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Upon feeling the string of Vangelis’s words, Damocles fell back to his shadows, letting others have the spotlight he had once dominated in such an abruptly crass manner. He would see to it that his machinations would come to fruition, but it seemed as though he would have to wait a bit longer. Amusing as it was to spar words with those mud-brained aristocrats, he knew that time would be best invested in matters relating to the actual administration of the precipitous war. As a matter of fact, that had been the proper reason for this miserable assembly, even if He would have it go in an entirely different direction. No, he wasn’t a fool. Already had his words painted thick brushstrokes of anger and rage amongst this toady congress of sycophants. If his goads continued, he might be met with little less than the profits he had calculated. There was a difference between goading and biting the hand that feeds after all.
The conversation quickly turned to strategy and tactics, a field by which he often felt comfortable with. Despite his affinity for the subject however, even the Silver-eyed man could come to comprehend that his turn to speak had not been laid bare yet. For now, he would let so-called calmer heads prevail, musing over the minutia that his begrudged colleagues forfeited in favor of grand plans and romantic rhetoric. He could be uproarious and let his tongue lash out in spiteful tones against the decidedly unimpressive ideas that had been proposed and discussed, show his contempt for those that had only clung to their position due to the blood that ran through their veins, but he only stayed still. As far-fetched as the proposals were, he took a sick pleasure in seeing others wear the motley of the consummate strategist, snickering quietly under-breath as he listened more and more to the discussions that awashed at the room.
At one point someone pressed forward the idea to use fire and bitter metal against the Egyptians under the pretense of cutting them off their supply networks, a most grand stratagem for once. Normally, he would had agreed to this course of action, but there were many factors that swayed his opinion otherwise. Though the idea of burning and scorching the each sounded well on paper, Damocles did not consider that to be a first course of action for the time being. Such an operation would require efforts, great and numerous resources and a strong, firm dedication to the cause so as to see it all come to fruition. Furthermore, Egypt was a commercial kingdom. To think that one could just take all of its supplies in one fell-swoop would be ludicrous at best. Still, if the objective was to cripple the enemy, there were better, more subtle ways to achieve that goal…if one had the gall to do so.
Before he could make his suggestion however, a direct course of action was discussed. First laid out by the collective trifecta of the present Men of the Heights and then apparently supported by the crown-general himself, this idea upheld the use of forces and unorthodox fighting lines and obvious weakspots. This would not do. This would not do at all! His cold, iron-colored eyes spaced in wide-open glares. His lips narrowed and tightened, causing his jaw to clench downwards. His eyebrows pulled downcast. His forehead furrowed, seething with outrage and utter contempt. He had heard enough! He had kept his opinions to himself for far too long!
And yet, he stilled himself. Rather than letting his rage overwhelm him, Damocles took a deep breath and relaxed, settling his stern features to a more light-hearted, albeit still somber demeanor. These were not the times for them to wage war amongst themselves. He needed to remember that. So, after smoothing his visage and letting his temper quell, the Silver-eyed man embraced the discussion once more, this time letting a softer, more reconciliatory tone manifest.
“Well, now that Lords Timaeus, Sir Maleos and Sir Daxos have all replaced us as military high command…” he began, using a bit of his trademark humor to elicit some soft chuckles and faint laughs from the other congressed military leaders. In these times of high tension and stress, humor and laughter, however faint it may be, was needed. He thought about poking fun at the men once more, but his intent was not to demean them…too much. Hence, he fixed his features, straightened his back and fastened himself to a more serious, somber tone. “Might I please offer up the counsel of an older voice?” rhetorically asked the massive man as he began to let his thoughts turn to words.
“Difficult as it may be, I will try my best to not exercise grandiosity and regale you all with speeches terrible and drawn-out.” He once more jested, noticing how some other commanders and captains fell victim to his self-deprecating humor and paradoxical charm. “Instead, I will only use my logic and brains, which, I can assure you all, still exists beneath this thick, empty head of mine.” He continued, poking fun of himself one last time for a third set of laughter to burst from some of the faces of the grim militants.
“To make my position clear I feel there may be some weight to his stratagem, but as it stands, I feel I must voice my cautionary objections to it for the time being. My Lords, I fear that this plan is all too-cruel and harmful to our soldiers, who will be impelled to great losses and terrible casualties. If anything but for the people, I find myself compelled to plead temperance and self-restraint. Allow me to lay by objections bare.” His presence filled the room, exuding confidence and grace that rarely came from men of expectedly low-birth. His gestures, though flamboyant and expressive as he was, were not cause for mockery or disrespect. The time for laughs had passed. Now, he had to be serious and stern.
“First, there is a total disregard for Alexandria, the chief coastal province in Egypt and a land that has enough might to equal three of our units in the hands of an incompetent leader. Anything related to ships, even empty ones, will be monitored by this monstrously powerful province. Tell me, Lord Timaeus, Sir Daxos, or Sir Maleos, what shall happen if these ships are, for any possible reason, discovered to be empty? In such a case I will tell you what will happen. That mad Dowager Queen will send out her hounds of war as a defensive tactic, sniffing out any units we might have hiding in the dunes, leading to Greek losses and deaths.” He counterbalanced, keeping his demeanor composed and self-assured as he made his case to the assembly. Based off the nods and whispers he saw from some of the older Commanders and Captains, Damocles felt re-assured that his assessment had been met with a clear understanding and a positive reception.
“Second, I must now raise issue with the weakspot of this entrapment strategy. Had Greece and Egypt not been at war before, mayhaps I would have placed more stock in this idea. Nevertheless, as Lord Timaeus pointed out before, our enemy is experienced with our style of battle and knows our general tactics. To a trained, experienced eye, such as the ones beholden to the likes of military prodigies like Iahotep and his chief lieutenant, General Osorsen, our actions would be instantly perceived as utterly uncharacteristic and nonsensical. We are a culture of war and battle. The Egyptians know that we would never leave such a weakspot unless there was a purpose to it, which is exactly the point. Even if they were momentarily sidetracked, they would just leave any distractions to Alexandria and her forces. At which point, Iahotep and Osorsen, would focus their efforts on everything but the weak-spot, causing heavy casualties to our side by eliminating this first wave, whilst our second auxiliary forces stays their hand in-wait of an entrapment that was already predicted.” He once more objective, levying a similarly positive reaction from the gathered men, who seemed to turn to question the soundness of the plan hereforth laid out.
“Captain Damocles is right!” assured a wayward voice amongst the gathering, causing the Silver-Eyed man to momentarily smirk with pride at the way he had commander the opinion of the senior leadership of Colchis’s military. “Yes! His words are true! We must reconsider!” Another commented, causing Damocles to once more address the gathered men. “Thank you, my good and cherished friends! But this is not the time for glory-hogging or vanity. I merely state my objections to what I think is an otherwise possible plan…if amended to proper cause.” He stated, turning to that accursedly young boy-lord, Timaeus.
“Indeed, please do be aware however my Lords, that my words are not a categorical dismissal of Lord Valaoritis’s cautionary subversion of our tactics, but rather a common-joined fear based off our shared perception about the Egyptians knowing our tactics and ways of battle.” Once done, he turned his attention to Vangelis, who had conglomerated all these ideas together into one. “As I stated before, I solidly concur that an entrapment of sorts may possibly work, but as it is, it is too obvious and blatant. Iahotep and his men shan’t fall for this, leading to my fears and concerns for the commonality and their heavy losses. Hence, I am willing to believe that this entrapment suggestion might have some weight to it, but I must stress that we must analyze this from a more holistic and objective point of view, my Lords.” He finished his observations, putting aside any enmity he might have had with the aristocrats in pursuit of an arguably greater threat.
“Which leads me to my final insight. If possible, I would make bold and submit my own list of amendments, along another possible plan of action, if so instructed, to by this sacred and noble assembly.” He invited, teasing the higher-ups with his ideas as he gingerly walked around with his quintessential air of confidence.
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Upon feeling the string of Vangelis’s words, Damocles fell back to his shadows, letting others have the spotlight he had once dominated in such an abruptly crass manner. He would see to it that his machinations would come to fruition, but it seemed as though he would have to wait a bit longer. Amusing as it was to spar words with those mud-brained aristocrats, he knew that time would be best invested in matters relating to the actual administration of the precipitous war. As a matter of fact, that had been the proper reason for this miserable assembly, even if He would have it go in an entirely different direction. No, he wasn’t a fool. Already had his words painted thick brushstrokes of anger and rage amongst this toady congress of sycophants. If his goads continued, he might be met with little less than the profits he had calculated. There was a difference between goading and biting the hand that feeds after all.
The conversation quickly turned to strategy and tactics, a field by which he often felt comfortable with. Despite his affinity for the subject however, even the Silver-eyed man could come to comprehend that his turn to speak had not been laid bare yet. For now, he would let so-called calmer heads prevail, musing over the minutia that his begrudged colleagues forfeited in favor of grand plans and romantic rhetoric. He could be uproarious and let his tongue lash out in spiteful tones against the decidedly unimpressive ideas that had been proposed and discussed, show his contempt for those that had only clung to their position due to the blood that ran through their veins, but he only stayed still. As far-fetched as the proposals were, he took a sick pleasure in seeing others wear the motley of the consummate strategist, snickering quietly under-breath as he listened more and more to the discussions that awashed at the room.
At one point someone pressed forward the idea to use fire and bitter metal against the Egyptians under the pretense of cutting them off their supply networks, a most grand stratagem for once. Normally, he would had agreed to this course of action, but there were many factors that swayed his opinion otherwise. Though the idea of burning and scorching the each sounded well on paper, Damocles did not consider that to be a first course of action for the time being. Such an operation would require efforts, great and numerous resources and a strong, firm dedication to the cause so as to see it all come to fruition. Furthermore, Egypt was a commercial kingdom. To think that one could just take all of its supplies in one fell-swoop would be ludicrous at best. Still, if the objective was to cripple the enemy, there were better, more subtle ways to achieve that goal…if one had the gall to do so.
Before he could make his suggestion however, a direct course of action was discussed. First laid out by the collective trifecta of the present Men of the Heights and then apparently supported by the crown-general himself, this idea upheld the use of forces and unorthodox fighting lines and obvious weakspots. This would not do. This would not do at all! His cold, iron-colored eyes spaced in wide-open glares. His lips narrowed and tightened, causing his jaw to clench downwards. His eyebrows pulled downcast. His forehead furrowed, seething with outrage and utter contempt. He had heard enough! He had kept his opinions to himself for far too long!
And yet, he stilled himself. Rather than letting his rage overwhelm him, Damocles took a deep breath and relaxed, settling his stern features to a more light-hearted, albeit still somber demeanor. These were not the times for them to wage war amongst themselves. He needed to remember that. So, after smoothing his visage and letting his temper quell, the Silver-eyed man embraced the discussion once more, this time letting a softer, more reconciliatory tone manifest.
“Well, now that Lords Timaeus, Sir Maleos and Sir Daxos have all replaced us as military high command…” he began, using a bit of his trademark humor to elicit some soft chuckles and faint laughs from the other congressed military leaders. In these times of high tension and stress, humor and laughter, however faint it may be, was needed. He thought about poking fun at the men once more, but his intent was not to demean them…too much. Hence, he fixed his features, straightened his back and fastened himself to a more serious, somber tone. “Might I please offer up the counsel of an older voice?” rhetorically asked the massive man as he began to let his thoughts turn to words.
“Difficult as it may be, I will try my best to not exercise grandiosity and regale you all with speeches terrible and drawn-out.” He once more jested, noticing how some other commanders and captains fell victim to his self-deprecating humor and paradoxical charm. “Instead, I will only use my logic and brains, which, I can assure you all, still exists beneath this thick, empty head of mine.” He continued, poking fun of himself one last time for a third set of laughter to burst from some of the faces of the grim militants.
“To make my position clear I feel there may be some weight to his stratagem, but as it stands, I feel I must voice my cautionary objections to it for the time being. My Lords, I fear that this plan is all too-cruel and harmful to our soldiers, who will be impelled to great losses and terrible casualties. If anything but for the people, I find myself compelled to plead temperance and self-restraint. Allow me to lay by objections bare.” His presence filled the room, exuding confidence and grace that rarely came from men of expectedly low-birth. His gestures, though flamboyant and expressive as he was, were not cause for mockery or disrespect. The time for laughs had passed. Now, he had to be serious and stern.
“First, there is a total disregard for Alexandria, the chief coastal province in Egypt and a land that has enough might to equal three of our units in the hands of an incompetent leader. Anything related to ships, even empty ones, will be monitored by this monstrously powerful province. Tell me, Lord Timaeus, Sir Daxos, or Sir Maleos, what shall happen if these ships are, for any possible reason, discovered to be empty? In such a case I will tell you what will happen. That mad Dowager Queen will send out her hounds of war as a defensive tactic, sniffing out any units we might have hiding in the dunes, leading to Greek losses and deaths.” He counterbalanced, keeping his demeanor composed and self-assured as he made his case to the assembly. Based off the nods and whispers he saw from some of the older Commanders and Captains, Damocles felt re-assured that his assessment had been met with a clear understanding and a positive reception.
“Second, I must now raise issue with the weakspot of this entrapment strategy. Had Greece and Egypt not been at war before, mayhaps I would have placed more stock in this idea. Nevertheless, as Lord Timaeus pointed out before, our enemy is experienced with our style of battle and knows our general tactics. To a trained, experienced eye, such as the ones beholden to the likes of military prodigies like Iahotep and his chief lieutenant, General Osorsen, our actions would be instantly perceived as utterly uncharacteristic and nonsensical. We are a culture of war and battle. The Egyptians know that we would never leave such a weakspot unless there was a purpose to it, which is exactly the point. Even if they were momentarily sidetracked, they would just leave any distractions to Alexandria and her forces. At which point, Iahotep and Osorsen, would focus their efforts on everything but the weak-spot, causing heavy casualties to our side by eliminating this first wave, whilst our second auxiliary forces stays their hand in-wait of an entrapment that was already predicted.” He once more objective, levying a similarly positive reaction from the gathered men, who seemed to turn to question the soundness of the plan hereforth laid out.
