming, and not a moment is to be wasted."
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As the men walked in, some greeted her, other's did not. Afterall, some of them outranked Nike, but as one with no title, noble family or rich relatives to back her name, Nike has worked long and hard to gain the position and title she held today, so she had the benefit of having men working under her as well. Yet the only greeting Nike gave in return was a slight nod of her head. Her hand remained on her belt, but she remained observant. Most of them, she knew. Maleos, a man who held the rank of Captain, and has worked with the military unit of Eubocris for a long time now, under the baron who had taken over after the ill-timed death of the elder brother to the Valaoritis heirdom.
Baron Timaeus was an interesting character himself, a man Nike remembered working with many winters ago when he was little more then a teenager, still unaware of his fate in the future to take over the barony. Back then, Timaeus had been overeager and ambitious in his military career - quite unlike the man Nike observed today, although she had exchanged scarce few words with the man since then.
In the shadows of the back, she noted the arrival of the younger of the Valaoritis', but aside from keeping note of his whereabouts, she did not comment further on his actions. Nike knew of his transgressions, and of the consequences that was to follow. If he wished to keep a low profile today, then so be it... whatever he had to face would be held outside on the sparring field.
The arrival of princes Yiannis and Silas got a bow from Nike as they approached their elder brother, the woman having worked with all brothers of the household she served before, and maintained a good relationship with all of them - well, cordial when it came to Yiannis, but she doubted anyone could say they knew the shadow prince that well. She exchanged a small, undetectable grin with Silas, but was quickly distracted when her name was called.
Her features held an impercetible shift of slight annoyance and irritation, for Nike hated being called to attention. It had been a habit long ingrained in her since the days when she lived in the docksides of Midas in her first few days of arrival, attempting to remain safe. That same habit carried through to her working in the military, for being undetectable equated to being safe, with the large secret she carried. It was only in recent years since her promotion into the role of Commander and personal bodyguard has she not minded the slight role she'd have to take in the spotlight, but even then to be singled out as Damocles has done to her brushed her up the wrong way.
It would be wrong however, to cause a scene. As such, Nike simply gave a tight smile, and nodded in return to his thanks. "We help each other out, Captain Damocles. Tis only my duty." It wouldn't have done well to have blood splattered on such a joyous occasion afterall, and certainly not when young Prince Dion stood a mere few feet away. Nike had doubted Princess Evras would've wanted such a scene witnessed by her fifteen year old son, not just yet. She nodded, and tilted her head in a motion for the captain to take a seat for now. "There is much to be done for us in this day, Captain. It is why Prince Vangelis has called us all here, afterall." While she may feel terse, Nike did not allow such feelings to reach her eyes nor her actions, knowing full well the ramifications. As a Commander, she had to have political tact atop of military prowess afterall.
As the door opened once again, Nike looked up again when more arrived through the doors of the armoury until, at last, it appeared as if all had arrived, the Captains and military leaders of the Colchian army. With a sweep over everyone, Nike turned to check with Vangelis, speaking only after he's given her the signal. "Shall we all take a begin?" she spoke in a voice far louder then she had been using in conversation, enough so everyone within the area would hear her. "There is much to be discussed with the imminent threat looming, and not a moment is to be wasted."
As the men walked in, some greeted her, other's did not. Afterall, some of them outranked Nike, but as one with no title, noble family or rich relatives to back her name, Nike has worked long and hard to gain the position and title she held today, so she had the benefit of having men working under her as well. Yet the only greeting Nike gave in return was a slight nod of her head. Her hand remained on her belt, but she remained observant. Most of them, she knew. Maleos, a man who held the rank of Captain, and has worked with the military unit of Eubocris for a long time now, under the baron who had taken over after the ill-timed death of the elder brother to the Valaoritis heirdom.
Baron Timaeus was an interesting character himself, a man Nike remembered working with many winters ago when he was little more then a teenager, still unaware of his fate in the future to take over the barony. Back then, Timaeus had been overeager and ambitious in his military career - quite unlike the man Nike observed today, although she had exchanged scarce few words with the man since then.
In the shadows of the back, she noted the arrival of the younger of the Valaoritis', but aside from keeping note of his whereabouts, she did not comment further on his actions. Nike knew of his transgressions, and of the consequences that was to follow. If he wished to keep a low profile today, then so be it... whatever he had to face would be held outside on the sparring field.
The arrival of princes Yiannis and Silas got a bow from Nike as they approached their elder brother, the woman having worked with all brothers of the household she served before, and maintained a good relationship with all of them - well, cordial when it came to Yiannis, but she doubted anyone could say they knew the shadow prince that well. She exchanged a small, undetectable grin with Silas, but was quickly distracted when her name was called.
Her features held an impercetible shift of slight annoyance and irritation, for Nike hated being called to attention. It had been a habit long ingrained in her since the days when she lived in the docksides of Midas in her first few days of arrival, attempting to remain safe. That same habit carried through to her working in the military, for being undetectable equated to being safe, with the large secret she carried. It was only in recent years since her promotion into the role of Commander and personal bodyguard has she not minded the slight role she'd have to take in the spotlight, but even then to be singled out as Damocles has done to her brushed her up the wrong way.
It would be wrong however, to cause a scene. As such, Nike simply gave a tight smile, and nodded in return to his thanks. "We help each other out, Captain Damocles. Tis only my duty." It wouldn't have done well to have blood splattered on such a joyous occasion afterall, and certainly not when young Prince Dion stood a mere few feet away. Nike had doubted Princess Evras would've wanted such a scene witnessed by her fifteen year old son, not just yet. She nodded, and tilted her head in a motion for the captain to take a seat for now. "There is much to be done for us in this day, Captain. It is why Prince Vangelis has called us all here, afterall." While she may feel terse, Nike did not allow such feelings to reach her eyes nor her actions, knowing full well the ramifications. As a Commander, she had to have political tact atop of military prowess afterall.
As the door opened once again, Nike looked up again when more arrived through the doors of the armoury until, at last, it appeared as if all had arrived, the Captains and military leaders of the Colchian army. With a sweep over everyone, Nike turned to check with Vangelis, speaking only after he's given her the signal. "Shall we all take a begin?" she spoke in a voice far louder then she had been using in conversation, enough so everyone within the area would hear her. "There is much to be discussed with the imminent threat looming, and not a moment is to be wasted."
“I hate riding horses,” Kosmos remarked. Performing a few awkward exercises to ease the pain from his lower extremities. Kosmos had travelled to Midas before, a few times but at the back of a horse-drawn carriage. He groaned, used to being ferried by carriage, horsemanship wasn’t his best skill. Kosmos wouldn’t admit it but whenever he rode a horse, a sliver of fear found itself a humble abode within his strong heart. He brushed his loaned steed on the neck to relax it before walking a few steps left to fasten the horse to the hitching post. A comedically complex task for hands that knew only how to farm, hold a shield and wield a spear.
Beckoned to hurry by his captain, Kosmos jogged to meet and keep up with his pace of walking. In the short walk from the hitching posts and up to the upper levels, the lieutenant was informed of the meeting called by the Crown Prince of Colchis. Kosmos wanted to ask why he was chosen to attend but decided against doing so. It was not his place to question his superior, and he found no true reason to. The steps toward the Valaoritis chambers became heavier and heavier. The further Kosmos delved into the abyss of his mind, the further removed he was with the physical. So many questions yet not an answer returned. He turned to look at his captain, a step in front of him. He continued to wonder but with the meeting now only metres away, he dismissed any doubt and put on a brave front. He was not going to embarrass himself, nor his captain, nor Laconia.
The golden sun and its rays beamed down onto the two ascending the steps toward the chamber. Told by his captain to look his best, Kosmos’ jet black hair was cut prior their leave and neatly styled. His facial hair was also attended to. Uniformly trimmed to a stubble but fully shaved to where the jaw meets the neck. Kosmos’ already strong jawline was only accented by the dark hairs that shaped his face. A white tunic peeked out the edges of his bronze muscle cuirass. Bracers covered his defined forearms though his right hand remained on the leather-wrapped metal hilt of his kopis that was affixed to his hip, hanging from a thick leather belt that was snugly held the tunic to his body. Kosmos’ Doru was fitted onto his back and on top of that, was his hoplon.
The door that served between the barrier between the common men and the noble elites of the Colchian military opened and spurred on by a small gesture from his captain, Kosmos entered the Valaoritis chambers. There were faces he couldn’t make out, he recognised less than a handful of men within the four walls. The captain of the Fifth Phalanx, followed by Kosmos himself, gave a respectful nod toward the Crown Prince before joining the others at the table. On his short walk to the table, the true weight of the meeting had finally crashed upon Kosmos’ shoulders. The air, for him was tense and heavy. His eyes roamed the table once more, before giving a small greeting nod to Baron Timaeus, perhaps the only other person he knew besides the Crown Prince and his captain.
Slightly calmed down, Kosmos tucked his hands behind his back and assumed a relaxed military ‘at ease’ stance. Eyeing the table and its maps of Taengea and Egypt. War was coming and he knew it. An initially daunting thought but one he welcomed moments later. Kosmos tried to look as stoic as possible but the Lieutenant felt incredibly out of place. The meeting was meant for captains yet here he was. A newly promoted lieutenant standing shoulder to shoulder with the best strategic minds of Colchis. It was both an honour yet a nonplusing experience. Comforted by a hastily gathered thought that he’d face the Egyptians in war, the chance to be at the tip of the spear for his country and his King; Kosmos’ raised, tensed shoulders fell normally as he exhaled quietly.