“Captain Damocles is right!” assured a wayward voice amongst the gathering, causing the Silver-Eyed man to momentarily smirk with pride at the way he had commander the opinion of the senior leadership of Colchis’s military. “Yes! His words are true! We must reconsider!” Another commented, causing Damocles to once more address the gathered men. “Thank you, my good and cherished friends! But this is not the time for glory-hogging or vanity. I merely state my objections to what I think is an otherwise possible plan…if amended to proper cause.” He stated, turning to that accursedly young boy-lord, Timaeus.
“Indeed, please do be aware however my Lords, that my words are not a categorical dismissal of Lord Valaoritis’s cautionary subversion of our tactics, but rather a common-joined fear based off our shared perception about the Egyptians knowing our tactics and ways of battle.” Once done, he turned his attention to Vangelis, who had conglomerated all these ideas together into one. “As I stated before, I solidly concur that an entrapment of sorts may possibly work, but as it is, it is too obvious and blatant. Iahotep and his men shan’t fall for this, leading to my fears and concerns for the commonality and their heavy losses. Hence, I am willing to believe that this entrapment suggestion might have some weight to it, but I must stress that we must analyze this from a more holistic and objective point of view, my Lords.” He finished his observations, putting aside any enmity he might have had with the aristocrats in pursuit of an arguably greater threat.
“Which leads me to my final insight. If possible, I would make bold and submit my own list of amendments, along another possible plan of action, if so instructed, to by this sacred and noble assembly.” He invited, teasing the higher-ups with his ideas as he gingerly walked around with his quintessential air of confidence.
Upon feeling the string of Vangelis’s words, Damocles fell back to his shadows, letting others have the spotlight he had once dominated in such an abruptly crass manner. He would see to it that his machinations would come to fruition, but it seemed as though he would have to wait a bit longer. Amusing as it was to spar words with those mud-brained aristocrats, he knew that time would be best invested in matters relating to the actual administration of the precipitous war. As a matter of fact, that had been the proper reason for this miserable assembly, even if He would have it go in an entirely different direction. No, he wasn’t a fool. Already had his words painted thick brushstrokes of anger and rage amongst this toady congress of sycophants. If his goads continued, he might be met with little less than the profits he had calculated. There was a difference between goading and biting the hand that feeds after all.
The conversation quickly turned to strategy and tactics, a field by which he often felt comfortable with. Despite his affinity for the subject however, even the Silver-eyed man could come to comprehend that his turn to speak had not been laid bare yet. For now, he would let so-called calmer heads prevail, musing over the minutia that his begrudged colleagues forfeited in favor of grand plans and romantic rhetoric. He could be uproarious and let his tongue lash out in spiteful tones against the decidedly unimpressive ideas that had been proposed and discussed, show his contempt for those that had only clung to their position due to the blood that ran through their veins, but he only stayed still. As far-fetched as the proposals were, he took a sick pleasure in seeing others wear the motley of the consummate strategist, snickering quietly under-breath as he listened more and more to the discussions that awashed at the room.
At one point someone pressed forward the idea to use fire and bitter metal against the Egyptians under the pretense of cutting them off their supply networks, a most grand stratagem for once. Normally, he would had agreed to this course of action, but there were many factors that swayed his opinion otherwise. Though the idea of burning and scorching the each sounded well on paper, Damocles did not consider that to be a first course of action for the time being. Such an operation would require efforts, great and numerous resources and a strong, firm dedication to the cause so as to see it all come to fruition. Furthermore, Egypt was a commercial kingdom. To think that one could just take all of its supplies in one fell-swoop would be ludicrous at best. Still, if the objective was to cripple the enemy, there were better, more subtle ways to achieve that goal…if one had the gall to do so.
Before he could make his suggestion however, a direct course of action was discussed. First laid out by the collective trifecta of the present Men of the Heights and then apparently supported by the crown-general himself, this idea upheld the use of forces and unorthodox fighting lines and obvious weakspots. This would not do. This would not do at all! His cold, iron-colored eyes spaced in wide-open glares. His lips narrowed and tightened, causing his jaw to clench downwards. His eyebrows pulled downcast. His forehead furrowed, seething with outrage and utter contempt. He had heard enough! He had kept his opinions to himself for far too long!
And yet, he stilled himself. Rather than letting his rage overwhelm him, Damocles took a deep breath and relaxed, settling his stern features to a more light-hearted, albeit still somber demeanor. These were not the times for them to wage war amongst themselves. He needed to remember that. So, after smoothing his visage and letting his temper quell, the Silver-eyed man embraced the discussion once more, this time letting a softer, more reconciliatory tone manifest.
“Well, now that Lords Timaeus, Sir Maleos and Sir Daxos have all replaced us as military high command…” he began, using a bit of his trademark humor to elicit some soft chuckles and faint laughs from the other congressed military leaders. In these times of high tension and stress, humor and laughter, however faint it may be, was needed. He thought about poking fun at the men once more, but his intent was not to demean them…too much. Hence, he fixed his features, straightened his back and fastened himself to a more serious, somber tone. “Might I please offer up the counsel of an older voice?” rhetorically asked the massive man as he began to let his thoughts turn to words.
“Difficult as it may be, I will try my best to not exercise grandiosity and regale you all with speeches terrible and drawn-out.” He once more jested, noticing how some other commanders and captains fell victim to his self-deprecating humor and paradoxical charm. “Instead, I will only use my logic and brains, which, I can assure you all, still exists beneath this thick, empty head of mine.” He continued, poking fun of himself one last time for a third set of laughter to burst from some of the faces of the grim militants.
“To make my position clear I feel there may be some weight to his stratagem, but as it stands, I feel I must voice my cautionary objections to it for the time being. My Lords, I fear that this plan is all too-cruel and harmful to our soldiers, who will be impelled to great losses and terrible casualties. If anything but for the people, I find myself compelled to plead temperance and self-restraint. Allow me to lay by objections bare.” His presence filled the room, exuding confidence and grace that rarely came from men of expectedly low-birth. His gestures, though flamboyant and expressive as he was, were not cause for mockery or disrespect. The time for laughs had passed. Now, he had to be serious and stern.
“First, there is a total disregard for Alexandria, the chief coastal province in Egypt and a land that has enough might to equal three of our units in the hands of an incompetent leader. Anything related to ships, even empty ones, will be monitored by this monstrously powerful province. Tell me, Lord Timaeus, Sir Daxos, or Sir Maleos, what shall happen if these ships are, for any possible reason, discovered to be empty? In such a case I will tell you what will happen. That mad Dowager Queen will send out her hounds of war as a defensive tactic, sniffing out any units we might have hiding in the dunes, leading to Greek losses and deaths.” He counterbalanced, keeping his demeanor composed and self-assured as he made his case to the assembly. Based off the nods and whispers he saw from some of the older Commanders and Captains, Damocles felt re-assured that his assessment had been met with a clear understanding and a positive reception.
“Second, I must now raise issue with the weakspot of this entrapment strategy. Had Greece and Egypt not been at war before, mayhaps I would have placed more stock in this idea. Nevertheless, as Lord Timaeus pointed out before, our enemy is experienced with our style of battle and knows our general tactics. To a trained, experienced eye, such as the ones beholden to the likes of military prodigies like Iahotep and his chief lieutenant, General Osorsen, our actions would be instantly perceived as utterly uncharacteristic and nonsensical. We are a culture of war and battle. The Egyptians know that we would never leave such a weakspot unless there was a purpose to it, which is exactly the point. Even if they were momentarily sidetracked, they would just leave any distractions to Alexandria and her forces. At which point, Iahotep and Osorsen, would focus their efforts on everything but the weak-spot, causing heavy casualties to our side by eliminating this first wave, whilst our second auxiliary forces stays their hand in-wait of an entrapment that was already predicted.” He once more objective, levying a similarly positive reaction from the gathered men, who seemed to turn to question the soundness of the plan hereforth laid out.
“Captain Damocles is right!” assured a wayward voice amongst the gathering, causing the Silver-Eyed man to momentarily smirk with pride at the way he had commander the opinion of the senior leadership of Colchis’s military. “Yes! His words are true! We must reconsider!” Another commented, causing Damocles to once more address the gathered men. “Thank you, my good and cherished friends! But this is not the time for glory-hogging or vanity. I merely state my objections to what I think is an otherwise possible plan…if amended to proper cause.” He stated, turning to that accursedly young boy-lord, Timaeus.
“Indeed, please do be aware however my Lords, that my words are not a categorical dismissal of Lord Valaoritis’s cautionary subversion of our tactics, but rather a common-joined fear based off our shared perception about the Egyptians knowing our tactics and ways of battle.” Once done, he turned his attention to Vangelis, who had conglomerated all these ideas together into one. “As I stated before, I solidly concur that an entrapment of sorts may possibly work, but as it is, it is too obvious and blatant. Iahotep and his men shan’t fall for this, leading to my fears and concerns for the commonality and their heavy losses. Hence, I am willing to believe that this entrapment suggestion might have some weight to it, but I must stress that we must analyze this from a more holistic and objective point of view, my Lords.” He finished his observations, putting aside any enmity he might have had with the aristocrats in pursuit of an arguably greater threat.
“Which leads me to my final insight. If possible, I would make bold and submit my own list of amendments, along another possible plan of action, if so instructed, to by this sacred and noble assembly.” He invited, teasing the higher-ups with his ideas as he gingerly walked around with his quintessential air of confidence.
Vangelis watched the reactions of the men whose ideas he had incorporated into the plans and was pleased to see the way their shoulders straightened and their spines elongated, their chins rising in a hint of pride that Colchians were rare to verbalise. Good. Proud men with a determination to prove that the faith placed in their plans had not been done foolishly would work with extra force to ensure that the promised results came to pass.
What then transpired was a long and obnoxious speech delivered by a man who prefaced his words with promises of avoiding grandstanding; something he then immediately went on to do. Taking a calming inhale, Vangelis gave no exterior reaction to the man, allowing him to drone on in ways that offered all of the negatives and potential weaknesses of the plans of others whilst withholding his own so called 'amendments' that would fix the issues at hand.
Vangelis had never liked such an attitude in the captain from Magnemea. Here was a congress of fellows - men who were open to ideas and worked together in order to preserve Colchis and her military affairs overseas. It was a forum in which to work together, to offer help and aid and bring together the formation of the strongest plan possible.
It was not a room in which to score points or win podiums of arrogance through snide remarks laced and coated with simpering humour or fake flattery.
Saying nothing as Damocles spoke, his gaze marking those who supported the man and unsurprised to find them to be Captains of his nearest provinces or Lieutenants from his own, Vangelis simply waited for the man to run out of bombastic steam, his hands still braced upon the table before him. He leaned down over his work, his own shadow cast upon the maps in front of him but his eyes were on Damocles as he chose to walk around the table with an air of hubris.
'If possible, I would make bold and submit my own list of amendments, along another possible plan of action, if so instructed, to by this sacred and noble assembly.'
The room went quiet for a moment as Vangelis watched the man, eager to now take his moment to show his power and military might at the detriment of the other men in the room. Had he been willing to offer his ideas simply, without speeches or show-boating, Vangelis would have listened; offered him a place at the table and heard him out. Instead he simply said -
"No."
The word was calm but powerful and followed immediately by Vangelis turning to look upon his map once more and make comment upon the plans that he was not changing.
"Maleos..." he stated, addressing the man whose plan made the bulk of this attack. "You'll work with Stephanos before we leave for the south. He's fought the Egyptians before and you'll be able to work with him on their expectations of our forces and how you'll create a fall back that is believable enough to draw in the Egyptian's cavalry." The instruction was accompanied by a stab of his finger to the map where the forces had been split.
His gaze shifted to Lazaros of Vlahakis.
"Lazaros, before you depart for Illytia I want you to work with Captains Miras and Losso, Your naval knowledge will be useful in determining exactly where they need to position their ships so that they are visible to the Egyptian forces here-" He marked upon the map where the latest intelligence had placed the Egyptian congression of troops "- but out of the legal waters of Alexandria. I need to be assured that they can place themselves correctly regardless of current and weather."
Vangelis then proceeded to divvy up the provinces, units and the groups within those units based on archery, swordsmanship and the limited chariots that Colchis possessed. He assigned men to their determined spots quickly-
"Commander Stephanos, you'll take the Arcanaes provincial unit and move to support King Achilleas in his main objective. Once you are certain that the Egyptian means of travel have been destroyed, fall back to the boats and sail into open waters between Taengea and Egypt. You'll be responsible for ensuring you have supplies to wait out the war there. We're not to return to Taengea and bring the war with us unless absolutely necessary." His gaze upon Stephanos was careful. Translation, his stare said, don't go back to Taengea and get yourself arrested.
Vangelis' head turned towards Timaeus. "You wanted a position in this war, Timaeus, you'll have one at Stephanos' side. You'll be my eyes and ears and Colchians representative there. make no mistake that Commander Stephanos is in charge of his men, but your advice will be heeded by his ear." The words were said aloud before witnesses to ensure that both sides were held to such an agreement.
"Now, let us determine the forces able to be utilised in our main assault..."
And from that point onwards the meeting ran long but swiftly. The Captains of their units were forced to produce documentation of their troops, their equipment. Their notes upon missing resources or supplies that would need to be hurried through the system to be assured that every man went to battle with the support he needed from his kingdom. Reports on the progress made through horsemanship and archery were given and Vangelis nodded as he made his final choices for Commanders over the mission.
"The four units for the entrapment manoeuvre will be headed by Commander Nike, Prince Yiannis, myself... and Captain Maleos." Vangelis' eyes turned in his direction. "I will take the central attack, Nike the Eastern flank and Yiannis the West. Maleos you'll be on the other side of Yiannis' forces ready to break away and encircle from behind, once the Egyptians are in position for the trap to be sprung. The four of us will divide the assets of these provinces-" Vangelis laid out the statistical forms for Chaossis, Magnemea, Megaris, Laconia, Lyncaea and Eubocris. "- as to their greatest advantage. We'll discuss this tomorrow at dawn at the Kotas manor."