Kosmos averted his gaze from the map to the Crown Prince that stood at the head of the table.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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“I hate riding horses,” Kosmos remarked. Performing a few awkward exercises to ease the pain from his lower extremities. Kosmos had travelled to Midas before, a few times but at the back of a horse-drawn carriage. He groaned, used to being ferried by carriage, horsemanship wasn’t his best skill. Kosmos wouldn’t admit it but whenever he rode a horse, a sliver of fear found itself a humble abode within his strong heart. He brushed his loaned steed on the neck to relax it before walking a few steps left to fasten the horse to the hitching post. A comedically complex task for hands that knew only how to farm, hold a shield and wield a spear.
Beckoned to hurry by his captain, Kosmos jogged to meet and keep up with his pace of walking. In the short walk from the hitching posts and up to the upper levels, the lieutenant was informed of the meeting called by the Crown Prince of Colchis. Kosmos wanted to ask why he was chosen to attend but decided against doing so. It was not his place to question his superior, and he found no true reason to. The steps toward the Valaoritis chambers became heavier and heavier. The further Kosmos delved into the abyss of his mind, the further removed he was with the physical. So many questions yet not an answer returned. He turned to look at his captain, a step in front of him. He continued to wonder but with the meeting now only metres away, he dismissed any doubt and put on a brave front. He was not going to embarrass himself, nor his captain, nor Laconia.
The golden sun and its rays beamed down onto the two ascending the steps toward the chamber. Told by his captain to look his best, Kosmos’ jet black hair was cut prior their leave and neatly styled. His facial hair was also attended to. Uniformly trimmed to a stubble but fully shaved to where the jaw meets the neck. Kosmos’ already strong jawline was only accented by the dark hairs that shaped his face. A white tunic peeked out the edges of his bronze muscle cuirass. Bracers covered his defined forearms though his right hand remained on the leather-wrapped metal hilt of his kopis that was affixed to his hip, hanging from a thick leather belt that was snugly held the tunic to his body. Kosmos’ Doru was fitted onto his back and on top of that, was his hoplon.
The door that served between the barrier between the common men and the noble elites of the Colchian military opened and spurred on by a small gesture from his captain, Kosmos entered the Valaoritis chambers. There were faces he couldn’t make out, he recognised less than a handful of men within the four walls. The captain of the Fifth Phalanx, followed by Kosmos himself, gave a respectful nod toward the Crown Prince before joining the others at the table. On his short walk to the table, the true weight of the meeting had finally crashed upon Kosmos’ shoulders. The air, for him was tense and heavy. His eyes roamed the table once more, before giving a small greeting nod to Baron Timaeus, perhaps the only other person he knew besides the Crown Prince and his captain.
Slightly calmed down, Kosmos tucked his hands behind his back and assumed a relaxed military ‘at ease’ stance. Eyeing the table and its maps of Taengea and Egypt. War was coming and he knew it. An initially daunting thought but one he welcomed moments later. Kosmos tried to look as stoic as possible but the Lieutenant felt incredibly out of place. The meeting was meant for captains yet here he was. A newly promoted lieutenant standing shoulder to shoulder with the best strategic minds of Colchis. It was both an honour yet a nonplusing experience. Comforted by a hastily gathered thought that he’d face the Egyptians in war, the chance to be at the tip of the spear for his country and his King; Kosmos’ raised, tensed shoulders fell normally as he exhaled quietly.
Kosmos averted his gaze from the map to the Crown Prince that stood at the head of the table.
“I hate riding horses,” Kosmos remarked. Performing a few awkward exercises to ease the pain from his lower extremities. Kosmos had travelled to Midas before, a few times but at the back of a horse-drawn carriage. He groaned, used to being ferried by carriage, horsemanship wasn’t his best skill. Kosmos wouldn’t admit it but whenever he rode a horse, a sliver of fear found itself a humble abode within his strong heart. He brushed his loaned steed on the neck to relax it before walking a few steps left to fasten the horse to the hitching post. A comedically complex task for hands that knew only how to farm, hold a shield and wield a spear.
Beckoned to hurry by his captain, Kosmos jogged to meet and keep up with his pace of walking. In the short walk from the hitching posts and up to the upper levels, the lieutenant was informed of the meeting called by the Crown Prince of Colchis. Kosmos wanted to ask why he was chosen to attend but decided against doing so. It was not his place to question his superior, and he found no true reason to. The steps toward the Valaoritis chambers became heavier and heavier. The further Kosmos delved into the abyss of his mind, the further removed he was with the physical. So many questions yet not an answer returned. He turned to look at his captain, a step in front of him. He continued to wonder but with the meeting now only metres away, he dismissed any doubt and put on a brave front. He was not going to embarrass himself, nor his captain, nor Laconia.
The golden sun and its rays beamed down onto the two ascending the steps toward the chamber. Told by his captain to look his best, Kosmos’ jet black hair was cut prior their leave and neatly styled. His facial hair was also attended to. Uniformly trimmed to a stubble but fully shaved to where the jaw meets the neck. Kosmos’ already strong jawline was only accented by the dark hairs that shaped his face. A white tunic peeked out the edges of his bronze muscle cuirass. Bracers covered his defined forearms though his right hand remained on the leather-wrapped metal hilt of his kopis that was affixed to his hip, hanging from a thick leather belt that was snugly held the tunic to his body. Kosmos’ Doru was fitted onto his back and on top of that, was his hoplon.
The door that served between the barrier between the common men and the noble elites of the Colchian military opened and spurred on by a small gesture from his captain, Kosmos entered the Valaoritis chambers. There were faces he couldn’t make out, he recognised less than a handful of men within the four walls. The captain of the Fifth Phalanx, followed by Kosmos himself, gave a respectful nod toward the Crown Prince before joining the others at the table. On his short walk to the table, the true weight of the meeting had finally crashed upon Kosmos’ shoulders. The air, for him was tense and heavy. His eyes roamed the table once more, before giving a small greeting nod to Baron Timaeus, perhaps the only other person he knew besides the Crown Prince and his captain.
Slightly calmed down, Kosmos tucked his hands behind his back and assumed a relaxed military ‘at ease’ stance. Eyeing the table and its maps of Taengea and Egypt. War was coming and he knew it. An initially daunting thought but one he welcomed moments later. Kosmos tried to look as stoic as possible but the Lieutenant felt incredibly out of place. The meeting was meant for captains yet here he was. A newly promoted lieutenant standing shoulder to shoulder with the best strategic minds of Colchis. It was both an honour yet a nonplusing experience. Comforted by a hastily gathered thought that he’d face the Egyptians in war, the chance to be at the tip of the spear for his country and his King; Kosmos’ raised, tensed shoulders fell normally as he exhaled quietly.
Kosmos averted his gaze from the map to the Crown Prince that stood at the head of the table.
Timaeus knew that the Valaoritis brothers were strikingly different from each other. It had always been that way, even when they were children. Where Silanos was laid back, Timaeus was militaristic. One brother thrived on chaos while the other demanded order, no matter the cost. It seemed almost incredulous that the same family could produce one son who took the responsibilities thrust upon him and shoulder them with an odd source of pride while the other only cared for where his next fix of opium laced wine was coming from. The divide between the young men was so large that Timaeus wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that half the room was commenting on how different they were as they both made their way into the war room.
In truth, the contrast hadn’t always been so sharp. When Nico still lived, he had been an excellent buffer between his two younger brothers. While he shouldered his role as heir well, his temperament more closely aligned with the youngest brother. He had been a man of diplomacy who only held a rank in the military as a formality, readily relinquishing it to the younger brother who seemingly was destined to rise above the mountains of Eubocris and become a commander alongside the likes of Nike and Lazaros. Nico had made the two extremes in Tim and Sil more subdued, but now that he was gone there was nothing to distract outsiders from the polar opposites he left behind. The differences that would have previously not have warranted so much as a second glance were now glaringly obvious.
Or at least they were to everyone, but Timaeus and Silanos themselves. Granted, they were not fools and knew that they were vastly different. However, it was hard for them to see just how different they were due in part to their shared existence under the same roof. Timaeus, at least, was blind to the little things that others noticed right away.
Such as how Timaeus made his militaristic background clear by having no qualms about immediately finding a place next to the man who was not only his best friend but his choice of captain for the Men of the Heights. It was a rank that Maleos had rightfully earned due to his skill with the sword and the similar ideals he held with his Baron, but even as Timaeus approached, he couldn’t help, but bitterly think that he position should have been held by the man who was seemingly intent on hiding in the back of the room for the whole night. That was what Timaeus had done for Nico, who had in turn done it for their father, and so on so forth down the Valaoritis line.
It was beyond embarrassing that the Valaoritis were hosts to a war meeting and neither of the men who bore its name had a position that warranted their presence.
Hopefully, Timaeus quietly thought as he graciously nodded in response to Maleos’s greeting, That would change by the time this meeting concluded. His eyes drifted over to Vangelis with this line of thought knowing that by the end of this evening the Baron would have to ask the man for a position in the upcoming war. He may have not had a proper place in the barracks in over two years, but Timaeus sure as hell was not content with staying behind in Colchis as the other men present headed to war. He was a Valaoritis. His house was founded on the military prowess of its members; a value that ran so deep that it even had a symbolic place on their house sigil in the form of one of their crossed keys. Timaeus was not going to suffer the embarrassment of not having a Valaoritis present in the conflict that would define the generation surrounding his dining table. Even if he had to grovel for it, Timaeus was not remaining in Colchis. Hades would freeze over before he let that happen.
However, that was something that would be dealt with later in the evening. Instead, now he had to focus on the words of his closest confidant as the room filled with military leaders from all reaches of Colchis. His eyes glanced about the room, recognizing far more people than he expected to. When his gaze settled on Commander Nike, he offered the soldier a curt nod and the slight hint of a bow. This was more out of personal respect than anything else as Timaeus could never forget how kind Nike had been in tolerating him in his younger years. Any other man would have smacked him upside the head for his antics on that bear hunt, but Nike didn’t. Plus it also didn’t hurt that he was not going to ignore the one man who understood Tim’s irrational fear of snakes due to their shared experiences.
Before he could wordlessly turn his attention to others in the room, however, Maleos pulled his attention with a light quip about the less than pleasant attitude of Silanos. A hearty chuckle escaped his lips for a moment which was quickly stifled due to the serious atmosphere of the room. “ And you’ve always wondered why I’ve been so miserable.” He muttered in response with a playful smirk on his face. The boy may be just barely out of his teenhood years, but the sulky outlook on life that had accompanied those years had yet to dissipate over time. Seven hades, Timaeus was convinced that least of half of the hairs in his subtly forming grey streak came from Sil’s attitude alone. Tim had had hopes that things would change while his brother had been other the Captain’s leadership, but the daily drills had seemed to have no effect on the boy. Instead, it was like Sil clung to the hope that his brother would release him from the punishment and failed to realize that there was no skirting out of the responsibility he should have taken years ago.
It was a shame that Vangelis’s idea of punishment was likely being seen as a respite from the hell that Maleos put Sil through.
Oh well, he would learn soon enough.
Timaeus raised an eyebrow though when Maleos expressed his desire for the two of them to speak in private later. Given how close the men were, the Baron had come to expect that there would be few topics that the two of them would be hesitant to bring up openly. The ability to be frank with each other was just one of the perks that came with a bond like theirs. Such a sharp deviation from that caused Timaeus to shoot a puzzled glance in his friend's direction as he gently pried into what would encourage such a change of pace, “ Discussions of a more personal nature or…?” Timaeus genuinely had no idea what his brother in arms could be wishing to speak of; especially as the topic that Maleos wished to speak of was one that Tim would have never even considered as a possibility until the words would come tumbling out of the other man’s mouth. That and his own reluctance to speak of any topics surrounding love as he tried (and failed) to put his own paramour, Nana of Leventi from his mind.
It would do him no good to fret over things that she had made clear would never be at an event that no woman was welcome to attend. It had been an ugly end between him and Nana. No matter how hard he tried to set it aside, the memory of that evening on the beach had a nasty way of creeping back into his mind as Maleos zoned out to think of his own love. Timaeus couldn’t believe that the Leventi woman had been so shallow to cast him aside because he didn’t bore the title she craved. It didn’t matter to her that he already held the role of Baron. She only wanted a prince and she had the nerve to be mad that he was not the prince that she thought he was. After all, it was hardly the Valaoritis’s fault that she had been so mistaken to think that he was a Kotas brother! Though, truthfully he should have known better than to entangle himself with the likes of a Leventi. Her doe-eyed attention had been far more trouble than she had been worth.
But that didn’t stop him from pining after her though. May the gods damn his penchant for foreign woman with lighter colored hair! He should have known that his own heart would have been ensnared in her web of hurt and even now; when she had all, but washed her hands clean of the Valaoritis lord, it was her face that invaded his dreams at night… even as his near-daily letters, begging for a chance to see her again, went unanswered.
Shaking these bitter thoughts from his mind, he glanced over at his friend who had the same glassy look in his eyes. That alone made it clear that whatever Maleos wanted to discuss, it would be of a personal nature, after all.
“ I’ll be leaving for Eubocris within a few days. Life in Midas can be draining, don’t you agree?” Timaeus said gently, pulling his friend from whatever was whirring around in that mind of his as he suggested a decent plan for when then men would talk more of what was on the Captain’s mind, “ Let’s go out for drinks tomorrow. We can discuss whatever’s on your mind then, alright?” His respect for his friend was shown in how Timaeus gave his friend the choice of whether or not he agreed to the date of this discussion. Other men of Timaeus’s stature may have just put forth the plan as an order. However, that was not how their friendship worked. Not by a long shot. If Maleos needed to speak earlier, he had the right to ask for as much from Tim.
However, a part of Timaeus had wished that the men hadn’t always been quite so frank when the topic turned to the whereabouts of Roxana. He winced a bit as Maleos inquired about the wellbeing of his family as it wasn’t a subject that Timaeus was too keen on speaking of for reasons that varied from member to member. “ They are well. If you wish to inquire about Roxana’s wellbeing though, they might have more insight than I do.” Timaeus said quite plainly as he motioned to the three Kotas brothers at the head of the table who were now greeting each other. He was sure that his friend was confused by this statement, especially as he had not been privy to how the Valaoritis household had recently been shaken up by the Kotas family taking a member of his family under their wings.
“ Princess Evras requested that Roxana was made one of her ladies-in-waiting.” He said quietly under his breath, looking at his friend with an almost worried glance. This was a rather strange demeanor for Timaeus to be describing something that would normally be regarded as a mark of pride for his family. Luckily, Maleos wouldn’t understand why The Baron was concerned. He might have been aware of the fact that Roxana was a bastard rather than the legitimate cousin they all claimed she was, but even he would not know the whole truth of Roxana’s parentage. Timaeus always carried a concern that the truth would come out while Roxana was away from the safety of the home she had grown up in. He was sure that he had nothing to worry about as Roxana was more than aware of what the consequences would be if her true parentage came out, but that did absolutely nothing to help him sleep at night.
Quickly shifting the conversation to a different family member so the matter wouldn’t be too heavily pressed, he finished by adding, “ But my mother is doing well, all things considered. She’s in Eubocris at the moment and it will be nice to see her before all of this happens.” Tim said as he motioned to the various maps on the table. While Maleos may be in the dark about Roxana, he was not when it came to his mother’s wandering mind. The loss of her husband and son had taken quite a toll on the woman and it affected her in the worst possible way. Dates and names escaped her. Timaeus knew that she was prone to forgetting her destination and wandering about as a result. This was a symptom that was particularly worrying given the mountainous terrain that made up Colchis. Despite this, she was still fairly lucid so Maleos wouldn’t blame Tim for wanting to go back and spend as much time with her as he could before things got worse.
“ It’s not the most uplifting news… but there’s not much to be done.” He said with a small shrug as he turned the topic to Maleos once again, “ How fares your family? Are they in Eubocris as well?” Timaeus might not be as close with Maleos’s family as his Captain was with the Valaoritises, but he still knew the family that had raised Maleos and was genuinely interested to hear how they were amid the various disasters that had befallen Colchis thus far.
Before Maleos had much of a chance to answer though, the entrance of a certain man had the Captian scowling. Curious, Timaeus glanced in the same direction of his brother in arms and was surprised to see that the source of Maleos’s ire was Damocles. Timaeus did not have many interactions with the man to boast of and truthfully, the few that he did have caused Timaeus to pause in garnering the man’s attention. The last time that they had crossed paths, after all, was the training event held in Eubocris all those years ago. He may have only been nine at the time, but he could remember clear as day how Damocles had nearly taken the heads of the visiting Taengean princes (kings now) clear off with his hastily thrown spear. He would have assumed that his temper had cooled in recent years, but the way his friend reacted told quite a different story. “ I take it you’ve had the pleasure of meeting him as well? What’s he done now?” Timaeus whispered to the other man so that others would not overhear. He was not a man who was found of gossip in the slightest, but hearing the foolhardy antics of Damo was an entirely different story.
It was entertaining, to say the least.
However, the booming voice of Nike made it clear that the festivities that had taken place thus far was over and it was time to get on with the meeting. At his words, Timaeus straightened up a bit and glanced over to Vangelis to see if the general of stone agreed. After all, this may be Timaeus’s house, but it was his meeting. Only Vangelis would be the one to start the war council.
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Timaeus knew that the Valaoritis brothers were strikingly different from each other. It had always been that way, even when they were children. Where Silanos was laid back, Timaeus was militaristic. One brother thrived on chaos while the other demanded order, no matter the cost. It seemed almost incredulous that the same family could produce one son who took the responsibilities thrust upon him and shoulder them with an odd source of pride while the other only cared for where his next fix of opium laced wine was coming from. The divide between the young men was so large that Timaeus wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that half the room was commenting on how different they were as they both made their way into the war room.
In truth, the contrast hadn’t always been so sharp. When Nico still lived, he had been an excellent buffer between his two younger brothers. While he shouldered his role as heir well, his temperament more closely aligned with the youngest brother. He had been a man of diplomacy who only held a rank in the military as a formality, readily relinquishing it to the younger brother who seemingly was destined to rise above the mountains of Eubocris and become a commander alongside the likes of Nike and Lazaros. Nico had made the two extremes in Tim and Sil more subdued, but now that he was gone there was nothing to distract outsiders from the polar opposites he left behind. The differences that would have previously not have warranted so much as a second glance were now glaringly obvious.
Or at least they were to everyone, but Timaeus and Silanos themselves. Granted, they were not fools and knew that they were vastly different. However, it was hard for them to see just how different they were due in part to their shared existence under the same roof. Timaeus, at least, was blind to the little things that others noticed right away.
Such as how Timaeus made his militaristic background clear by having no qualms about immediately finding a place next to the man who was not only his best friend but his choice of captain for the Men of the Heights. It was a rank that Maleos had rightfully earned due to his skill with the sword and the similar ideals he held with his Baron, but even as Timaeus approached, he couldn’t help, but bitterly think that he position should have been held by the man who was seemingly intent on hiding in the back of the room for the whole night. That was what Timaeus had done for Nico, who had in turn done it for their father, and so on so forth down the Valaoritis line.
It was beyond embarrassing that the Valaoritis were hosts to a war meeting and neither of the men who bore its name had a position that warranted their presence.