Stretching to stand upright once more, Vangelis looked around the room, at the empty cups and goblets and the spread sheets of parchment and tomes of clay that littered the table. Whilst they had decided their main plan of attack quickly, it took many hours to finalise statistics and the needs of men right down to the last leather sandal.
"Militants of Colchis, I think you for your time. You'll receive instruction from your immediate Commanders in due course. All troops are to report to the outer lands of Midas six days hence. You are dismissed."
He said nothing more to the men, expecting them to leave contentedly after several hours of standing stock still around a table. He looked up only in time to eye Silanos as he seemed ready to make his escape.
"Lord Silanos. A word before you depart..."
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Vangelis watched the reactions of the men whose ideas he had incorporated into the plans and was pleased to see the way their shoulders straightened and their spines elongated, their chins rising in a hint of pride that Colchians were rare to verbalise. Good. Proud men with a determination to prove that the faith placed in their plans had not been done foolishly would work with extra force to ensure that the promised results came to pass.
What then transpired was a long and obnoxious speech delivered by a man who prefaced his words with promises of avoiding grandstanding; something he then immediately went on to do. Taking a calming inhale, Vangelis gave no exterior reaction to the man, allowing him to drone on in ways that offered all of the negatives and potential weaknesses of the plans of others whilst withholding his own so called 'amendments' that would fix the issues at hand.
Vangelis had never liked such an attitude in the captain from Magnemea. Here was a congress of fellows - men who were open to ideas and worked together in order to preserve Colchis and her military affairs overseas. It was a forum in which to work together, to offer help and aid and bring together the formation of the strongest plan possible.
It was not a room in which to score points or win podiums of arrogance through snide remarks laced and coated with simpering humour or fake flattery.
Saying nothing as Damocles spoke, his gaze marking those who supported the man and unsurprised to find them to be Captains of his nearest provinces or Lieutenants from his own, Vangelis simply waited for the man to run out of bombastic steam, his hands still braced upon the table before him. He leaned down over his work, his own shadow cast upon the maps in front of him but his eyes were on Damocles as he chose to walk around the table with an air of hubris.
'If possible, I would make bold and submit my own list of amendments, along another possible plan of action, if so instructed, to by this sacred and noble assembly.'
The room went quiet for a moment as Vangelis watched the man, eager to now take his moment to show his power and military might at the detriment of the other men in the room. Had he been willing to offer his ideas simply, without speeches or show-boating, Vangelis would have listened; offered him a place at the table and heard him out. Instead he simply said -
"No."
The word was calm but powerful and followed immediately by Vangelis turning to look upon his map once more and make comment upon the plans that he was not changing.
"Maleos..." he stated, addressing the man whose plan made the bulk of this attack. "You'll work with Stephanos before we leave for the south. He's fought the Egyptians before and you'll be able to work with him on their expectations of our forces and how you'll create a fall back that is believable enough to draw in the Egyptian's cavalry." The instruction was accompanied by a stab of his finger to the map where the forces had been split.
His gaze shifted to Lazaros of Vlahakis.
"Lazaros, before you depart for Illytia I want you to work with Captains Miras and Losso, Your naval knowledge will be useful in determining exactly where they need to position their ships so that they are visible to the Egyptian forces here-" He marked upon the map where the latest intelligence had placed the Egyptian congression of troops "- but out of the legal waters of Alexandria. I need to be assured that they can place themselves correctly regardless of current and weather."
Vangelis then proceeded to divvy up the provinces, units and the groups within those units based on archery, swordsmanship and the limited chariots that Colchis possessed. He assigned men to their determined spots quickly-
"Commander Stephanos, you'll take the Arcanaes provincial unit and move to support King Achilleas in his main objective. Once you are certain that the Egyptian means of travel have been destroyed, fall back to the boats and sail into open waters between Taengea and Egypt. You'll be responsible for ensuring you have supplies to wait out the war there. We're not to return to Taengea and bring the war with us unless absolutely necessary." His gaze upon Stephanos was careful. Translation, his stare said, don't go back to Taengea and get yourself arrested.
Vangelis' head turned towards Timaeus. "You wanted a position in this war, Timaeus, you'll have one at Stephanos' side. You'll be my eyes and ears and Colchians representative there. make no mistake that Commander Stephanos is in charge of his men, but your advice will be heeded by his ear." The words were said aloud before witnesses to ensure that both sides were held to such an agreement.
"Now, let us determine the forces able to be utilised in our main assault..."
And from that point onwards the meeting ran long but swiftly. The Captains of their units were forced to produce documentation of their troops, their equipment. Their notes upon missing resources or supplies that would need to be hurried through the system to be assured that every man went to battle with the support he needed from his kingdom. Reports on the progress made through horsemanship and archery were given and Vangelis nodded as he made his final choices for Commanders over the mission.
"The four units for the entrapment manoeuvre will be headed by Commander Nike, Prince Yiannis, myself... and Captain Maleos." Vangelis' eyes turned in his direction. "I will take the central attack, Nike the Eastern flank and Yiannis the West. Maleos you'll be on the other side of Yiannis' forces ready to break away and encircle from behind, once the Egyptians are in position for the trap to be sprung. The four of us will divide the assets of these provinces-" Vangelis laid out the statistical forms for Chaossis, Magnemea, Megaris, Laconia, Lyncaea and Eubocris. "- as to their greatest advantage. We'll discuss this tomorrow at dawn at the Kotas manor."
Stretching to stand upright once more, Vangelis looked around the room, at the empty cups and goblets and the spread sheets of parchment and tomes of clay that littered the table. Whilst they had decided their main plan of attack quickly, it took many hours to finalise statistics and the needs of men right down to the last leather sandal.
"Militants of Colchis, I think you for your time. You'll receive instruction from your immediate Commanders in due course. All troops are to report to the outer lands of Midas six days hence. You are dismissed."
He said nothing more to the men, expecting them to leave contentedly after several hours of standing stock still around a table. He looked up only in time to eye Silanos as he seemed ready to make his escape.
"Lord Silanos. A word before you depart..."
Vangelis watched the reactions of the men whose ideas he had incorporated into the plans and was pleased to see the way their shoulders straightened and their spines elongated, their chins rising in a hint of pride that Colchians were rare to verbalise. Good. Proud men with a determination to prove that the faith placed in their plans had not been done foolishly would work with extra force to ensure that the promised results came to pass.
What then transpired was a long and obnoxious speech delivered by a man who prefaced his words with promises of avoiding grandstanding; something he then immediately went on to do. Taking a calming inhale, Vangelis gave no exterior reaction to the man, allowing him to drone on in ways that offered all of the negatives and potential weaknesses of the plans of others whilst withholding his own so called 'amendments' that would fix the issues at hand.
Vangelis had never liked such an attitude in the captain from Magnemea. Here was a congress of fellows - men who were open to ideas and worked together in order to preserve Colchis and her military affairs overseas. It was a forum in which to work together, to offer help and aid and bring together the formation of the strongest plan possible.
It was not a room in which to score points or win podiums of arrogance through snide remarks laced and coated with simpering humour or fake flattery.
Saying nothing as Damocles spoke, his gaze marking those who supported the man and unsurprised to find them to be Captains of his nearest provinces or Lieutenants from his own, Vangelis simply waited for the man to run out of bombastic steam, his hands still braced upon the table before him. He leaned down over his work, his own shadow cast upon the maps in front of him but his eyes were on Damocles as he chose to walk around the table with an air of hubris.
'If possible, I would make bold and submit my own list of amendments, along another possible plan of action, if so instructed, to by this sacred and noble assembly.'
The room went quiet for a moment as Vangelis watched the man, eager to now take his moment to show his power and military might at the detriment of the other men in the room. Had he been willing to offer his ideas simply, without speeches or show-boating, Vangelis would have listened; offered him a place at the table and heard him out. Instead he simply said -
"No."
The word was calm but powerful and followed immediately by Vangelis turning to look upon his map once more and make comment upon the plans that he was not changing.
"Maleos..." he stated, addressing the man whose plan made the bulk of this attack. "You'll work with Stephanos before we leave for the south. He's fought the Egyptians before and you'll be able to work with him on their expectations of our forces and how you'll create a fall back that is believable enough to draw in the Egyptian's cavalry." The instruction was accompanied by a stab of his finger to the map where the forces had been split.
His gaze shifted to Lazaros of Vlahakis.
"Lazaros, before you depart for Illytia I want you to work with Captains Miras and Losso, Your naval knowledge will be useful in determining exactly where they need to position their ships so that they are visible to the Egyptian forces here-" He marked upon the map where the latest intelligence had placed the Egyptian congression of troops "- but out of the legal waters of Alexandria. I need to be assured that they can place themselves correctly regardless of current and weather."
Vangelis then proceeded to divvy up the provinces, units and the groups within those units based on archery, swordsmanship and the limited chariots that Colchis possessed. He assigned men to their determined spots quickly-
"Commander Stephanos, you'll take the Arcanaes provincial unit and move to support King Achilleas in his main objective. Once you are certain that the Egyptian means of travel have been destroyed, fall back to the boats and sail into open waters between Taengea and Egypt. You'll be responsible for ensuring you have supplies to wait out the war there. We're not to return to Taengea and bring the war with us unless absolutely necessary." His gaze upon Stephanos was careful. Translation, his stare said, don't go back to Taengea and get yourself arrested.
Vangelis' head turned towards Timaeus. "You wanted a position in this war, Timaeus, you'll have one at Stephanos' side. You'll be my eyes and ears and Colchians representative there. make no mistake that Commander Stephanos is in charge of his men, but your advice will be heeded by his ear." The words were said aloud before witnesses to ensure that both sides were held to such an agreement.
"Now, let us determine the forces able to be utilised in our main assault..."
And from that point onwards the meeting ran long but swiftly. The Captains of their units were forced to produce documentation of their troops, their equipment. Their notes upon missing resources or supplies that would need to be hurried through the system to be assured that every man went to battle with the support he needed from his kingdom. Reports on the progress made through horsemanship and archery were given and Vangelis nodded as he made his final choices for Commanders over the mission.
"The four units for the entrapment manoeuvre will be headed by Commander Nike, Prince Yiannis, myself... and Captain Maleos." Vangelis' eyes turned in his direction. "I will take the central attack, Nike the Eastern flank and Yiannis the West. Maleos you'll be on the other side of Yiannis' forces ready to break away and encircle from behind, once the Egyptians are in position for the trap to be sprung. The four of us will divide the assets of these provinces-" Vangelis laid out the statistical forms for Chaossis, Magnemea, Megaris, Laconia, Lyncaea and Eubocris. "- as to their greatest advantage. We'll discuss this tomorrow at dawn at the Kotas manor."
Stretching to stand upright once more, Vangelis looked around the room, at the empty cups and goblets and the spread sheets of parchment and tomes of clay that littered the table. Whilst they had decided their main plan of attack quickly, it took many hours to finalise statistics and the needs of men right down to the last leather sandal.
"Militants of Colchis, I think you for your time. You'll receive instruction from your immediate Commanders in due course. All troops are to report to the outer lands of Midas six days hence. You are dismissed."
He said nothing more to the men, expecting them to leave contentedly after several hours of standing stock still around a table. He looked up only in time to eye Silanos as he seemed ready to make his escape.
"Lord Silanos. A word before you depart..."
Maleos grit his teeth a bit as once more Captain Damocles interjected, pointing out supposed flaws in the plans laid forth by his peers and his Prince. As much as Maleos wished to argue with him, to provide counterpoints to the ridiculous arguments he presented, the curly haired Captain kept himself silent.
Had he been a weaker man, he would have laughed out loud when the other man was shut down by the Crown Prince with one word. No. Luckily, he was great at holding things back, and so there was no sign of the complete joy he felt at watching Damocles be put in his place. He knew that later, when he and Timaeus met up for a drink, the two men would revel in the moment, and that was more than enough to satisfy him for now. He remained silent and stoic as the air around those who had given approval for Damocles’ words changed, a silent tension in them as they realized they had put themselves on the Prince’s radar in a way that might not have been the best. Pompous attitude and inflated words held no worth in a war meeting.
His attention snapped back fully to the Crown Prince as he was addressed once more, listening in full to his words. Once more his ability to hold things back served him well, though the pride he held was obvious in his slightly more proud stance, it held no arrogance, nor cocky smile upon his face. Instead the pride swelled in his chest and would cause the already loyal warrior to fight that much harder, to prove himself and his tactics.
“Your Highness.” Were the only words to pass Maleos’ lips, along with a respectful nod, enough to notify the Crown Prince that he had heard and acknowledged his words without the risk of interrupting what he would say to the others he wished to address in the room.
He listened as he spoke to the others as well, in case there was something he needed to know, noting what he said and to who. He felt another burst of inner happiness as Vangelis stated that Timaeus would have a place in the war, perhaps not the position that the Baron himself wished for, but at least he would not be left at home. He knew how his friend longed for the days when the two of them stood side by side and fought the enemies of Colchis together. Things were much different now, but at least the two would share a position of glory, the chance to lead their Kingdom in victory against the Egyptians.
The rest of the meeting went quickly, though they were there for many hours, war took a lot of time and planning. Maleos remained quiet unless it was necessary for him to speak, reporting on his troops, that they were well supplied, well armed and well trained. He might not have held the largest unit, but he was confident in every mans abilities on the battlefield. He had been strict with every one of them, it was known how he led his men, and now he would get to show his higher ups exactly why his methods would be effective. A healthy dose of fear and respect meant that his unit was running smoothly.
Maleos could have sworn this was a dream, except for the presence of Captain Damocles. When the Crown Prince determined that Maleos would be one of four heading the units doing the attacking. He had longed for such a thing, to be given the chance to command more than his unit, to be given the chance to prove himself. This was his time to shine, to prove his worth in this war and perhaps upon returning home he would do so even more elevated in the ranks. He nodded in understanding once more when the Prince stated that they would discuss things further at dawn in his families manor. He felt his heart race from the pure joy and adrenaline of the beginning of his desire to see himself to a higher position taking fruition.