Hopefully, Timaeus quietly thought as he graciously nodded in response to Maleos’s greeting, That would change by the time this meeting concluded. His eyes drifted over to Vangelis with this line of thought knowing that by the end of this evening the Baron would have to ask the man for a position in the upcoming war. He may have not had a proper place in the barracks in over two years, but Timaeus sure as hell was not content with staying behind in Colchis as the other men present headed to war. He was a Valaoritis. His house was founded on the military prowess of its members; a value that ran so deep that it even had a symbolic place on their house sigil in the form of one of their crossed keys. Timaeus was not going to suffer the embarrassment of not having a Valaoritis present in the conflict that would define the generation surrounding his dining table. Even if he had to grovel for it, Timaeus was not remaining in Colchis. Hades would freeze over before he let that happen.
However, that was something that would be dealt with later in the evening. Instead, now he had to focus on the words of his closest confidant as the room filled with military leaders from all reaches of Colchis. His eyes glanced about the room, recognizing far more people than he expected to. When his gaze settled on Commander Nike, he offered the soldier a curt nod and the slight hint of a bow. This was more out of personal respect than anything else as Timaeus could never forget how kind Nike had been in tolerating him in his younger years. Any other man would have smacked him upside the head for his antics on that bear hunt, but Nike didn’t. Plus it also didn’t hurt that he was not going to ignore the one man who understood Tim’s irrational fear of snakes due to their shared experiences.
Before he could wordlessly turn his attention to others in the room, however, Maleos pulled his attention with a light quip about the less than pleasant attitude of Silanos. A hearty chuckle escaped his lips for a moment which was quickly stifled due to the serious atmosphere of the room. “ And you’ve always wondered why I’ve been so miserable.” He muttered in response with a playful smirk on his face. The boy may be just barely out of his teenhood years, but the sulky outlook on life that had accompanied those years had yet to dissipate over time. Seven hades, Timaeus was convinced that least of half of the hairs in his subtly forming grey streak came from Sil’s attitude alone. Tim had had hopes that things would change while his brother had been other the Captain’s leadership, but the daily drills had seemed to have no effect on the boy. Instead, it was like Sil clung to the hope that his brother would release him from the punishment and failed to realize that there was no skirting out of the responsibility he should have taken years ago.
It was a shame that Vangelis’s idea of punishment was likely being seen as a respite from the hell that Maleos put Sil through.
Oh well, he would learn soon enough.
Timaeus raised an eyebrow though when Maleos expressed his desire for the two of them to speak in private later. Given how close the men were, the Baron had come to expect that there would be few topics that the two of them would be hesitant to bring up openly. The ability to be frank with each other was just one of the perks that came with a bond like theirs. Such a sharp deviation from that caused Timaeus to shoot a puzzled glance in his friend's direction as he gently pried into what would encourage such a change of pace, “ Discussions of a more personal nature or…?” Timaeus genuinely had no idea what his brother in arms could be wishing to speak of; especially as the topic that Maleos wished to speak of was one that Tim would have never even considered as a possibility until the words would come tumbling out of the other man’s mouth. That and his own reluctance to speak of any topics surrounding love as he tried (and failed) to put his own paramour, Nana of Leventi from his mind.
It would do him no good to fret over things that she had made clear would never be at an event that no woman was welcome to attend. It had been an ugly end between him and Nana. No matter how hard he tried to set it aside, the memory of that evening on the beach had a nasty way of creeping back into his mind as Maleos zoned out to think of his own love. Timaeus couldn’t believe that the Leventi woman had been so shallow to cast him aside because he didn’t bore the title she craved. It didn’t matter to her that he already held the role of Baron. She only wanted a prince and she had the nerve to be mad that he was not the prince that she thought he was. After all, it was hardly the Valaoritis’s fault that she had been so mistaken to think that he was a Kotas brother! Though, truthfully he should have known better than to entangle himself with the likes of a Leventi. Her doe-eyed attention had been far more trouble than she had been worth.
But that didn’t stop him from pining after her though. May the gods damn his penchant for foreign woman with lighter colored hair! He should have known that his own heart would have been ensnared in her web of hurt and even now; when she had all, but washed her hands clean of the Valaoritis lord, it was her face that invaded his dreams at night… even as his near-daily letters, begging for a chance to see her again, went unanswered.
Shaking these bitter thoughts from his mind, he glanced over at his friend who had the same glassy look in his eyes. That alone made it clear that whatever Maleos wanted to discuss, it would be of a personal nature, after all.
“ I’ll be leaving for Eubocris within a few days. Life in Midas can be draining, don’t you agree?” Timaeus said gently, pulling his friend from whatever was whirring around in that mind of his as he suggested a decent plan for when then men would talk more of what was on the Captain’s mind, “ Let’s go out for drinks tomorrow. We can discuss whatever’s on your mind then, alright?” His respect for his friend was shown in how Timaeus gave his friend the choice of whether or not he agreed to the date of this discussion. Other men of Timaeus’s stature may have just put forth the plan as an order. However, that was not how their friendship worked. Not by a long shot. If Maleos needed to speak earlier, he had the right to ask for as much from Tim.
However, a part of Timaeus had wished that the men hadn’t always been quite so frank when the topic turned to the whereabouts of Roxana. He winced a bit as Maleos inquired about the wellbeing of his family as it wasn’t a subject that Timaeus was too keen on speaking of for reasons that varied from member to member. “ They are well. If you wish to inquire about Roxana’s wellbeing though, they might have more insight than I do.” Timaeus said quite plainly as he motioned to the three Kotas brothers at the head of the table who were now greeting each other. He was sure that his friend was confused by this statement, especially as he had not been privy to how the Valaoritis household had recently been shaken up by the Kotas family taking a member of his family under their wings.
“ Princess Evras requested that Roxana was made one of her ladies-in-waiting.” He said quietly under his breath, looking at his friend with an almost worried glance. This was a rather strange demeanor for Timaeus to be describing something that would normally be regarded as a mark of pride for his family. Luckily, Maleos wouldn’t understand why The Baron was concerned. He might have been aware of the fact that Roxana was a bastard rather than the legitimate cousin they all claimed she was, but even he would not know the whole truth of Roxana’s parentage. Timaeus always carried a concern that the truth would come out while Roxana was away from the safety of the home she had grown up in. He was sure that he had nothing to worry about as Roxana was more than aware of what the consequences would be if her true parentage came out, but that did absolutely nothing to help him sleep at night.
Quickly shifting the conversation to a different family member so the matter wouldn’t be too heavily pressed, he finished by adding, “ But my mother is doing well, all things considered. She’s in Eubocris at the moment and it will be nice to see her before all of this happens.” Tim said as he motioned to the various maps on the table. While Maleos may be in the dark about Roxana, he was not when it came to his mother’s wandering mind. The loss of her husband and son had taken quite a toll on the woman and it affected her in the worst possible way. Dates and names escaped her. Timaeus knew that she was prone to forgetting her destination and wandering about as a result. This was a symptom that was particularly worrying given the mountainous terrain that made up Colchis. Despite this, she was still fairly lucid so Maleos wouldn’t blame Tim for wanting to go back and spend as much time with her as he could before things got worse.
“ It’s not the most uplifting news… but there’s not much to be done.” He said with a small shrug as he turned the topic to Maleos once again, “ How fares your family? Are they in Eubocris as well?” Timaeus might not be as close with Maleos’s family as his Captain was with the Valaoritises, but he still knew the family that had raised Maleos and was genuinely interested to hear how they were amid the various disasters that had befallen Colchis thus far.
Before Maleos had much of a chance to answer though, the entrance of a certain man had the Captian scowling. Curious, Timaeus glanced in the same direction of his brother in arms and was surprised to see that the source of Maleos’s ire was Damocles. Timaeus did not have many interactions with the man to boast of and truthfully, the few that he did have caused Timaeus to pause in garnering the man’s attention. The last time that they had crossed paths, after all, was the training event held in Eubocris all those years ago. He may have only been nine at the time, but he could remember clear as day how Damocles had nearly taken the heads of the visiting Taengean princes (kings now) clear off with his hastily thrown spear. He would have assumed that his temper had cooled in recent years, but the way his friend reacted told quite a different story. “ I take it you’ve had the pleasure of meeting him as well? What’s he done now?” Timaeus whispered to the other man so that others would not overhear. He was not a man who was found of gossip in the slightest, but hearing the foolhardy antics of Damo was an entirely different story.
It was entertaining, to say the least.
However, the booming voice of Nike made it clear that the festivities that had taken place thus far was over and it was time to get on with the meeting. At his words, Timaeus straightened up a bit and glanced over to Vangelis to see if the general of stone agreed. After all, this may be Timaeus’s house, but it was his meeting. Only Vangelis would be the one to start the war council.
Timaeus knew that the Valaoritis brothers were strikingly different from each other. It had always been that way, even when they were children. Where Silanos was laid back, Timaeus was militaristic. One brother thrived on chaos while the other demanded order, no matter the cost. It seemed almost incredulous that the same family could produce one son who took the responsibilities thrust upon him and shoulder them with an odd source of pride while the other only cared for where his next fix of opium laced wine was coming from. The divide between the young men was so large that Timaeus wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that half the room was commenting on how different they were as they both made their way into the war room.
In truth, the contrast hadn’t always been so sharp. When Nico still lived, he had been an excellent buffer between his two younger brothers. While he shouldered his role as heir well, his temperament more closely aligned with the youngest brother. He had been a man of diplomacy who only held a rank in the military as a formality, readily relinquishing it to the younger brother who seemingly was destined to rise above the mountains of Eubocris and become a commander alongside the likes of Nike and Lazaros. Nico had made the two extremes in Tim and Sil more subdued, but now that he was gone there was nothing to distract outsiders from the polar opposites he left behind. The differences that would have previously not have warranted so much as a second glance were now glaringly obvious.
Or at least they were to everyone, but Timaeus and Silanos themselves. Granted, they were not fools and knew that they were vastly different. However, it was hard for them to see just how different they were due in part to their shared existence under the same roof. Timaeus, at least, was blind to the little things that others noticed right away.
Such as how Timaeus made his militaristic background clear by having no qualms about immediately finding a place next to the man who was not only his best friend but his choice of captain for the Men of the Heights. It was a rank that Maleos had rightfully earned due to his skill with the sword and the similar ideals he held with his Baron, but even as Timaeus approached, he couldn’t help, but bitterly think that he position should have been held by the man who was seemingly intent on hiding in the back of the room for the whole night. That was what Timaeus had done for Nico, who had in turn done it for their father, and so on so forth down the Valaoritis line.
It was beyond embarrassing that the Valaoritis were hosts to a war meeting and neither of the men who bore its name had a position that warranted their presence.
Hopefully, Timaeus quietly thought as he graciously nodded in response to Maleos’s greeting, That would change by the time this meeting concluded. His eyes drifted over to Vangelis with this line of thought knowing that by the end of this evening the Baron would have to ask the man for a position in the upcoming war. He may have not had a proper place in the barracks in over two years, but Timaeus sure as hell was not content with staying behind in Colchis as the other men present headed to war. He was a Valaoritis. His house was founded on the military prowess of its members; a value that ran so deep that it even had a symbolic place on their house sigil in the form of one of their crossed keys. Timaeus was not going to suffer the embarrassment of not having a Valaoritis present in the conflict that would define the generation surrounding his dining table. Even if he had to grovel for it, Timaeus was not remaining in Colchis. Hades would freeze over before he let that happen.
However, that was something that would be dealt with later in the evening. Instead, now he had to focus on the words of his closest confidant as the room filled with military leaders from all reaches of Colchis. His eyes glanced about the room, recognizing far more people than he expected to. When his gaze settled on Commander Nike, he offered the soldier a curt nod and the slight hint of a bow. This was more out of personal respect than anything else as Timaeus could never forget how kind Nike had been in tolerating him in his younger years. Any other man would have smacked him upside the head for his antics on that bear hunt, but Nike didn’t. Plus it also didn’t hurt that he was not going to ignore the one man who understood Tim’s irrational fear of snakes due to their shared experiences.
Before he could wordlessly turn his attention to others in the room, however, Maleos pulled his attention with a light quip about the less than pleasant attitude of Silanos. A hearty chuckle escaped his lips for a moment which was quickly stifled due to the serious atmosphere of the room. “ And you’ve always wondered why I’ve been so miserable.” He muttered in response with a playful smirk on his face. The boy may be just barely out of his teenhood years, but the sulky outlook on life that had accompanied those years had yet to dissipate over time. Seven hades, Timaeus was convinced that least of half of the hairs in his subtly forming grey streak came from Sil’s attitude alone. Tim had had hopes that things would change while his brother had been other the Captain’s leadership, but the daily drills had seemed to have no effect on the boy. Instead, it was like Sil clung to the hope that his brother would release him from the punishment and failed to realize that there was no skirting out of the responsibility he should have taken years ago.
It was a shame that Vangelis’s idea of punishment was likely being seen as a respite from the hell that Maleos put Sil through.
Oh well, he would learn soon enough.
Timaeus raised an eyebrow though when Maleos expressed his desire for the two of them to speak in private later. Given how close the men were, the Baron had come to expect that there would be few topics that the two of them would be hesitant to bring up openly. The ability to be frank with each other was just one of the perks that came with a bond like theirs. Such a sharp deviation from that caused Timaeus to shoot a puzzled glance in his friend's direction as he gently pried into what would encourage such a change of pace, “ Discussions of a more personal nature or…?” Timaeus genuinely had no idea what his brother in arms could be wishing to speak of; especially as the topic that Maleos wished to speak of was one that Tim would have never even considered as a possibility until the words would come tumbling out of the other man’s mouth. That and his own reluctance to speak of any topics surrounding love as he tried (and failed) to put his own paramour, Nana of Leventi from his mind.
It would do him no good to fret over things that she had made clear would never be at an event that no woman was welcome to attend. It had been an ugly end between him and Nana. No matter how hard he tried to set it aside, the memory of that evening on the beach had a nasty way of creeping back into his mind as Maleos zoned out to think of his own love. Timaeus couldn’t believe that the Leventi woman had been so shallow to cast him aside because he didn’t bore the title she craved. It didn’t matter to her that he already held the role of Baron. She only wanted a prince and she had the nerve to be mad that he was not the prince that she thought he was. After all, it was hardly the Valaoritis’s fault that she had been so mistaken to think that he was a Kotas brother! Though, truthfully he should have known better than to entangle himself with the likes of a Leventi. Her doe-eyed attention had been far more trouble than she had been worth.
But that didn’t stop him from pining after her though. May the gods damn his penchant for foreign woman with lighter colored hair! He should have known that his own heart would have been ensnared in her web of hurt and even now; when she had all, but washed her hands clean of the Valaoritis lord, it was her face that invaded his dreams at night… even as his near-daily letters, begging for a chance to see her again, went unanswered.
Shaking these bitter thoughts from his mind, he glanced over at his friend who had the same glassy look in his eyes. That alone made it clear that whatever Maleos wanted to discuss, it would be of a personal nature, after all.
“ I’ll be leaving for Eubocris within a few days. Life in Midas can be draining, don’t you agree?” Timaeus said gently, pulling his friend from whatever was whirring around in that mind of his as he suggested a decent plan for when then men would talk more of what was on the Captain’s mind, “ Let’s go out for drinks tomorrow. We can discuss whatever’s on your mind then, alright?” His respect for his friend was shown in how Timaeus gave his friend the choice of whether or not he agreed to the date of this discussion. Other men of Timaeus’s stature may have just put forth the plan as an order. However, that was not how their friendship worked. Not by a long shot. If Maleos needed to speak earlier, he had the right to ask for as much from Tim.
However, a part of Timaeus had wished that the men hadn’t always been quite so frank when the topic turned to the whereabouts of Roxana. He winced a bit as Maleos inquired about the wellbeing of his family as it wasn’t a subject that Timaeus was too keen on speaking of for reasons that varied from member to member. “ They are well. If you wish to inquire about Roxana’s wellbeing though, they might have more insight than I do.” Timaeus said quite plainly as he motioned to the three Kotas brothers at the head of the table who were now greeting each other. He was sure that his friend was confused by this statement, especially as he had not been privy to how the Valaoritis household had recently been shaken up by the Kotas family taking a member of his family under their wings.
“ Princess Evras requested that Roxana was made one of her ladies-in-waiting.” He said quietly under his breath, looking at his friend with an almost worried glance. This was a rather strange demeanor for Timaeus to be describing something that would normally be regarded as a mark of pride for his family. Luckily, Maleos wouldn’t understand why The Baron was concerned. He might have been aware of the fact that Roxana was a bastard rather than the legitimate cousin they all claimed she was, but even he would not know the whole truth of Roxana’s parentage. Timaeus always carried a concern that the truth would come out while Roxana was away from the safety of the home she had grown up in. He was sure that he had nothing to worry about as Roxana was more than aware of what the consequences would be if her true parentage came out, but that did absolutely nothing to help him sleep at night.
Quickly shifting the conversation to a different family member so the matter wouldn’t be too heavily pressed, he finished by adding, “ But my mother is doing well, all things considered. She’s in Eubocris at the moment and it will be nice to see her before all of this happens.” Tim said as he motioned to the various maps on the table. While Maleos may be in the dark about Roxana, he was not when it came to his mother’s wandering mind. The loss of her husband and son had taken quite a toll on the woman and it affected her in the worst possible way. Dates and names escaped her. Timaeus knew that she was prone to forgetting her destination and wandering about as a result. This was a symptom that was particularly worrying given the mountainous terrain that made up Colchis. Despite this, she was still fairly lucid so Maleos wouldn’t blame Tim for wanting to go back and spend as much time with her as he could before things got worse.
“ It’s not the most uplifting news… but there’s not much to be done.” He said with a small shrug as he turned the topic to Maleos once again, “ How fares your family? Are they in Eubocris as well?” Timaeus might not be as close with Maleos’s family as his Captain was with the Valaoritises, but he still knew the family that had raised Maleos and was genuinely interested to hear how they were amid the various disasters that had befallen Colchis thus far.
Before Maleos had much of a chance to answer though, the entrance of a certain man had the Captian scowling. Curious, Timaeus glanced in the same direction of his brother in arms and was surprised to see that the source of Maleos’s ire was Damocles. Timaeus did not have many interactions with the man to boast of and truthfully, the few that he did have caused Timaeus to pause in garnering the man’s attention. The last time that they had crossed paths, after all, was the training event held in Eubocris all those years ago. He may have only been nine at the time, but he could remember clear as day how Damocles had nearly taken the heads of the visiting Taengean princes (kings now) clear off with his hastily thrown spear. He would have assumed that his temper had cooled in recent years, but the way his friend reacted told quite a different story. “ I take it you’ve had the pleasure of meeting him as well? What’s he done now?” Timaeus whispered to the other man so that others would not overhear. He was not a man who was found of gossip in the slightest, but hearing the foolhardy antics of Damo was an entirely different story.
It was entertaining, to say the least.
However, the booming voice of Nike made it clear that the festivities that had taken place thus far was over and it was time to get on with the meeting. At his words, Timaeus straightened up a bit and glanced over to Vangelis to see if the general of stone agreed. After all, this may be Timaeus’s house, but it was his meeting. Only Vangelis would be the one to start the war council.
Once all the men who were due to arrive had entered the chamber, Vangelis had only to nod at a servant beyond the door in the corridor for him to take the silent message. The door was closed upon the gathering with a quiet clunk of wood finding its place within stone. The noise was slight and muffled, yet with its effect on the group within the space one might have suspected it had set itself like a booming gong around the walls and alcoves. As soon as the door came to a close, do did every murmured conversation, finished or not, as the heads of the military might within Colchis all turned to witness the crown prince look up from his perusal of the Egyptian lands beneath his palm and took a sip from the goblet he held.