As things wound down and the Crown Prince dismissed them, Maleos gave a bow of respect to Vangelis before he turned to take his leave. As much as he had enjoyed the day, it had been a long one, and he yearned for a bit of rest and the chance to properly celebrate all that had happened, preferably with Tim at his side.
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Maleos grit his teeth a bit as once more Captain Damocles interjected, pointing out supposed flaws in the plans laid forth by his peers and his Prince. As much as Maleos wished to argue with him, to provide counterpoints to the ridiculous arguments he presented, the curly haired Captain kept himself silent.
Had he been a weaker man, he would have laughed out loud when the other man was shut down by the Crown Prince with one word. No. Luckily, he was great at holding things back, and so there was no sign of the complete joy he felt at watching Damocles be put in his place. He knew that later, when he and Timaeus met up for a drink, the two men would revel in the moment, and that was more than enough to satisfy him for now. He remained silent and stoic as the air around those who had given approval for Damocles’ words changed, a silent tension in them as they realized they had put themselves on the Prince’s radar in a way that might not have been the best. Pompous attitude and inflated words held no worth in a war meeting.
His attention snapped back fully to the Crown Prince as he was addressed once more, listening in full to his words. Once more his ability to hold things back served him well, though the pride he held was obvious in his slightly more proud stance, it held no arrogance, nor cocky smile upon his face. Instead the pride swelled in his chest and would cause the already loyal warrior to fight that much harder, to prove himself and his tactics.
“Your Highness.” Were the only words to pass Maleos’ lips, along with a respectful nod, enough to notify the Crown Prince that he had heard and acknowledged his words without the risk of interrupting what he would say to the others he wished to address in the room.
He listened as he spoke to the others as well, in case there was something he needed to know, noting what he said and to who. He felt another burst of inner happiness as Vangelis stated that Timaeus would have a place in the war, perhaps not the position that the Baron himself wished for, but at least he would not be left at home. He knew how his friend longed for the days when the two of them stood side by side and fought the enemies of Colchis together. Things were much different now, but at least the two would share a position of glory, the chance to lead their Kingdom in victory against the Egyptians.
The rest of the meeting went quickly, though they were there for many hours, war took a lot of time and planning. Maleos remained quiet unless it was necessary for him to speak, reporting on his troops, that they were well supplied, well armed and well trained. He might not have held the largest unit, but he was confident in every mans abilities on the battlefield. He had been strict with every one of them, it was known how he led his men, and now he would get to show his higher ups exactly why his methods would be effective. A healthy dose of fear and respect meant that his unit was running smoothly.
Maleos could have sworn this was a dream, except for the presence of Captain Damocles. When the Crown Prince determined that Maleos would be one of four heading the units doing the attacking. He had longed for such a thing, to be given the chance to command more than his unit, to be given the chance to prove himself. This was his time to shine, to prove his worth in this war and perhaps upon returning home he would do so even more elevated in the ranks. He nodded in understanding once more when the Prince stated that they would discuss things further at dawn in his families manor. He felt his heart race from the pure joy and adrenaline of the beginning of his desire to see himself to a higher position taking fruition.
As things wound down and the Crown Prince dismissed them, Maleos gave a bow of respect to Vangelis before he turned to take his leave. As much as he had enjoyed the day, it had been a long one, and he yearned for a bit of rest and the chance to properly celebrate all that had happened, preferably with Tim at his side.
Maleos grit his teeth a bit as once more Captain Damocles interjected, pointing out supposed flaws in the plans laid forth by his peers and his Prince. As much as Maleos wished to argue with him, to provide counterpoints to the ridiculous arguments he presented, the curly haired Captain kept himself silent.
Had he been a weaker man, he would have laughed out loud when the other man was shut down by the Crown Prince with one word. No. Luckily, he was great at holding things back, and so there was no sign of the complete joy he felt at watching Damocles be put in his place. He knew that later, when he and Timaeus met up for a drink, the two men would revel in the moment, and that was more than enough to satisfy him for now. He remained silent and stoic as the air around those who had given approval for Damocles’ words changed, a silent tension in them as they realized they had put themselves on the Prince’s radar in a way that might not have been the best. Pompous attitude and inflated words held no worth in a war meeting.
His attention snapped back fully to the Crown Prince as he was addressed once more, listening in full to his words. Once more his ability to hold things back served him well, though the pride he held was obvious in his slightly more proud stance, it held no arrogance, nor cocky smile upon his face. Instead the pride swelled in his chest and would cause the already loyal warrior to fight that much harder, to prove himself and his tactics.
“Your Highness.” Were the only words to pass Maleos’ lips, along with a respectful nod, enough to notify the Crown Prince that he had heard and acknowledged his words without the risk of interrupting what he would say to the others he wished to address in the room.
He listened as he spoke to the others as well, in case there was something he needed to know, noting what he said and to who. He felt another burst of inner happiness as Vangelis stated that Timaeus would have a place in the war, perhaps not the position that the Baron himself wished for, but at least he would not be left at home. He knew how his friend longed for the days when the two of them stood side by side and fought the enemies of Colchis together. Things were much different now, but at least the two would share a position of glory, the chance to lead their Kingdom in victory against the Egyptians.
The rest of the meeting went quickly, though they were there for many hours, war took a lot of time and planning. Maleos remained quiet unless it was necessary for him to speak, reporting on his troops, that they were well supplied, well armed and well trained. He might not have held the largest unit, but he was confident in every mans abilities on the battlefield. He had been strict with every one of them, it was known how he led his men, and now he would get to show his higher ups exactly why his methods would be effective. A healthy dose of fear and respect meant that his unit was running smoothly.
Maleos could have sworn this was a dream, except for the presence of Captain Damocles. When the Crown Prince determined that Maleos would be one of four heading the units doing the attacking. He had longed for such a thing, to be given the chance to command more than his unit, to be given the chance to prove himself. This was his time to shine, to prove his worth in this war and perhaps upon returning home he would do so even more elevated in the ranks. He nodded in understanding once more when the Prince stated that they would discuss things further at dawn in his families manor. He felt his heart race from the pure joy and adrenaline of the beginning of his desire to see himself to a higher position taking fruition.
As things wound down and the Crown Prince dismissed them, Maleos gave a bow of respect to Vangelis before he turned to take his leave. As much as he had enjoyed the day, it had been a long one, and he yearned for a bit of rest and the chance to properly celebrate all that had happened, preferably with Tim at his side.
Timaeus had just about had enough of Damocles this evening. As expected, the man continued to be divisive and disrespectful at every turn. This time though… The Baron was sure that the man had crossed one line too many as the Captain dismissed the plan that had been on the table. His words may have been flowery, but his message underneath was tactless and utterly useless to the group at large. Who was Damo to think that his own plan should be the only one that was considered and who was he to decide if the strategies of Maleos, Timaeus, and all the others who spoke did not have merit on account that things might go wrong? All plans had the capability of going wrong and given that Damocles was not the war goddess Athena, his own would be subject to the same follies too -- just as Timaeus had noted in Damocles’s other brilliant idea to promote Lazaros.
Whatever, it didn’t matter as Vangelis’s quick dismissal of Damocles solidified that the man would not be the grand strategist of this meeting. The Baron could feel the atmosphere of the dining hall shift as all those who supported the Captain realized that their champion would not have a place of honor today. He had to duck his head to hide the slight smirk that crossed his face as this reality settled over the crowd. The young man was certain that his turn of events would irritate the Captain to no end as Damo prided himself on his strategic ability and considered it one of his greatest assets. Now he wasn’t even being given the chance to stake a claim on the feelings of pride that bubbled in the chests of the Men of the Heights as their ideas found their places in the final plan.
The best part of this though? Damocles would walk away from the Valaoritis manor knowing that this shame he now had to carry was entirely the man’s own fault. If the Captain of the Damned had kept his mouth shut and refrained from the flamboyant speeches, reckless outbursts, and classless insults; he would have been given the chance to convey his own thoughts and ideas for the war plan. Now he would have to go to war with the shattered reputation of being a formerly brilliant strategist.
Timaeus knew that he should not take joy in the other man’s folly to heed the lessons of their faith. (After all, there was a reason why hubris was the fatal flaw of many heroes and demigods.) The Baron just couldn’t help it. Who could blame him though? Most of Damocles’s nastiness that evening had been directed rather unjustly at Tim. It wasn’t like the Baron had truly done anything to deserve the countless insults that had been thrown his way -- unless, of course, pointing out flaws in a careless plan and suggesting a battle strategy of his own were suddenly crimes now… Damocles may not be happy with it, but it was a simple fact that Timaeus had earned his place in the war council. He may be young and the man may not have a current rank to call his own, but the experience was not to be discounted.
Who was Damocles to decide that the Baron should be undermined when the Captain held the same rank that Timaeus once did?
However, as Vangelis continued to speak, the Valaoritis man soon had a more acceptable reason to be gleeful. Timaeus couldn’t help, but let his stoic mask slip into a joyful grin when the Prince decided that there was a place for him in the sands of Egypt. He was going to go to war after all! Timaeus had gone into this meeting thinking that he would have to remain on the shores of Colchis as the others shipped out. Now, he too would be heading out to do his duty and serve his homeland -- even if it wasn’t exactly in a position that his younger self would have dreamed of.
His eyes flickered to Stephanos when Vangelis made it clear that Timaeus was meant to serve in an advisory role to the Taengean Commander. It would be his duty to ensure that the former king stayed true to the Colchian objectives that had been laid out here. He could see instantly that Timaeus was to essentially be a glorified babysitter, but the young man didn’t care. He was going to Egypt and that was all that mattered to him… and hey, who’s to say that Timaeus would be restricted from seeing the field of battle in this position? Maybe he would get the chance to sever the heads of a few Egyptians, just like the rest of the men gathered here.
Timaeus managed to pull himself together though before he verbally expressed his gratitude by quietly muttering, “ Thank you, your highness.” Although his words were subdued, everyone could see the glimmer of excitement in his eyes. He couldn’t wait for the chance to relieve his soldier days -- the time before he had been bogged down with the responsibilities of being a Baron and head of house.
Though how much joy he would truly take out of this adventure, in the end, would depend on how receptive Stephanos would be to Timaeus’s presence. The two men did not know each other beyond the passing introductions done fifteen years ago on the training grounds of Eubocris and as neutral as they had been then; Timaeus couldn’t imagine that Steph wouldn’t kindly take to the notion of having an advisor right at his heels. Oh well, at the end of the day, Steph would have to deal with it. He may call himself the King of Taengea, but here in Colchis, he was a commander under Vangelis. He had no power to question his gracious host.
So, Vangelis quickly moved on to the rest of the details that would need to be sorted out for this strategy to work. Several hours had passed before the Prince finally called an end to the meeting. Just like all the other tired men, Timaeus quietly bowed out of respect as he turned towards the door. He was now eager to catch Maleos before he left so they could go over the details of where they would meet tomorrow and ensure that Damocles didn’t wander as the man took his leave. However, before he could make it very far, Timaeus was forced to pause as Vangelis called out to his little brother -- a man that Timaeus had almost forgotten was at the meeting. His protective instinct called for him to stay and referee in case things turned volatile… but the terms of the agreement had been clear. Silanos was no longer Timaeus’s responsibility given that the meeting had come to an end. He had no grounds to demand a place in this conversation and no justifiable reason to remain either. Sil’s wellbeing was now in Vangelis’s hands and Timaeus had to wipe himself clean of the boy until the conditions were met.
So, as much as he wanted to stand by the boy’s side, all Timaeus could do was ruefully smile at the boy and silently will him to gain the common sense he would need to thrive at Vang’s side. He had to have the faith that all would go well. Then, without so much as a word to either man, Timaeus gave the prince a respectful nod as he hurried after Maleos, intent on catching him before the Captain wandered off too far.
Silanos was a grown man, he could take care of himself.
Right?
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Feb 23, 2020 22:39:28 GMT
Posted In The Armoury on Feb 23, 2020 22:39:28 GMT
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Timaeus had just about had enough of Damocles this evening. As expected, the man continued to be divisive and disrespectful at every turn. This time though… The Baron was sure that the man had crossed one line too many as the Captain dismissed the plan that had been on the table. His words may have been flowery, but his message underneath was tactless and utterly useless to the group at large. Who was Damo to think that his own plan should be the only one that was considered and who was he to decide if the strategies of Maleos, Timaeus, and all the others who spoke did not have merit on account that things might go wrong? All plans had the capability of going wrong and given that Damocles was not the war goddess Athena, his own would be subject to the same follies too -- just as Timaeus had noted in Damocles’s other brilliant idea to promote Lazaros.
Whatever, it didn’t matter as Vangelis’s quick dismissal of Damocles solidified that the man would not be the grand strategist of this meeting. The Baron could feel the atmosphere of the dining hall shift as all those who supported the Captain realized that their champion would not have a place of honor today. He had to duck his head to hide the slight smirk that crossed his face as this reality settled over the crowd. The young man was certain that his turn of events would irritate the Captain to no end as Damo prided himself on his strategic ability and considered it one of his greatest assets. Now he wasn’t even being given the chance to stake a claim on the feelings of pride that bubbled in the chests of the Men of the Heights as their ideas found their places in the final plan.
The best part of this though? Damocles would walk away from the Valaoritis manor knowing that this shame he now had to carry was entirely the man’s own fault. If the Captain of the Damned had kept his mouth shut and refrained from the flamboyant speeches, reckless outbursts, and classless insults; he would have been given the chance to convey his own thoughts and ideas for the war plan. Now he would have to go to war with the shattered reputation of being a formerly brilliant strategist.