The water that slipped from the rim of the cup and over his tongue was cool and had him clear his throat a little before he spoke out to the group.
A man who was neither comfortable nor practiced in public events where speaking in front of crowds was not only expected by usually required, Vangelis might have been a noble of few words when the reason for his presence was some kind of unveiling or celebratory ceremony. But when it came to military meetings, where truth, efficiency and simple statement of fact regardless of emotions tied to such announcements, he was an orator of an appropriate nature. Naturally inclined to lean towards fact over feeling and statement over speculation, Vangelis' voice was deep, rough and static in its containment. He was a man of confidence and certainty, now standing in room of his peers where he was one of the most experienced among them.
"Intelligence has been precured that promises Egypt will attack Taengea in a matter of a month." He stated, bringing the simple fact of war to the forefront of conversation without hesitation or delicacy. The hush that had fallen over the room when the door had shut was now more a silence, as the severity of the meeting was brought clearly to attention. It was curious how such simple words caused a ripple of movement in the men as spines straightened and muscles seemed to tighten at the very notion of threat. The men in this room were used to being defensive and honour-bound to protect. It was a natural and physical reaction to their inner thoughts.
"King Achilleas of Taengea has sent a pre-emptive force to the south to disable the Egyptian new naval unit." His eyes were meaningful at this last phrase. The Egyptians had never had anything close to a naval force and had always made their conquests across land - out towards Bedoa or Judea. Whilst they had often come to blows with Greece, it had rarely caused them to actually attempt to take land from the Grecian realm's isles. "If he succeeds then war can be prevented before it occurs. Yet, travel time is too long between our nations to take that for granted. Which means Colchis will be mobilising for war and sailing to Taengea and then Egypt with all speed." As he spoke, Vangelis' hand subconsciously fell upon the maps before him that offered the terrain of the northern Egyptian lands. "We will use this meet to decide a full plan of attack as if this were an all-scale war. For that is what it has the potential to turn into should the Taengean forces fail."
In all of this comment, Vangelis did not look to Stephanos. He knew that the man had to be hurting and suffering his own internal thoughts over the concept of his cousin now sitting in the throne that he had once occupied. But Vangelis was now operating as commander of his own kingdom. And the simple facts of the situation were more important than his friend's feelings. He was sure that, as an experienced fighter himself, Stephanos would understand.
He also didn't look at the man as he made his next announcement, a simple hand gesture all that was given in Stephanos' direction.
"I am appointing Stephanos of Mikaelidas, a Taengean and friend to Colchis as a Colchian Commander for this campaign." Vangelis watched the men around him carefully, knowing the reactions such an announcement might create. There were men in the room who had worked for decades in the Colchian military with such a promotion their goal.
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Posted In The Armoury on Jan 11, 2020 12:25:37 GMT
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Once all the men who were due to arrive had entered the chamber, Vangelis had only to nod at a servant beyond the door in the corridor for him to take the silent message. The door was closed upon the gathering with a quiet clunk of wood finding its place within stone. The noise was slight and muffled, yet with its effect on the group within the space one might have suspected it had set itself like a booming gong around the walls and alcoves. As soon as the door came to a close, do did every murmured conversation, finished or not, as the heads of the military might within Colchis all turned to witness the crown prince look up from his perusal of the Egyptian lands beneath his palm and took a sip from the goblet he held.
The water that slipped from the rim of the cup and over his tongue was cool and had him clear his throat a little before he spoke out to the group.
A man who was neither comfortable nor practiced in public events where speaking in front of crowds was not only expected by usually required, Vangelis might have been a noble of few words when the reason for his presence was some kind of unveiling or celebratory ceremony. But when it came to military meetings, where truth, efficiency and simple statement of fact regardless of emotions tied to such announcements, he was an orator of an appropriate nature. Naturally inclined to lean towards fact over feeling and statement over speculation, Vangelis' voice was deep, rough and static in its containment. He was a man of confidence and certainty, now standing in room of his peers where he was one of the most experienced among them.
"Intelligence has been precured that promises Egypt will attack Taengea in a matter of a month." He stated, bringing the simple fact of war to the forefront of conversation without hesitation or delicacy. The hush that had fallen over the room when the door had shut was now more a silence, as the severity of the meeting was brought clearly to attention. It was curious how such simple words caused a ripple of movement in the men as spines straightened and muscles seemed to tighten at the very notion of threat. The men in this room were used to being defensive and honour-bound to protect. It was a natural and physical reaction to their inner thoughts.
"King Achilleas of Taengea has sent a pre-emptive force to the south to disable the Egyptian new naval unit." His eyes were meaningful at this last phrase. The Egyptians had never had anything close to a naval force and had always made their conquests across land - out towards Bedoa or Judea. Whilst they had often come to blows with Greece, it had rarely caused them to actually attempt to take land from the Grecian realm's isles. "If he succeeds then war can be prevented before it occurs. Yet, travel time is too long between our nations to take that for granted. Which means Colchis will be mobilising for war and sailing to Taengea and then Egypt with all speed." As he spoke, Vangelis' hand subconsciously fell upon the maps before him that offered the terrain of the northern Egyptian lands. "We will use this meet to decide a full plan of attack as if this were an all-scale war. For that is what it has the potential to turn into should the Taengean forces fail."
In all of this comment, Vangelis did not look to Stephanos. He knew that the man had to be hurting and suffering his own internal thoughts over the concept of his cousin now sitting in the throne that he had once occupied. But Vangelis was now operating as commander of his own kingdom. And the simple facts of the situation were more important than his friend's feelings. He was sure that, as an experienced fighter himself, Stephanos would understand.
He also didn't look at the man as he made his next announcement, a simple hand gesture all that was given in Stephanos' direction.
"I am appointing Stephanos of Mikaelidas, a Taengean and friend to Colchis as a Colchian Commander for this campaign." Vangelis watched the men around him carefully, knowing the reactions such an announcement might create. There were men in the room who had worked for decades in the Colchian military with such a promotion their goal.
Once all the men who were due to arrive had entered the chamber, Vangelis had only to nod at a servant beyond the door in the corridor for him to take the silent message. The door was closed upon the gathering with a quiet clunk of wood finding its place within stone. The noise was slight and muffled, yet with its effect on the group within the space one might have suspected it had set itself like a booming gong around the walls and alcoves. As soon as the door came to a close, do did every murmured conversation, finished or not, as the heads of the military might within Colchis all turned to witness the crown prince look up from his perusal of the Egyptian lands beneath his palm and took a sip from the goblet he held.
The water that slipped from the rim of the cup and over his tongue was cool and had him clear his throat a little before he spoke out to the group.
A man who was neither comfortable nor practiced in public events where speaking in front of crowds was not only expected by usually required, Vangelis might have been a noble of few words when the reason for his presence was some kind of unveiling or celebratory ceremony. But when it came to military meetings, where truth, efficiency and simple statement of fact regardless of emotions tied to such announcements, he was an orator of an appropriate nature. Naturally inclined to lean towards fact over feeling and statement over speculation, Vangelis' voice was deep, rough and static in its containment. He was a man of confidence and certainty, now standing in room of his peers where he was one of the most experienced among them.
"Intelligence has been precured that promises Egypt will attack Taengea in a matter of a month." He stated, bringing the simple fact of war to the forefront of conversation without hesitation or delicacy. The hush that had fallen over the room when the door had shut was now more a silence, as the severity of the meeting was brought clearly to attention. It was curious how such simple words caused a ripple of movement in the men as spines straightened and muscles seemed to tighten at the very notion of threat. The men in this room were used to being defensive and honour-bound to protect. It was a natural and physical reaction to their inner thoughts.
"King Achilleas of Taengea has sent a pre-emptive force to the south to disable the Egyptian new naval unit." His eyes were meaningful at this last phrase. The Egyptians had never had anything close to a naval force and had always made their conquests across land - out towards Bedoa or Judea. Whilst they had often come to blows with Greece, it had rarely caused them to actually attempt to take land from the Grecian realm's isles. "If he succeeds then war can be prevented before it occurs. Yet, travel time is too long between our nations to take that for granted. Which means Colchis will be mobilising for war and sailing to Taengea and then Egypt with all speed." As he spoke, Vangelis' hand subconsciously fell upon the maps before him that offered the terrain of the northern Egyptian lands. "We will use this meet to decide a full plan of attack as if this were an all-scale war. For that is what it has the potential to turn into should the Taengean forces fail."
In all of this comment, Vangelis did not look to Stephanos. He knew that the man had to be hurting and suffering his own internal thoughts over the concept of his cousin now sitting in the throne that he had once occupied. But Vangelis was now operating as commander of his own kingdom. And the simple facts of the situation were more important than his friend's feelings. He was sure that, as an experienced fighter himself, Stephanos would understand.
He also didn't look at the man as he made his next announcement, a simple hand gesture all that was given in Stephanos' direction.
"I am appointing Stephanos of Mikaelidas, a Taengean and friend to Colchis as a Colchian Commander for this campaign." Vangelis watched the men around him carefully, knowing the reactions such an announcement might create. There were men in the room who had worked for decades in the Colchian military with such a promotion their goal.
After finishing his brief exchange of words with Nike Damocles did as he had been instructed and took his place amongst the military elite of his homeland. A Cheshire smile formed on his face, manifesting a peculiar breed of excitement that he rarely felt opt to express upon the change of times. Times of war meant times of opportunity. And times of opportunity turned to times of change and inevitable progress, a clear escalation of possibilities that seldom the Gods and their musing Fates allowed. Yet, patience, as always, was key. He would bide his time. Now, amongst weary men heavy with the spoils of past glories, was not his time for ascension. Thus, he paid attention to his peers, listening attentively as he let others take the center stage and show their own egotistical desires for vanity.