Timaeus knew that he should not take joy in the other man’s folly to heed the lessons of their faith. (After all, there was a reason why hubris was the fatal flaw of many heroes and demigods.) The Baron just couldn’t help it. Who could blame him though? Most of Damocles’s nastiness that evening had been directed rather unjustly at Tim. It wasn’t like the Baron had truly done anything to deserve the countless insults that had been thrown his way -- unless, of course, pointing out flaws in a careless plan and suggesting a battle strategy of his own were suddenly crimes now… Damocles may not be happy with it, but it was a simple fact that Timaeus had earned his place in the war council. He may be young and the man may not have a current rank to call his own, but the experience was not to be discounted.
Who was Damocles to decide that the Baron should be undermined when the Captain held the same rank that Timaeus once did?
However, as Vangelis continued to speak, the Valaoritis man soon had a more acceptable reason to be gleeful. Timaeus couldn’t help, but let his stoic mask slip into a joyful grin when the Prince decided that there was a place for him in the sands of Egypt. He was going to go to war after all! Timaeus had gone into this meeting thinking that he would have to remain on the shores of Colchis as the others shipped out. Now, he too would be heading out to do his duty and serve his homeland -- even if it wasn’t exactly in a position that his younger self would have dreamed of.
His eyes flickered to Stephanos when Vangelis made it clear that Timaeus was meant to serve in an advisory role to the Taengean Commander. It would be his duty to ensure that the former king stayed true to the Colchian objectives that had been laid out here. He could see instantly that Timaeus was to essentially be a glorified babysitter, but the young man didn’t care. He was going to Egypt and that was all that mattered to him… and hey, who’s to say that Timaeus would be restricted from seeing the field of battle in this position? Maybe he would get the chance to sever the heads of a few Egyptians, just like the rest of the men gathered here.
Timaeus managed to pull himself together though before he verbally expressed his gratitude by quietly muttering, “ Thank you, your highness.” Although his words were subdued, everyone could see the glimmer of excitement in his eyes. He couldn’t wait for the chance to relieve his soldier days -- the time before he had been bogged down with the responsibilities of being a Baron and head of house.
Though how much joy he would truly take out of this adventure, in the end, would depend on how receptive Stephanos would be to Timaeus’s presence. The two men did not know each other beyond the passing introductions done fifteen years ago on the training grounds of Eubocris and as neutral as they had been then; Timaeus couldn’t imagine that Steph wouldn’t kindly take to the notion of having an advisor right at his heels. Oh well, at the end of the day, Steph would have to deal with it. He may call himself the King of Taengea, but here in Colchis, he was a commander under Vangelis. He had no power to question his gracious host.
So, Vangelis quickly moved on to the rest of the details that would need to be sorted out for this strategy to work. Several hours had passed before the Prince finally called an end to the meeting. Just like all the other tired men, Timaeus quietly bowed out of respect as he turned towards the door. He was now eager to catch Maleos before he left so they could go over the details of where they would meet tomorrow and ensure that Damocles didn’t wander as the man took his leave. However, before he could make it very far, Timaeus was forced to pause as Vangelis called out to his little brother -- a man that Timaeus had almost forgotten was at the meeting. His protective instinct called for him to stay and referee in case things turned volatile… but the terms of the agreement had been clear. Silanos was no longer Timaeus’s responsibility given that the meeting had come to an end. He had no grounds to demand a place in this conversation and no justifiable reason to remain either. Sil’s wellbeing was now in Vangelis’s hands and Timaeus had to wipe himself clean of the boy until the conditions were met.
So, as much as he wanted to stand by the boy’s side, all Timaeus could do was ruefully smile at the boy and silently will him to gain the common sense he would need to thrive at Vang’s side. He had to have the faith that all would go well. Then, without so much as a word to either man, Timaeus gave the prince a respectful nod as he hurried after Maleos, intent on catching him before the Captain wandered off too far.
Silanos was a grown man, he could take care of himself.
Right?
Timaeus had just about had enough of Damocles this evening. As expected, the man continued to be divisive and disrespectful at every turn. This time though… The Baron was sure that the man had crossed one line too many as the Captain dismissed the plan that had been on the table. His words may have been flowery, but his message underneath was tactless and utterly useless to the group at large. Who was Damo to think that his own plan should be the only one that was considered and who was he to decide if the strategies of Maleos, Timaeus, and all the others who spoke did not have merit on account that things might go wrong? All plans had the capability of going wrong and given that Damocles was not the war goddess Athena, his own would be subject to the same follies too -- just as Timaeus had noted in Damocles’s other brilliant idea to promote Lazaros.
Whatever, it didn’t matter as Vangelis’s quick dismissal of Damocles solidified that the man would not be the grand strategist of this meeting. The Baron could feel the atmosphere of the dining hall shift as all those who supported the Captain realized that their champion would not have a place of honor today. He had to duck his head to hide the slight smirk that crossed his face as this reality settled over the crowd. The young man was certain that his turn of events would irritate the Captain to no end as Damo prided himself on his strategic ability and considered it one of his greatest assets. Now he wasn’t even being given the chance to stake a claim on the feelings of pride that bubbled in the chests of the Men of the Heights as their ideas found their places in the final plan.
The best part of this though? Damocles would walk away from the Valaoritis manor knowing that this shame he now had to carry was entirely the man’s own fault. If the Captain of the Damned had kept his mouth shut and refrained from the flamboyant speeches, reckless outbursts, and classless insults; he would have been given the chance to convey his own thoughts and ideas for the war plan. Now he would have to go to war with the shattered reputation of being a formerly brilliant strategist.
Timaeus knew that he should not take joy in the other man’s folly to heed the lessons of their faith. (After all, there was a reason why hubris was the fatal flaw of many heroes and demigods.) The Baron just couldn’t help it. Who could blame him though? Most of Damocles’s nastiness that evening had been directed rather unjustly at Tim. It wasn’t like the Baron had truly done anything to deserve the countless insults that had been thrown his way -- unless, of course, pointing out flaws in a careless plan and suggesting a battle strategy of his own were suddenly crimes now… Damocles may not be happy with it, but it was a simple fact that Timaeus had earned his place in the war council. He may be young and the man may not have a current rank to call his own, but the experience was not to be discounted.
Who was Damocles to decide that the Baron should be undermined when the Captain held the same rank that Timaeus once did?
However, as Vangelis continued to speak, the Valaoritis man soon had a more acceptable reason to be gleeful. Timaeus couldn’t help, but let his stoic mask slip into a joyful grin when the Prince decided that there was a place for him in the sands of Egypt. He was going to go to war after all! Timaeus had gone into this meeting thinking that he would have to remain on the shores of Colchis as the others shipped out. Now, he too would be heading out to do his duty and serve his homeland -- even if it wasn’t exactly in a position that his younger self would have dreamed of.
His eyes flickered to Stephanos when Vangelis made it clear that Timaeus was meant to serve in an advisory role to the Taengean Commander. It would be his duty to ensure that the former king stayed true to the Colchian objectives that had been laid out here. He could see instantly that Timaeus was to essentially be a glorified babysitter, but the young man didn’t care. He was going to Egypt and that was all that mattered to him… and hey, who’s to say that Timaeus would be restricted from seeing the field of battle in this position? Maybe he would get the chance to sever the heads of a few Egyptians, just like the rest of the men gathered here.
Timaeus managed to pull himself together though before he verbally expressed his gratitude by quietly muttering, “ Thank you, your highness.” Although his words were subdued, everyone could see the glimmer of excitement in his eyes. He couldn’t wait for the chance to relieve his soldier days -- the time before he had been bogged down with the responsibilities of being a Baron and head of house.
Though how much joy he would truly take out of this adventure, in the end, would depend on how receptive Stephanos would be to Timaeus’s presence. The two men did not know each other beyond the passing introductions done fifteen years ago on the training grounds of Eubocris and as neutral as they had been then; Timaeus couldn’t imagine that Steph wouldn’t kindly take to the notion of having an advisor right at his heels. Oh well, at the end of the day, Steph would have to deal with it. He may call himself the King of Taengea, but here in Colchis, he was a commander under Vangelis. He had no power to question his gracious host.
So, Vangelis quickly moved on to the rest of the details that would need to be sorted out for this strategy to work. Several hours had passed before the Prince finally called an end to the meeting. Just like all the other tired men, Timaeus quietly bowed out of respect as he turned towards the door. He was now eager to catch Maleos before he left so they could go over the details of where they would meet tomorrow and ensure that Damocles didn’t wander as the man took his leave. However, before he could make it very far, Timaeus was forced to pause as Vangelis called out to his little brother -- a man that Timaeus had almost forgotten was at the meeting. His protective instinct called for him to stay and referee in case things turned volatile… but the terms of the agreement had been clear. Silanos was no longer Timaeus’s responsibility given that the meeting had come to an end. He had no grounds to demand a place in this conversation and no justifiable reason to remain either. Sil’s wellbeing was now in Vangelis’s hands and Timaeus had to wipe himself clean of the boy until the conditions were met.
So, as much as he wanted to stand by the boy’s side, all Timaeus could do was ruefully smile at the boy and silently will him to gain the common sense he would need to thrive at Vang’s side. He had to have the faith that all would go well. Then, without so much as a word to either man, Timaeus gave the prince a respectful nod as he hurried after Maleos, intent on catching him before the Captain wandered off too far.
Silanos was a grown man, he could take care of himself.
Right?
It was a wonder how anything ever got done, Sil had mused quietly to himself as he listened to the back and forth and tried to marry up the words with the things he could see on the map. Arms folded across his chest, he was little more than a spectator to the exchange of ideas, and it was difficult for him to be too invested in the kind of talk he’d spent much of life avoiding.
Still, it was a novelty seeing his brother in this forum, and Sil could find some grudging respect for his elder sibling whose contributions at least to him seemed valid and useful. It was more difficult to be appreciative of the words from Captain Maleos, for there were no bonds of blood to diffuse the dislike between them. And Sil was entirely sure it was mutual now.
He was bored of the battle of egos soon enough though and began to count down the minutes that passed by until some resolution was come to and this could be done with. He wondered if it were some deliberate plot of the Prince, to keep him hanging around like this, prolonging his misery before he would just find out what the future held. He thought it must be, because otherwise the man could had just sent for him afterwards and not forced to him to endure this nonsense, which really he had no part in. Even Timaeus’ presence was not necessary, for his brother had resigned his commission when he had become baron.
Silanos had looked up in confusion when the Prince had seemed to indicate that Tim would be going to Egypt, shooting a sharp look at his brother. That was..unusual, wasn't it? But the Prince had said it was what Tim had wanted, and Sil didn't know what to make of that. Who would take care of things in Eubocris? He could hardly imagine Timaeus entrustung him with anything, the man had made his thoughts on his younger brother more than clear over the past few weeks, and Sil knew his most recent revelation had hardly helped. Besides, he was supposed to be answering to the Crown Prince now wasn't he? Trying to communicate this confusion to his brother silently was not easy across the crowded room though, so Sil resigned himself to speak with him later.
And it felt like years later when the talk finally ceased and the men were left to disperse under the Crown Prince’s instruction. The air in the room had become heavy and stale, and Sil had ended the meeting as he'd begun it, propped against the far wall, thinking how he would never get this time back. There had been no requirement of him, not a word cast in his direction, and boredom had turned to a simmering frustration at having wasted so many hours and for what?
Pushing upright and fully intending to catch his brother to find out exactly what this all meant for their family, he was halted before he’d even taken a step by the cool tones of the Crown Prince.
‘Lord Silanos, a word before you depart’
Oh right.That was happening now. The words sounded so innocuous, and yet Silanos looked sharply to the man, and then sought out his brother, an almost instinctive reaction. Timaeus was not standing with him this time though, was leaving with the others and all Sil could do was slump back against the wall to wait until the last man had trickled out and it was just him left with the Kotas prince, a position he was not much keen on, after their last encounter. Watching Vangelis warily, Sil let the last man pass him before he pushed upright, wandered over to pour himself a drink with an air of nonchalance that he didn’t feel. “Can I get you anything, your majesty” he asked, too casually for the tense undercurrent in the room.
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Feb 25, 2020 12:35:24 GMT
Posted In The Armoury on Feb 25, 2020 12:35:24 GMT
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It was a wonder how anything ever got done, Sil had mused quietly to himself as he listened to the back and forth and tried to marry up the words with the things he could see on the map. Arms folded across his chest, he was little more than a spectator to the exchange of ideas, and it was difficult for him to be too invested in the kind of talk he’d spent much of life avoiding.
Still, it was a novelty seeing his brother in this forum, and Sil could find some grudging respect for his elder sibling whose contributions at least to him seemed valid and useful. It was more difficult to be appreciative of the words from Captain Maleos, for there were no bonds of blood to diffuse the dislike between them. And Sil was entirely sure it was mutual now.
He was bored of the battle of egos soon enough though and began to count down the minutes that passed by until some resolution was come to and this could be done with. He wondered if it were some deliberate plot of the Prince, to keep him hanging around like this, prolonging his misery before he would just find out what the future held. He thought it must be, because otherwise the man could had just sent for him afterwards and not forced to him to endure this nonsense, which really he had no part in. Even Timaeus’ presence was not necessary, for his brother had resigned his commission when he had become baron.
Silanos had looked up in confusion when the Prince had seemed to indicate that Tim would be going to Egypt, shooting a sharp look at his brother. That was..unusual, wasn't it? But the Prince had said it was what Tim had wanted, and Sil didn't know what to make of that. Who would take care of things in Eubocris? He could hardly imagine Timaeus entrustung him with anything, the man had made his thoughts on his younger brother more than clear over the past few weeks, and Sil knew his most recent revelation had hardly helped. Besides, he was supposed to be answering to the Crown Prince now wasn't he? Trying to communicate this confusion to his brother silently was not easy across the crowded room though, so Sil resigned himself to speak with him later.
And it felt like years later when the talk finally ceased and the men were left to disperse under the Crown Prince’s instruction. The air in the room had become heavy and stale, and Sil had ended the meeting as he'd begun it, propped against the far wall, thinking how he would never get this time back. There had been no requirement of him, not a word cast in his direction, and boredom had turned to a simmering frustration at having wasted so many hours and for what?
Pushing upright and fully intending to catch his brother to find out exactly what this all meant for their family, he was halted before he’d even taken a step by the cool tones of the Crown Prince.
‘Lord Silanos, a word before you depart’
Oh right.That was happening now. The words sounded so innocuous, and yet Silanos looked sharply to the man, and then sought out his brother, an almost instinctive reaction. Timaeus was not standing with him this time though, was leaving with the others and all Sil could do was slump back against the wall to wait until the last man had trickled out and it was just him left with the Kotas prince, a position he was not much keen on, after their last encounter. Watching Vangelis warily, Sil let the last man pass him before he pushed upright, wandered over to pour himself a drink with an air of nonchalance that he didn’t feel. “Can I get you anything, your majesty” he asked, too casually for the tense undercurrent in the room.
It was a wonder how anything ever got done, Sil had mused quietly to himself as he listened to the back and forth and tried to marry up the words with the things he could see on the map. Arms folded across his chest, he was little more than a spectator to the exchange of ideas, and it was difficult for him to be too invested in the kind of talk he’d spent much of life avoiding.
Still, it was a novelty seeing his brother in this forum, and Sil could find some grudging respect for his elder sibling whose contributions at least to him seemed valid and useful. It was more difficult to be appreciative of the words from Captain Maleos, for there were no bonds of blood to diffuse the dislike between them. And Sil was entirely sure it was mutual now.
He was bored of the battle of egos soon enough though and began to count down the minutes that passed by until some resolution was come to and this could be done with. He wondered if it were some deliberate plot of the Prince, to keep him hanging around like this, prolonging his misery before he would just find out what the future held. He thought it must be, because otherwise the man could had just sent for him afterwards and not forced to him to endure this nonsense, which really he had no part in. Even Timaeus’ presence was not necessary, for his brother had resigned his commission when he had become baron.
Silanos had looked up in confusion when the Prince had seemed to indicate that Tim would be going to Egypt, shooting a sharp look at his brother. That was..unusual, wasn't it? But the Prince had said it was what Tim had wanted, and Sil didn't know what to make of that. Who would take care of things in Eubocris? He could hardly imagine Timaeus entrustung him with anything, the man had made his thoughts on his younger brother more than clear over the past few weeks, and Sil knew his most recent revelation had hardly helped. Besides, he was supposed to be answering to the Crown Prince now wasn't he? Trying to communicate this confusion to his brother silently was not easy across the crowded room though, so Sil resigned himself to speak with him later.
And it felt like years later when the talk finally ceased and the men were left to disperse under the Crown Prince’s instruction. The air in the room had become heavy and stale, and Sil had ended the meeting as he'd begun it, propped against the far wall, thinking how he would never get this time back. There had been no requirement of him, not a word cast in his direction, and boredom had turned to a simmering frustration at having wasted so many hours and for what?
Pushing upright and fully intending to catch his brother to find out exactly what this all meant for their family, he was halted before he’d even taken a step by the cool tones of the Crown Prince.
‘Lord Silanos, a word before you depart’
Oh right.That was happening now. The words sounded so innocuous, and yet Silanos looked sharply to the man, and then sought out his brother, an almost instinctive reaction. Timaeus was not standing with him this time though, was leaving with the others and all Sil could do was slump back against the wall to wait until the last man had trickled out and it was just him left with the Kotas prince, a position he was not much keen on, after their last encounter. Watching Vangelis warily, Sil let the last man pass him before he pushed upright, wandered over to pour himself a drink with an air of nonchalance that he didn’t feel. “Can I get you anything, your majesty” he asked, too casually for the tense undercurrent in the room.
There was no curse in Greek that he knew of which could encapsulate the sheer, unbridled wrath that coursed through him. It raged through him like wildfire, consuming his insides with untamable, unstoppable might, turning his insides to ash and cinders and nothingness.
His fingers tensely clenched, squeezing so harshly against his rough, calloused hands so as to turn his knuckles pointed and white against the surface of his typically bronzed complexion. His eyebrows tightened down right through the middle, sliding down together right between his eyes. His brow furrowed in deep, marked ridges, matched only by the noticeable veins that mustered through against his forehead as evidence of the stress that awashed within. His grey orbs glared in firm, diluted scowls that could just have easily shot daggers from his pupils. His lips narrowed, his nose wrinkled, his teeth grounded and his breath abated.
And yet, he knew he could not make manifest his rage. Shame and bitterness flowed sourly down his throat. Damocles wished to leap forward and strike, to take hold of any weapon around him so as to separate the heads of all those self-righteous bastards that dared make a mockery of him. And yet, this was not something he would do. Violence and bloodshed, for as cathartic as it may have been in that brief moment, would not be his recourse of action. His rage would have to be syphoned someway else, channeled into a medium that would best be produced in a more productive manner. He desperately wished to crawl, to snatch those mud-witted bloodletters and sever their idle heads from the sinews that bound them to the rest of their bodies. How he craved to take matters into his own hand and destroy all of those that had been invited to laugh, and jeer and sneer at his expense.
Still, he kept his pace, abandoning the pained rage that flushed within him by the second as he recalled his old master's teachings. Truly, their would be no justice, only revenge, only hatred. There would be no peace, no cordiality or graceful tenements of fundamental amnesty between those that had been the source of his wrath and darkness. Alas, he would not give them the pleasure of his displeasure, he would not give them the satisfaction of such banality. Instead, he breathed softly in place and felt a glacial wind quell the inferno that blasted inside. A singularly smarmy, grin formed in his face in that moment. Where for a moment utter infuriation crossed close on his strongly marked features, as he tempered himself and recollected his thoughts, the dark captain released another one of his confident smiles, one that had not been too disimilar from the ones he had used before in this long-winded meeting. He would make his opposition clear. This would be his silent opposition, a scornfully disrespectful grin that affixed itself as the towering man chuckled lowly to himself once enough time had passed against the threshold of those insanely bitter words.
"Very well..." he replied to those unbearably inflamed words that had been uttered before. No expression drew on his face, for all had been suppressed and locked under chain and chest. And yet, the contempt on his oily face was as present as the rising sun and setting moon. It took self-regulation, of which he had not thought himself capable of before. There was little point in giving these sycophants their desired spectacle of savagery and stormed rage. His back was straightened, his shouldered were pushed backwards and his eyes, momentarily darken to crude pitches of midnight black, sparkled with bright lightness to them. He would not let this be the end of him. He would not lose ground in his struggle.
Once the rest of the meeting had been finished, he smiled to himself pleasantly and turned his attention elsewhere. The chilled motley he wore maintained itself close on his face, only defrosted in a moment as he focused on small-talk amongst those he could still count as ally and friend amidst the ranks of high command and control. He was aware that he had caused a bad impression upon some in that hall, but not all was lost. Years of prior networking still counted strong within. He would turn his thoughts elsewhere, to actual stages of proper opportunity and cause. As was the case, he would be supervised by one of those mongrels thad had been congressed inside. And yet, this was fine. This was expected, this was the commonplace placement of time. He would not voice any of his thoughts tonight. Enough harm had been caused already and he, for once, recognized that perhaps it would be best to keep down his opinions to himself. Thus, after spending a brief time amongst familiar faces, he smiled away his last for the evening and took to night, leaving the tenebrous estate without so much as letting but a single trace of his presence behind.
A good strategist recognized the soundness of a plan that had been presented in detailed fashion. A fair strategist had to grant forth his approval before letting any of such machinations move forward into action. Those with little to no talent for the strategic arts may never come to understand such a brief constance of life. It where those such people who lacked for understanding and reasoning behind the mind of the true strategist. Plans were not for war and battle only, but for all manner of aspects and tribulations. So what if he had brought shame upon his reputation on this very plutonian night? He was in no mood to rush or to hasten. His was a patient mind, one that could wait for years and months before seeing through a single step towards the right direction.
And yet, patient as he was, introspection still called forth to fairness and sensitivity. He had been brash and reckless, two antitheses to his strategic mind that spit at all he had longed to associate himself with. He would rage. He would grieve. But in time, he would be good and fine. Time would take care of the wound he had been afflicted with tonight. And so he would reconsider and repose, letting all but those that congressed in that room be most aware of his actions tonight. His baron would not learn of this at all. Any and all reports about his conduct would be quashed and brought down before coming close to the throes of that decrepit old man.
Thus, with his eyes set firmly towards the future, Damocles rode calmly through to his home, anxiously, excitedly. This had been a terrible setback. Surely, it would have been best to have held stronger dice by which to play at this hour. Yet, this was none the matter. He would have his vengeance. he would have his retribution. And when the time comes, he would see all that had held him at such regard burn with but a portion of the swollen fires that burned within. He began his pace, leaving that stony, mountainous province with nothing but the sting of bitter disgrace to mark him with.
And yet he laughed.
He laughed a single,empty, bone-chillingly horrifying laugh.
As he rose fast through the pathways and the streets and the hills and the terraces, he kept his pace to himself, realizing that for as bold and audacious as he had been, Damocles had grown complacent in his place. Years of firm, stable ranking as captain had silenced his ambition and desires. And so, while his black form rushed through the screeching winds against the countryside of that stoic land, he came to reflect on his position. Power was a journey, not a destination. It had to be continuously challenged and prove itself anew once more, against fresh, new obstacles. There would be satisfaction in defeating his new enemies, of that he was assured, but his sword must he sheathed and put away for now.
That had been one of the teachings that his master had so saccharinely taught him so many years ago. Mayhaps it was time to once more consult his master of shadows and deceptions, to gather on his wisdom and his cunning. The darkness that befell him now had been crude and unspeakably plain, but their still glimmered hope and chanced opportunity. All of his new enemies had smiled and laughed and jeered at him tonight, but that was no cause for him to once more let out the base, animal beast that dwelled inside him. The fight may have been lost, and that had bene entirely all his fault, but the battle still raged on, and he had never once lost a battle before.
So let them laugh. Let them be of joy and merry. Let them grow complacent and satisfied in their pride and sanctimony. He would have his time. He would have his day. This was only the beginning of his triumph, of his rise. He could feel it in his bones. He could feel it in his breath. And so he kept his demonic, diabolical laugh away from the eyes of those that had sat in silenced judgement to his disgrace. All would come to pass. All would end. All would die and all would wither. And when the time for all such things to rot and perish, he would be there, smiling, laughing.
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There was no curse in Greek that he knew of which could encapsulate the sheer, unbridled wrath that coursed through him. It raged through him like wildfire, consuming his insides with untamable, unstoppable might, turning his insides to ash and cinders and nothingness.
His fingers tensely clenched, squeezing so harshly against his rough, calloused hands so as to turn his knuckles pointed and white against the surface of his typically bronzed complexion. His eyebrows tightened down right through the middle, sliding down together right between his eyes. His brow furrowed in deep, marked ridges, matched only by the noticeable veins that mustered through against his forehead as evidence of the stress that awashed within. His grey orbs glared in firm, diluted scowls that could just have easily shot daggers from his pupils. His lips narrowed, his nose wrinkled, his teeth grounded and his breath abated.
And yet, he knew he could not make manifest his rage. Shame and bitterness flowed sourly down his throat. Damocles wished to leap forward and strike, to take hold of any weapon around him so as to separate the heads of all those self-righteous bastards that dared make a mockery of him. And yet, this was not something he would do. Violence and bloodshed, for as cathartic as it may have been in that brief moment, would not be his recourse of action. His rage would have to be syphoned someway else, channeled into a medium that would best be produced in a more productive manner. He desperately wished to crawl, to snatch those mud-witted bloodletters and sever their idle heads from the sinews that bound them to the rest of their bodies. How he craved to take matters into his own hand and destroy all of those that had been invited to laugh, and jeer and sneer at his expense.
Still, he kept his pace, abandoning the pained rage that flushed within him by the second as he recalled his old master's teachings. Truly, their would be no justice, only revenge, only hatred. There would be no peace, no cordiality or graceful tenements of fundamental amnesty between those that had been the source of his wrath and darkness. Alas, he would not give them the pleasure of his displeasure, he would not give them the satisfaction of such banality. Instead, he breathed softly in place and felt a glacial wind quell the inferno that blasted inside. A singularly smarmy, grin formed in his face in that moment. Where for a moment utter infuriation crossed close on his strongly marked features, as he tempered himself and recollected his thoughts, the dark captain released another one of his confident smiles, one that had not been too disimilar from the ones he had used before in this long-winded meeting. He would make his opposition clear. This would be his silent opposition, a scornfully disrespectful grin that affixed itself as the towering man chuckled lowly to himself once enough time had passed against the threshold of those insanely bitter words.
"Very well..." he replied to those unbearably inflamed words that had been uttered before. No expression drew on his face, for all had been suppressed and locked under chain and chest. And yet, the contempt on his oily face was as present as the rising sun and setting moon. It took self-regulation, of which he had not thought himself capable of before. There was little point in giving these sycophants their desired spectacle of savagery and stormed rage. His back was straightened, his shouldered were pushed backwards and his eyes, momentarily darken to crude pitches of midnight black, sparkled with bright lightness to them. He would not let this be the end of him. He would not lose ground in his struggle.
Once the rest of the meeting had been finished, he smiled to himself pleasantly and turned his attention elsewhere. The chilled motley he wore maintained itself close on his face, only defrosted in a moment as he focused on small-talk amongst those he could still count as ally and friend amidst the ranks of high command and control. He was aware that he had caused a bad impression upon some in that hall, but not all was lost. Years of prior networking still counted strong within. He would turn his thoughts elsewhere, to actual stages of proper opportunity and cause. As was the case, he would be supervised by one of those mongrels thad had been congressed inside. And yet, this was fine. This was expected, this was the commonplace placement of time. He would not voice any of his thoughts tonight. Enough harm had been caused already and he, for once, recognized that perhaps it would be best to keep down his opinions to himself. Thus, after spending a brief time amongst familiar faces, he smiled away his last for the evening and took to night, leaving the tenebrous estate without so much as letting but a single trace of his presence behind.