With his ears perked towards patience, Damocles leaned against his spot, taking in the report diverged by that mud-witted crowned prince. The thought of him, ashamedly lying on the floor begging, gasping for air, for life, still drew fresh upon his mind. If only his master, Hades, had been but slightly more merciful, he could, quite very well, not stand here in his own proud stance, channeling orders and maintaining confident sentences of caution for those that knew better to listen to a half-living-seconds-spared-walking corpse. It probably still rung deep against that man, the thought that he was almost felled by neither blade or stratagem, but merely the venomous tip of a concretely hidden poison. Oh the embarrassment! How much did he long for that man to draw close once more to death’s ever-opened door! Alas, just as he too had told himself that these times were volatile and ever-changing, so too had he to remind himself that just as men prepared for battle, their leaders prepared to kept to their image and lineage, a mockery of true insight and credence if ever.
For the most part, he had been relatively uninterested in what little information of proper worth Vangelis had spewed forth. A mild chuckle paraded on his lips as that blood-forged general made that simple, but oftentimes fragrantly dramatic declaration of wartimes. He seemed to pause for effect, as if waiting to see if some of the weaker-willed men were shaken to their core, a lousy intimidation if ever. As he scanned the room for impact, he noticed the biting silence amongst them, seeing as how such a borderline anachronistic statement apparently was meant to move those surrounding him. How pathetic! Any man who was paralyzed by the mere thought of bloodletting and war-raging had no place in a council of such height! Had it been up to him, he would have demoted any who but so much as showed hesitation to such mere provocation, a fitting punishment end for such an unfit officer.
A twinge of annoyance suddenly took him whole, causing his eyebrows to narrow and his brow to furrow. Ah, how the mere mention of that man still haunted his unforgiving memory. Despite the transcourse of more than a decade, Achilleas still drew some modicum of attention from him. How was he? Last he heard, Damocles had learned that he was engaged to the second daughter of the Leventi, a woman made legendary for her gorgeousness and grace. From an objective perspective, he thought it fitting that whom he had long-past considered to be such an undeniably handsome man had sought matrimony with such renowned beauty. A part of him wished that he had found solace amongst this royal would-be queen’s apparently gentle arms, but then again, he still couldn’t deny that he wasn’t particularly fond of such union in the absolute.
After temporarily allowing his thoughts to take him to such nostalgic past, Damocles came back to his senses, listening how the man he had once held in his own arms had suddenly grown bold enough to organize such a military effort. He knew that Achilleas had always been an admirable fighter, but even if he was fine as a combatant he still thought him unbecoming as a strategist. However, more than the supposed tactical soundness that his former lover had so seemingly developed in the span of a decade, he found that considerably less important than the underlining message in Vangelis’s words. Indeed, the Egyptians were not a sea-faring people, but a tellurocracy in every sense of the word. If anyone had been the thalassocratic superpower amongst these two, it was Greece. Why then had Egypt opted for such a strategic advancement that was to such a disadvantage to their natural affinity? Had this all been an illusion cleverly orchestrated so as to distract from another possible attack of much greater scale? Or had this simply been a phantasmal provocation meant to rally popular support in Cairo? All these questions swirled in his head, but their answers would have to wait, for apparently a sudden promotion had been decreed in the most sudden of ways possible.
A sudden displeasure sourly formed on his tongue. Yet, rather than letting the poisonous decision draw his ire, Damocles swallowed his pride and quelled himself. He had long learned from his past experiences. Besides, this was, as he had carefully considered, a time of opportunities after all. Thus, upon finishing, Damocles made his presence noticeable and clear, indicated by the sound he made as he cleared his throat to sway attention unto himself.
“As some of you may know, Lord Mikaelidas and I have not always seen eye to eye.” He began, hoping to draw some humor to the otherwise predictably dull meeting. “Yet, now is not the time for such petty trivialities to make manifest. In recognition thereof of his royal lineage, divine anointment and previous experience, I, therefore wholeheartedly grant my full support to Stephanos of Mikaelidas as one of our own worthy Commanders.” Announced Damocles, who knew that some would have thought his easy acceptance of the foreigner a strange machination, given his past. “Nevertheless, this is but a most opportune time to celebrate some of our own Colchian-born brethren to such an esteemed position, given the volatility of our darkened times. Thus, in the same spirit of camaraderie that has moved me to wholly extend the hand of friendship to Lord Mikaelidas and embrace him as friend and blood-brother, I also nominate our very own Lazaros of Vlahakis as Commander."
He was sure that the unexpected nomination had caught many in surprise. Amongst many it was often whispered that Damocles himself had coveted the rank for himself. But it was exactly for such very reason that he had done it. He had cultivated a relatively cordial relationship with the man in prior years, and so he knew him to be of considerable talent, but that had not been the reason for his nomination. He would keep such reasons to himself, letting others instead intrigue and ponder as to his call for promotion at such a time. “I am sure that many here are aware of our dear friends steadfast commitment to honor, truthfulness and justice. His is a life worthy of admiration and praise. I count him amongst our most promising comrades and entirely see him as worthy the rank. As Captain of The Siren’s Call, he has shown brilliance in warfare both naval and land-based. Likewise, he is well-liked by our own people, his own men and is a rather popular figure amongst our very own rank and file. Surely, these qualities would translate well into a smooth transition of direct authority over our units." He argued, indirectly proposing this as a means to draw a direct parallel against someone who had never even so much as led a single squadron of Colchis, let along a collection of armies.
"Given Cairos’s growing interest in sea-faring strategems, I stand by the belief that Lazaros of Vlahakis is prime candidate amongst us for this most coveted position.” And thus, he laid out his machination, signaling to the golden haired man as he sung his praises. “Of course, I am but a humble commoner raised only to place by the light of House Drakos. Take my words as you may gentlemen, but know that if Egypt, our old friend, is truly itching for fights on Poseidon’s domain, we should but embrace our own supremacy by the sea and bolster our officer count amongst those most equipped to deal with the waves.”
With this, he took his turn back on the foreground, leaving the floor open to debate amongst those that would question his latest orchestrations.
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After finishing his brief exchange of words with Nike Damocles did as he had been instructed and took his place amongst the military elite of his homeland. A Cheshire smile formed on his face, manifesting a peculiar breed of excitement that he rarely felt opt to express upon the change of times. Times of war meant times of opportunity. And times of opportunity turned to times of change and inevitable progress, a clear escalation of possibilities that seldom the Gods and their musing Fates allowed. Yet, patience, as always, was key. He would bide his time. Now, amongst weary men heavy with the spoils of past glories, was not his time for ascension. Thus, he paid attention to his peers, listening attentively as he let others take the center stage and show their own egotistical desires for vanity.
With his ears perked towards patience, Damocles leaned against his spot, taking in the report diverged by that mud-witted crowned prince. The thought of him, ashamedly lying on the floor begging, gasping for air, for life, still drew fresh upon his mind. If only his master, Hades, had been but slightly more merciful, he could, quite very well, not stand here in his own proud stance, channeling orders and maintaining confident sentences of caution for those that knew better to listen to a half-living-seconds-spared-walking corpse. It probably still rung deep against that man, the thought that he was almost felled by neither blade or stratagem, but merely the venomous tip of a concretely hidden poison. Oh the embarrassment! How much did he long for that man to draw close once more to death’s ever-opened door! Alas, just as he too had told himself that these times were volatile and ever-changing, so too had he to remind himself that just as men prepared for battle, their leaders prepared to kept to their image and lineage, a mockery of true insight and credence if ever.
For the most part, he had been relatively uninterested in what little information of proper worth Vangelis had spewed forth. A mild chuckle paraded on his lips as that blood-forged general made that simple, but oftentimes fragrantly dramatic declaration of wartimes. He seemed to pause for effect, as if waiting to see if some of the weaker-willed men were shaken to their core, a lousy intimidation if ever. As he scanned the room for impact, he noticed the biting silence amongst them, seeing as how such a borderline anachronistic statement apparently was meant to move those surrounding him. How pathetic! Any man who was paralyzed by the mere thought of bloodletting and war-raging had no place in a council of such height! Had it been up to him, he would have demoted any who but so much as showed hesitation to such mere provocation, a fitting punishment end for such an unfit officer.
A twinge of annoyance suddenly took him whole, causing his eyebrows to narrow and his brow to furrow. Ah, how the mere mention of that man still haunted his unforgiving memory. Despite the transcourse of more than a decade, Achilleas still drew some modicum of attention from him. How was he? Last he heard, Damocles had learned that he was engaged to the second daughter of the Leventi, a woman made legendary for her gorgeousness and grace. From an objective perspective, he thought it fitting that whom he had long-past considered to be such an undeniably handsome man had sought matrimony with such renowned beauty. A part of him wished that he had found solace amongst this royal would-be queen’s apparently gentle arms, but then again, he still couldn’t deny that he wasn’t particularly fond of such union in the absolute.
After temporarily allowing his thoughts to take him to such nostalgic past, Damocles came back to his senses, listening how the man he had once held in his own arms had suddenly grown bold enough to organize such a military effort. He knew that Achilleas had always been an admirable fighter, but even if he was fine as a combatant he still thought him unbecoming as a strategist. However, more than the supposed tactical soundness that his former lover had so seemingly developed in the span of a decade, he found that considerably less important than the underlining message in Vangelis’s words. Indeed, the Egyptians were not a sea-faring people, but a tellurocracy in every sense of the word. If anyone had been the thalassocratic superpower amongst these two, it was Greece. Why then had Egypt opted for such a strategic advancement that was to such a disadvantage to their natural affinity? Had this all been an illusion cleverly orchestrated so as to distract from another possible attack of much greater scale? Or had this simply been a phantasmal provocation meant to rally popular support in Cairo? All these questions swirled in his head, but their answers would have to wait, for apparently a sudden promotion had been decreed in the most sudden of ways possible.