A good strategist recognized the soundness of a plan that had been presented in detailed fashion. A fair strategist had to grant forth his approval before letting any of such machinations move forward into action. Those with little to no talent for the strategic arts may never come to understand such a brief constance of life. It where those such people who lacked for understanding and reasoning behind the mind of the true strategist. Plans were not for war and battle only, but for all manner of aspects and tribulations. So what if he had brought shame upon his reputation on this very plutonian night? He was in no mood to rush or to hasten. His was a patient mind, one that could wait for years and months before seeing through a single step towards the right direction.
And yet, patient as he was, introspection still called forth to fairness and sensitivity. He had been brash and reckless, two antitheses to his strategic mind that spit at all he had longed to associate himself with. He would rage. He would grieve. But in time, he would be good and fine. Time would take care of the wound he had been afflicted with tonight. And so he would reconsider and repose, letting all but those that congressed in that room be most aware of his actions tonight. His baron would not learn of this at all. Any and all reports about his conduct would be quashed and brought down before coming close to the throes of that decrepit old man.
Thus, with his eyes set firmly towards the future, Damocles rode calmly through to his home, anxiously, excitedly. This had been a terrible setback. Surely, it would have been best to have held stronger dice by which to play at this hour. Yet, this was none the matter. He would have his vengeance. he would have his retribution. And when the time comes, he would see all that had held him at such regard burn with but a portion of the swollen fires that burned within. He began his pace, leaving that stony, mountainous province with nothing but the sting of bitter disgrace to mark him with.
And yet he laughed.
He laughed a single,empty, bone-chillingly horrifying laugh.
As he rose fast through the pathways and the streets and the hills and the terraces, he kept his pace to himself, realizing that for as bold and audacious as he had been, Damocles had grown complacent in his place. Years of firm, stable ranking as captain had silenced his ambition and desires. And so, while his black form rushed through the screeching winds against the countryside of that stoic land, he came to reflect on his position. Power was a journey, not a destination. It had to be continuously challenged and prove itself anew once more, against fresh, new obstacles. There would be satisfaction in defeating his new enemies, of that he was assured, but his sword must he sheathed and put away for now.
That had been one of the teachings that his master had so saccharinely taught him so many years ago. Mayhaps it was time to once more consult his master of shadows and deceptions, to gather on his wisdom and his cunning. The darkness that befell him now had been crude and unspeakably plain, but their still glimmered hope and chanced opportunity. All of his new enemies had smiled and laughed and jeered at him tonight, but that was no cause for him to once more let out the base, animal beast that dwelled inside him. The fight may have been lost, and that had bene entirely all his fault, but the battle still raged on, and he had never once lost a battle before.
So let them laugh. Let them be of joy and merry. Let them grow complacent and satisfied in their pride and sanctimony. He would have his time. He would have his day. This was only the beginning of his triumph, of his rise. He could feel it in his bones. He could feel it in his breath. And so he kept his demonic, diabolical laugh away from the eyes of those that had sat in silenced judgement to his disgrace. All would come to pass. All would end. All would die and all would wither. And when the time for all such things to rot and perish, he would be there, smiling, laughing.
There was no curse in Greek that he knew of which could encapsulate the sheer, unbridled wrath that coursed through him. It raged through him like wildfire, consuming his insides with untamable, unstoppable might, turning his insides to ash and cinders and nothingness.
His fingers tensely clenched, squeezing so harshly against his rough, calloused hands so as to turn his knuckles pointed and white against the surface of his typically bronzed complexion. His eyebrows tightened down right through the middle, sliding down together right between his eyes. His brow furrowed in deep, marked ridges, matched only by the noticeable veins that mustered through against his forehead as evidence of the stress that awashed within. His grey orbs glared in firm, diluted scowls that could just have easily shot daggers from his pupils. His lips narrowed, his nose wrinkled, his teeth grounded and his breath abated.
And yet, he knew he could not make manifest his rage. Shame and bitterness flowed sourly down his throat. Damocles wished to leap forward and strike, to take hold of any weapon around him so as to separate the heads of all those self-righteous bastards that dared make a mockery of him. And yet, this was not something he would do. Violence and bloodshed, for as cathartic as it may have been in that brief moment, would not be his recourse of action. His rage would have to be syphoned someway else, channeled into a medium that would best be produced in a more productive manner. He desperately wished to crawl, to snatch those mud-witted bloodletters and sever their idle heads from the sinews that bound them to the rest of their bodies. How he craved to take matters into his own hand and destroy all of those that had been invited to laugh, and jeer and sneer at his expense.
Still, he kept his pace, abandoning the pained rage that flushed within him by the second as he recalled his old master's teachings. Truly, their would be no justice, only revenge, only hatred. There would be no peace, no cordiality or graceful tenements of fundamental amnesty between those that had been the source of his wrath and darkness. Alas, he would not give them the pleasure of his displeasure, he would not give them the satisfaction of such banality. Instead, he breathed softly in place and felt a glacial wind quell the inferno that blasted inside. A singularly smarmy, grin formed in his face in that moment. Where for a moment utter infuriation crossed close on his strongly marked features, as he tempered himself and recollected his thoughts, the dark captain released another one of his confident smiles, one that had not been too disimilar from the ones he had used before in this long-winded meeting. He would make his opposition clear. This would be his silent opposition, a scornfully disrespectful grin that affixed itself as the towering man chuckled lowly to himself once enough time had passed against the threshold of those insanely bitter words.
"Very well..." he replied to those unbearably inflamed words that had been uttered before. No expression drew on his face, for all had been suppressed and locked under chain and chest. And yet, the contempt on his oily face was as present as the rising sun and setting moon. It took self-regulation, of which he had not thought himself capable of before. There was little point in giving these sycophants their desired spectacle of savagery and stormed rage. His back was straightened, his shouldered were pushed backwards and his eyes, momentarily darken to crude pitches of midnight black, sparkled with bright lightness to them. He would not let this be the end of him. He would not lose ground in his struggle.
Once the rest of the meeting had been finished, he smiled to himself pleasantly and turned his attention elsewhere. The chilled motley he wore maintained itself close on his face, only defrosted in a moment as he focused on small-talk amongst those he could still count as ally and friend amidst the ranks of high command and control. He was aware that he had caused a bad impression upon some in that hall, but not all was lost. Years of prior networking still counted strong within. He would turn his thoughts elsewhere, to actual stages of proper opportunity and cause. As was the case, he would be supervised by one of those mongrels thad had been congressed inside. And yet, this was fine. This was expected, this was the commonplace placement of time. He would not voice any of his thoughts tonight. Enough harm had been caused already and he, for once, recognized that perhaps it would be best to keep down his opinions to himself. Thus, after spending a brief time amongst familiar faces, he smiled away his last for the evening and took to night, leaving the tenebrous estate without so much as letting but a single trace of his presence behind.
A good strategist recognized the soundness of a plan that had been presented in detailed fashion. A fair strategist had to grant forth his approval before letting any of such machinations move forward into action. Those with little to no talent for the strategic arts may never come to understand such a brief constance of life. It where those such people who lacked for understanding and reasoning behind the mind of the true strategist. Plans were not for war and battle only, but for all manner of aspects and tribulations. So what if he had brought shame upon his reputation on this very plutonian night? He was in no mood to rush or to hasten. His was a patient mind, one that could wait for years and months before seeing through a single step towards the right direction.
And yet, patient as he was, introspection still called forth to fairness and sensitivity. He had been brash and reckless, two antitheses to his strategic mind that spit at all he had longed to associate himself with. He would rage. He would grieve. But in time, he would be good and fine. Time would take care of the wound he had been afflicted with tonight. And so he would reconsider and repose, letting all but those that congressed in that room be most aware of his actions tonight. His baron would not learn of this at all. Any and all reports about his conduct would be quashed and brought down before coming close to the throes of that decrepit old man.
Thus, with his eyes set firmly towards the future, Damocles rode calmly through to his home, anxiously, excitedly. This had been a terrible setback. Surely, it would have been best to have held stronger dice by which to play at this hour. Yet, this was none the matter. He would have his vengeance. he would have his retribution. And when the time comes, he would see all that had held him at such regard burn with but a portion of the swollen fires that burned within. He began his pace, leaving that stony, mountainous province with nothing but the sting of bitter disgrace to mark him with.
And yet he laughed.
He laughed a single,empty, bone-chillingly horrifying laugh.
As he rose fast through the pathways and the streets and the hills and the terraces, he kept his pace to himself, realizing that for as bold and audacious as he had been, Damocles had grown complacent in his place. Years of firm, stable ranking as captain had silenced his ambition and desires. And so, while his black form rushed through the screeching winds against the countryside of that stoic land, he came to reflect on his position. Power was a journey, not a destination. It had to be continuously challenged and prove itself anew once more, against fresh, new obstacles. There would be satisfaction in defeating his new enemies, of that he was assured, but his sword must he sheathed and put away for now.
That had been one of the teachings that his master had so saccharinely taught him so many years ago. Mayhaps it was time to once more consult his master of shadows and deceptions, to gather on his wisdom and his cunning. The darkness that befell him now had been crude and unspeakably plain, but their still glimmered hope and chanced opportunity. All of his new enemies had smiled and laughed and jeered at him tonight, but that was no cause for him to once more let out the base, animal beast that dwelled inside him. The fight may have been lost, and that had bene entirely all his fault, but the battle still raged on, and he had never once lost a battle before.
So let them laugh. Let them be of joy and merry. Let them grow complacent and satisfied in their pride and sanctimony. He would have his time. He would have his day. This was only the beginning of his triumph, of his rise. He could feel it in his bones. He could feel it in his breath. And so he kept his demonic, diabolical laugh away from the eyes of those that had sat in silenced judgement to his disgrace. All would come to pass. All would end. All would die and all would wither. And when the time for all such things to rot and perish, he would be there, smiling, laughing.
Nike was not a woman bothered with power, struggles, name or fame. She simply wanted to get things done, and the more the arrogant, loud-mouthed captains from other provinces tried to speak, each louder then the next to try and get themselves heard above the din, the more Nike's irritation mounted. This was taking precious time away from actually getting things done, and Damocles in particular was further fuelling her irritation when he used grandiose words to say what could be said with far simpler words in a much faster way.
When Vangelis finally cut them all off, Nike's eyes flickered to her General with a silent, mouthed thank you, a type of wry and dry humor only shared between the oldest of friends, before she buckled down and listened to the instructions necessary to guarantee them victory against the Egyptian forces.
It was a familiar manoevre, the kind Nike has done many times before. She rarely worked with the third prince, for Yiannis's method of work was one that was unconventional and not agreed on unanimously. But for what it's worth, Nike had to admit that it worked. She glanced at Maleos when he was given the duty, knowing the captain deserved it far more then anyone else. She's heard much of the captain, and he worked hard and could be trusted, and for that, Nike was more then happy to see how he worked firsthand.
As they were finally given the final instructions and allowed the depart, many of the militants was quick to depart with chatter following them, all Colchians in the way they jumped to the planning of war and combat. Nike herself straightened, stretching out her now-stiff back after being hunched over the planning table for so long, the woman cracked her neck, and observed the remainder of the people, before her eyes flickered to where Vangelis had remained back with Silanos.
In the cavernous within of the upper levels where their planning had taken place, the echo of chatter died down as the militants left, and Nike observed the way in which the young Valaoritis lord approached the crown prince, before she herself shuffled out to wait beyond the doors of the the armoury. When they were done, Nike would escort Vangelis back as was her duty, but she had no interest in listening to what was Vangelis's words for Silanos was. It just wasn't her business.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Nike was not a woman bothered with power, struggles, name or fame. She simply wanted to get things done, and the more the arrogant, loud-mouthed captains from other provinces tried to speak, each louder then the next to try and get themselves heard above the din, the more Nike's irritation mounted. This was taking precious time away from actually getting things done, and Damocles in particular was further fuelling her irritation when he used grandiose words to say what could be said with far simpler words in a much faster way.
When Vangelis finally cut them all off, Nike's eyes flickered to her General with a silent, mouthed thank you, a type of wry and dry humor only shared between the oldest of friends, before she buckled down and listened to the instructions necessary to guarantee them victory against the Egyptian forces.
It was a familiar manoevre, the kind Nike has done many times before. She rarely worked with the third prince, for Yiannis's method of work was one that was unconventional and not agreed on unanimously. But for what it's worth, Nike had to admit that it worked. She glanced at Maleos when he was given the duty, knowing the captain deserved it far more then anyone else. She's heard much of the captain, and he worked hard and could be trusted, and for that, Nike was more then happy to see how he worked firsthand.
As they were finally given the final instructions and allowed the depart, many of the militants was quick to depart with chatter following them, all Colchians in the way they jumped to the planning of war and combat. Nike herself straightened, stretching out her now-stiff back after being hunched over the planning table for so long, the woman cracked her neck, and observed the remainder of the people, before her eyes flickered to where Vangelis had remained back with Silanos.
In the cavernous within of the upper levels where their planning had taken place, the echo of chatter died down as the militants left, and Nike observed the way in which the young Valaoritis lord approached the crown prince, before she herself shuffled out to wait beyond the doors of the the armoury. When they were done, Nike would escort Vangelis back as was her duty, but she had no interest in listening to what was Vangelis's words for Silanos was. It just wasn't her business.
Nike was not a woman bothered with power, struggles, name or fame. She simply wanted to get things done, and the more the arrogant, loud-mouthed captains from other provinces tried to speak, each louder then the next to try and get themselves heard above the din, the more Nike's irritation mounted. This was taking precious time away from actually getting things done, and Damocles in particular was further fuelling her irritation when he used grandiose words to say what could be said with far simpler words in a much faster way.
When Vangelis finally cut them all off, Nike's eyes flickered to her General with a silent, mouthed thank you, a type of wry and dry humor only shared between the oldest of friends, before she buckled down and listened to the instructions necessary to guarantee them victory against the Egyptian forces.