A sudden displeasure sourly formed on his tongue. Yet, rather than letting the poisonous decision draw his ire, Damocles swallowed his pride and quelled himself. He had long learned from his past experiences. Besides, this was, as he had carefully considered, a time of opportunities after all. Thus, upon finishing, Damocles made his presence noticeable and clear, indicated by the sound he made as he cleared his throat to sway attention unto himself.
“As some of you may know, Lord Mikaelidas and I have not always seen eye to eye.” He began, hoping to draw some humor to the otherwise predictably dull meeting. “Yet, now is not the time for such petty trivialities to make manifest. In recognition thereof of his royal lineage, divine anointment and previous experience, I, therefore wholeheartedly grant my full support to Stephanos of Mikaelidas as one of our own worthy Commanders.” Announced Damocles, who knew that some would have thought his easy acceptance of the foreigner a strange machination, given his past. “Nevertheless, this is but a most opportune time to celebrate some of our own Colchian-born brethren to such an esteemed position, given the volatility of our darkened times. Thus, in the same spirit of camaraderie that has moved me to wholly extend the hand of friendship to Lord Mikaelidas and embrace him as friend and blood-brother, I also nominate our very own Lazaros of Vlahakis as Commander."
He was sure that the unexpected nomination had caught many in surprise. Amongst many it was often whispered that Damocles himself had coveted the rank for himself. But it was exactly for such very reason that he had done it. He had cultivated a relatively cordial relationship with the man in prior years, and so he knew him to be of considerable talent, but that had not been the reason for his nomination. He would keep such reasons to himself, letting others instead intrigue and ponder as to his call for promotion at such a time. “I am sure that many here are aware of our dear friends steadfast commitment to honor, truthfulness and justice. His is a life worthy of admiration and praise. I count him amongst our most promising comrades and entirely see him as worthy the rank. As Captain of The Siren’s Call, he has shown brilliance in warfare both naval and land-based. Likewise, he is well-liked by our own people, his own men and is a rather popular figure amongst our very own rank and file. Surely, these qualities would translate well into a smooth transition of direct authority over our units." He argued, indirectly proposing this as a means to draw a direct parallel against someone who had never even so much as led a single squadron of Colchis, let along a collection of armies.
"Given Cairos’s growing interest in sea-faring strategems, I stand by the belief that Lazaros of Vlahakis is prime candidate amongst us for this most coveted position.” And thus, he laid out his machination, signaling to the golden haired man as he sung his praises. “Of course, I am but a humble commoner raised only to place by the light of House Drakos. Take my words as you may gentlemen, but know that if Egypt, our old friend, is truly itching for fights on Poseidon’s domain, we should but embrace our own supremacy by the sea and bolster our officer count amongst those most equipped to deal with the waves.”
With this, he took his turn back on the foreground, leaving the floor open to debate amongst those that would question his latest orchestrations.
After finishing his brief exchange of words with Nike Damocles did as he had been instructed and took his place amongst the military elite of his homeland. A Cheshire smile formed on his face, manifesting a peculiar breed of excitement that he rarely felt opt to express upon the change of times. Times of war meant times of opportunity. And times of opportunity turned to times of change and inevitable progress, a clear escalation of possibilities that seldom the Gods and their musing Fates allowed. Yet, patience, as always, was key. He would bide his time. Now, amongst weary men heavy with the spoils of past glories, was not his time for ascension. Thus, he paid attention to his peers, listening attentively as he let others take the center stage and show their own egotistical desires for vanity.
With his ears perked towards patience, Damocles leaned against his spot, taking in the report diverged by that mud-witted crowned prince. The thought of him, ashamedly lying on the floor begging, gasping for air, for life, still drew fresh upon his mind. If only his master, Hades, had been but slightly more merciful, he could, quite very well, not stand here in his own proud stance, channeling orders and maintaining confident sentences of caution for those that knew better to listen to a half-living-seconds-spared-walking corpse. It probably still rung deep against that man, the thought that he was almost felled by neither blade or stratagem, but merely the venomous tip of a concretely hidden poison. Oh the embarrassment! How much did he long for that man to draw close once more to death’s ever-opened door! Alas, just as he too had told himself that these times were volatile and ever-changing, so too had he to remind himself that just as men prepared for battle, their leaders prepared to kept to their image and lineage, a mockery of true insight and credence if ever.
For the most part, he had been relatively uninterested in what little information of proper worth Vangelis had spewed forth. A mild chuckle paraded on his lips as that blood-forged general made that simple, but oftentimes fragrantly dramatic declaration of wartimes. He seemed to pause for effect, as if waiting to see if some of the weaker-willed men were shaken to their core, a lousy intimidation if ever. As he scanned the room for impact, he noticed the biting silence amongst them, seeing as how such a borderline anachronistic statement apparently was meant to move those surrounding him. How pathetic! Any man who was paralyzed by the mere thought of bloodletting and war-raging had no place in a council of such height! Had it been up to him, he would have demoted any who but so much as showed hesitation to such mere provocation, a fitting punishment end for such an unfit officer.
A twinge of annoyance suddenly took him whole, causing his eyebrows to narrow and his brow to furrow. Ah, how the mere mention of that man still haunted his unforgiving memory. Despite the transcourse of more than a decade, Achilleas still drew some modicum of attention from him. How was he? Last he heard, Damocles had learned that he was engaged to the second daughter of the Leventi, a woman made legendary for her gorgeousness and grace. From an objective perspective, he thought it fitting that whom he had long-past considered to be such an undeniably handsome man had sought matrimony with such renowned beauty. A part of him wished that he had found solace amongst this royal would-be queen’s apparently gentle arms, but then again, he still couldn’t deny that he wasn’t particularly fond of such union in the absolute.
After temporarily allowing his thoughts to take him to such nostalgic past, Damocles came back to his senses, listening how the man he had once held in his own arms had suddenly grown bold enough to organize such a military effort. He knew that Achilleas had always been an admirable fighter, but even if he was fine as a combatant he still thought him unbecoming as a strategist. However, more than the supposed tactical soundness that his former lover had so seemingly developed in the span of a decade, he found that considerably less important than the underlining message in Vangelis’s words. Indeed, the Egyptians were not a sea-faring people, but a tellurocracy in every sense of the word. If anyone had been the thalassocratic superpower amongst these two, it was Greece. Why then had Egypt opted for such a strategic advancement that was to such a disadvantage to their natural affinity? Had this all been an illusion cleverly orchestrated so as to distract from another possible attack of much greater scale? Or had this simply been a phantasmal provocation meant to rally popular support in Cairo? All these questions swirled in his head, but their answers would have to wait, for apparently a sudden promotion had been decreed in the most sudden of ways possible.
A sudden displeasure sourly formed on his tongue. Yet, rather than letting the poisonous decision draw his ire, Damocles swallowed his pride and quelled himself. He had long learned from his past experiences. Besides, this was, as he had carefully considered, a time of opportunities after all. Thus, upon finishing, Damocles made his presence noticeable and clear, indicated by the sound he made as he cleared his throat to sway attention unto himself.
“As some of you may know, Lord Mikaelidas and I have not always seen eye to eye.” He began, hoping to draw some humor to the otherwise predictably dull meeting. “Yet, now is not the time for such petty trivialities to make manifest. In recognition thereof of his royal lineage, divine anointment and previous experience, I, therefore wholeheartedly grant my full support to Stephanos of Mikaelidas as one of our own worthy Commanders.” Announced Damocles, who knew that some would have thought his easy acceptance of the foreigner a strange machination, given his past. “Nevertheless, this is but a most opportune time to celebrate some of our own Colchian-born brethren to such an esteemed position, given the volatility of our darkened times. Thus, in the same spirit of camaraderie that has moved me to wholly extend the hand of friendship to Lord Mikaelidas and embrace him as friend and blood-brother, I also nominate our very own Lazaros of Vlahakis as Commander."
He was sure that the unexpected nomination had caught many in surprise. Amongst many it was often whispered that Damocles himself had coveted the rank for himself. But it was exactly for such very reason that he had done it. He had cultivated a relatively cordial relationship with the man in prior years, and so he knew him to be of considerable talent, but that had not been the reason for his nomination. He would keep such reasons to himself, letting others instead intrigue and ponder as to his call for promotion at such a time. “I am sure that many here are aware of our dear friends steadfast commitment to honor, truthfulness and justice. His is a life worthy of admiration and praise. I count him amongst our most promising comrades and entirely see him as worthy the rank. As Captain of The Siren’s Call, he has shown brilliance in warfare both naval and land-based. Likewise, he is well-liked by our own people, his own men and is a rather popular figure amongst our very own rank and file. Surely, these qualities would translate well into a smooth transition of direct authority over our units." He argued, indirectly proposing this as a means to draw a direct parallel against someone who had never even so much as led a single squadron of Colchis, let along a collection of armies.
"Given Cairos’s growing interest in sea-faring strategems, I stand by the belief that Lazaros of Vlahakis is prime candidate amongst us for this most coveted position.” And thus, he laid out his machination, signaling to the golden haired man as he sung his praises. “Of course, I am but a humble commoner raised only to place by the light of House Drakos. Take my words as you may gentlemen, but know that if Egypt, our old friend, is truly itching for fights on Poseidon’s domain, we should but embrace our own supremacy by the sea and bolster our officer count amongst those most equipped to deal with the waves.”
With this, he took his turn back on the foreground, leaving the floor open to debate amongst those that would question his latest orchestrations.