It was a familiar manoevre, the kind Nike has done many times before. She rarely worked with the third prince, for Yiannis's method of work was one that was unconventional and not agreed on unanimously. But for what it's worth, Nike had to admit that it worked. She glanced at Maleos when he was given the duty, knowing the captain deserved it far more then anyone else. She's heard much of the captain, and he worked hard and could be trusted, and for that, Nike was more then happy to see how he worked firsthand.
As they were finally given the final instructions and allowed the depart, many of the militants was quick to depart with chatter following them, all Colchians in the way they jumped to the planning of war and combat. Nike herself straightened, stretching out her now-stiff back after being hunched over the planning table for so long, the woman cracked her neck, and observed the remainder of the people, before her eyes flickered to where Vangelis had remained back with Silanos.
In the cavernous within of the upper levels where their planning had taken place, the echo of chatter died down as the militants left, and Nike observed the way in which the young Valaoritis lord approached the crown prince, before she herself shuffled out to wait beyond the doors of the the armoury. When they were done, Nike would escort Vangelis back as was her duty, but she had no interest in listening to what was Vangelis's words for Silanos was. It just wasn't her business.
Bidding each man a goodbye in the form of a nod, or a half smile or a simple blink and dismissal, Vangelis waited until the room was empty of himself and Silanos before turning to the young man as he moved to pour himself a drink, offering one to Vangelis. His words, however, were vague to the task so Vangelis took advantage of them.
"Yes." He answered, not meaning the goblets or beverages at all. "You can make copies and records of all of the plans here on the table. Then organise the paperwork per unit and write out three copies of each. One for myself, one for the Captain and one for the King. Then you'll start re-studying any Coptic you once learnt." He glanced at Silanos, his hands a simple gesture - steepled fingers upon the sheets of papyrus on the table. He watched the boy's reactions only minimally, having no idea that the younger Valaoritis son had not pieced together the concept that he would be the prince's shadow and the fact that the prince himself was going to Egypt, ergo so too was he.
"You should be ready to attend the war fields along with the other soldiers at the specified date and then be ready to sail immediately after."
He turned to look at the young man, an insolent brow raised at the surprised expression on the layabout's face.
"Is that a problem?"
Vangelis was not one who liked to lord over others but when it came to military matters, it was the trust, respect and fear that you held for your superiors that could keep you alive when all else was going mad around you. When chaos and violence were your constant companions, you needed something secure and unshaking to rally behind. And military leaders operated as that something.
As such, there was not a hint of yielding, accepting or compassion on Vangelis’ face as he simply stated the facts, expecting Silanos to fall into line with his determinations for the future of the both of them.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
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Bidding each man a goodbye in the form of a nod, or a half smile or a simple blink and dismissal, Vangelis waited until the room was empty of himself and Silanos before turning to the young man as he moved to pour himself a drink, offering one to Vangelis. His words, however, were vague to the task so Vangelis took advantage of them.
"Yes." He answered, not meaning the goblets or beverages at all. "You can make copies and records of all of the plans here on the table. Then organise the paperwork per unit and write out three copies of each. One for myself, one for the Captain and one for the King. Then you'll start re-studying any Coptic you once learnt." He glanced at Silanos, his hands a simple gesture - steepled fingers upon the sheets of papyrus on the table. He watched the boy's reactions only minimally, having no idea that the younger Valaoritis son had not pieced together the concept that he would be the prince's shadow and the fact that the prince himself was going to Egypt, ergo so too was he.
"You should be ready to attend the war fields along with the other soldiers at the specified date and then be ready to sail immediately after."
He turned to look at the young man, an insolent brow raised at the surprised expression on the layabout's face.
"Is that a problem?"
Vangelis was not one who liked to lord over others but when it came to military matters, it was the trust, respect and fear that you held for your superiors that could keep you alive when all else was going mad around you. When chaos and violence were your constant companions, you needed something secure and unshaking to rally behind. And military leaders operated as that something.
As such, there was not a hint of yielding, accepting or compassion on Vangelis’ face as he simply stated the facts, expecting Silanos to fall into line with his determinations for the future of the both of them.
Bidding each man a goodbye in the form of a nod, or a half smile or a simple blink and dismissal, Vangelis waited until the room was empty of himself and Silanos before turning to the young man as he moved to pour himself a drink, offering one to Vangelis. His words, however, were vague to the task so Vangelis took advantage of them.
"Yes." He answered, not meaning the goblets or beverages at all. "You can make copies and records of all of the plans here on the table. Then organise the paperwork per unit and write out three copies of each. One for myself, one for the Captain and one for the King. Then you'll start re-studying any Coptic you once learnt." He glanced at Silanos, his hands a simple gesture - steepled fingers upon the sheets of papyrus on the table. He watched the boy's reactions only minimally, having no idea that the younger Valaoritis son had not pieced together the concept that he would be the prince's shadow and the fact that the prince himself was going to Egypt, ergo so too was he.
"You should be ready to attend the war fields along with the other soldiers at the specified date and then be ready to sail immediately after."
He turned to look at the young man, an insolent brow raised at the surprised expression on the layabout's face.
"Is that a problem?"
Vangelis was not one who liked to lord over others but when it came to military matters, it was the trust, respect and fear that you held for your superiors that could keep you alive when all else was going mad around you. When chaos and violence were your constant companions, you needed something secure and unshaking to rally behind. And military leaders operated as that something.
As such, there was not a hint of yielding, accepting or compassion on Vangelis’ face as he simply stated the facts, expecting Silanos to fall into line with his determinations for the future of the both of them.
Sil had paused, jug of wine in hand and turned as Prince Vangelis addressed him, his gaze dropping to the table where the plans lay, a discontented expression settling on his face before he thought better of it and scrubbed it away. The wine was set down with a dull thunk as the young lord paid heed to the first instructions thrown at him
Three copies of each?To all the Captains?! Sil could already feel the cramp in his hand, and the realisation that he couldn’t just fob the task off on one of the servants was an unhappy one, fingers tightening a little around the cup he held.
And why the fuck would he be looking at Coptic?
Realising that he’d just been staring at the Prince and had made no answer or even acknowledged the man’s commands - because they were that, there was no mistaking- Silanos formed a response. The “By when?” poorly disguised his thoughts on the matter as he dropped his gaze to the many notes upon the map table. He should maybe have paid more notice so he could at least confidently summarise rather than copying word for word….
But such hardships were soon forgotten as Vangelis went on, the man’s words this time leaving the lord slack-jawed and wide-eyed.
He wasn’t going to Egypt! Had it been anyone else, Sil would have laughed and called bullshit, but the Stone Prince wasn’t known for his jests. But Silanos couldn’t imagine he meant the words as they sounded. The younger Valaoritis wasn’t a soldier, he wasn’t equipped to go to war, and he was quite sure the Prince knew that well enough.
But, be ready to sail didn’t leave much room for interpretation and Silanos failed entirely at keeping the disbelief from his face, prompting Prince Vangelis to shoot him a haughty look. Yes, it was a fucking problem, Sil wanted to reply, indignant justifications as to why bubbling up in preparation.
He couldn’t hold his own against fighters He had never been to war. And more importantly,he didn’t want to go.
Call it survival instinct or some common sense finally asserting itself but those words got stuck somewhere in his throat and after a too-long pause , Silanos managed a tight “No problem, your highness” before he knocked back the wine he’d poured in two hasty swallows.It was more water than he’d like, not nearly sharp enough to kill the unpleasant taste of that agreement. He turned away to put the cup down but really so his expression was hidden from the other man. Shock. But what could he do?
Vangelis had been quite clear about things after all: as far as he was concerned, the youngest Valaoritis was now entirely his to do with as he saw fit. Until further notice. And Silanos was perhaps a little late in coming to see what that meant for his immediate future. Surely the man couldn’t be serious though?
“I don’t think...” he began, deciding that actually, it would be better just to confirm before he got any further with this, but the words tailed off when he caught the expression on the Kotas man’s face.No. Maybe actually not There was not even the barest hint of understanding there. Just resolve. Sil frowned and began gathering the papers on the side of the table nearest to him, shoving them into stacks irritably whilst his thoughts churned at speed.He supposed the crown prince didn’t much care what his thoughts were on the matter, he was just supposed to do as he was told. But however unhappy Sil had been with the notion of this….servitude, it paled into insignificance at the thought of having to go to war.
He had what...maybe a week or so to talk himself out of this scenario, and to show exactly why it was a terrible fucking idea for all involved. Proving that point was the kind of battle he could get behind.
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Check out their information page here.
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Sil had paused, jug of wine in hand and turned as Prince Vangelis addressed him, his gaze dropping to the table where the plans lay, a discontented expression settling on his face before he thought better of it and scrubbed it away. The wine was set down with a dull thunk as the young lord paid heed to the first instructions thrown at him
Three copies of each?To all the Captains?! Sil could already feel the cramp in his hand, and the realisation that he couldn’t just fob the task off on one of the servants was an unhappy one, fingers tightening a little around the cup he held.
And why the fuck would he be looking at Coptic?
Realising that he’d just been staring at the Prince and had made no answer or even acknowledged the man’s commands - because they were that, there was no mistaking- Silanos formed a response. The “By when?” poorly disguised his thoughts on the matter as he dropped his gaze to the many notes upon the map table. He should maybe have paid more notice so he could at least confidently summarise rather than copying word for word….
But such hardships were soon forgotten as Vangelis went on, the man’s words this time leaving the lord slack-jawed and wide-eyed.
He wasn’t going to Egypt! Had it been anyone else, Sil would have laughed and called bullshit, but the Stone Prince wasn’t known for his jests. But Silanos couldn’t imagine he meant the words as they sounded. The younger Valaoritis wasn’t a soldier, he wasn’t equipped to go to war, and he was quite sure the Prince knew that well enough.
But, be ready to sail didn’t leave much room for interpretation and Silanos failed entirely at keeping the disbelief from his face, prompting Prince Vangelis to shoot him a haughty look. Yes, it was a fucking problem, Sil wanted to reply, indignant justifications as to why bubbling up in preparation.
He couldn’t hold his own against fighters He had never been to war. And more importantly,he didn’t want to go.
Call it survival instinct or some common sense finally asserting itself but those words got stuck somewhere in his throat and after a too-long pause , Silanos managed a tight “No problem, your highness” before he knocked back the wine he’d poured in two hasty swallows.It was more water than he’d like, not nearly sharp enough to kill the unpleasant taste of that agreement. He turned away to put the cup down but really so his expression was hidden from the other man. Shock. But what could he do?
Vangelis had been quite clear about things after all: as far as he was concerned, the youngest Valaoritis was now entirely his to do with as he saw fit. Until further notice. And Silanos was perhaps a little late in coming to see what that meant for his immediate future. Surely the man couldn’t be serious though?
“I don’t think...” he began, deciding that actually, it would be better just to confirm before he got any further with this, but the words tailed off when he caught the expression on the Kotas man’s face.No. Maybe actually not There was not even the barest hint of understanding there. Just resolve. Sil frowned and began gathering the papers on the side of the table nearest to him, shoving them into stacks irritably whilst his thoughts churned at speed.He supposed the crown prince didn’t much care what his thoughts were on the matter, he was just supposed to do as he was told. But however unhappy Sil had been with the notion of this….servitude, it paled into insignificance at the thought of having to go to war.
He had what...maybe a week or so to talk himself out of this scenario, and to show exactly why it was a terrible fucking idea for all involved. Proving that point was the kind of battle he could get behind.
Sil had paused, jug of wine in hand and turned as Prince Vangelis addressed him, his gaze dropping to the table where the plans lay, a discontented expression settling on his face before he thought better of it and scrubbed it away. The wine was set down with a dull thunk as the young lord paid heed to the first instructions thrown at him
Three copies of each?To all the Captains?! Sil could already feel the cramp in his hand, and the realisation that he couldn’t just fob the task off on one of the servants was an unhappy one, fingers tightening a little around the cup he held.
And why the fuck would he be looking at Coptic?
Realising that he’d just been staring at the Prince and had made no answer or even acknowledged the man’s commands - because they were that, there was no mistaking- Silanos formed a response. The “By when?” poorly disguised his thoughts on the matter as he dropped his gaze to the many notes upon the map table. He should maybe have paid more notice so he could at least confidently summarise rather than copying word for word….
But such hardships were soon forgotten as Vangelis went on, the man’s words this time leaving the lord slack-jawed and wide-eyed.
He wasn’t going to Egypt! Had it been anyone else, Sil would have laughed and called bullshit, but the Stone Prince wasn’t known for his jests. But Silanos couldn’t imagine he meant the words as they sounded. The younger Valaoritis wasn’t a soldier, he wasn’t equipped to go to war, and he was quite sure the Prince knew that well enough.
But, be ready to sail didn’t leave much room for interpretation and Silanos failed entirely at keeping the disbelief from his face, prompting Prince Vangelis to shoot him a haughty look. Yes, it was a fucking problem, Sil wanted to reply, indignant justifications as to why bubbling up in preparation.
He couldn’t hold his own against fighters He had never been to war. And more importantly,he didn’t want to go.
Call it survival instinct or some common sense finally asserting itself but those words got stuck somewhere in his throat and after a too-long pause , Silanos managed a tight “No problem, your highness” before he knocked back the wine he’d poured in two hasty swallows.It was more water than he’d like, not nearly sharp enough to kill the unpleasant taste of that agreement. He turned away to put the cup down but really so his expression was hidden from the other man. Shock. But what could he do?
Vangelis had been quite clear about things after all: as far as he was concerned, the youngest Valaoritis was now entirely his to do with as he saw fit. Until further notice. And Silanos was perhaps a little late in coming to see what that meant for his immediate future. Surely the man couldn’t be serious though?
“I don’t think...” he began, deciding that actually, it would be better just to confirm before he got any further with this, but the words tailed off when he caught the expression on the Kotas man’s face.No. Maybe actually not There was not even the barest hint of understanding there. Just resolve. Sil frowned and began gathering the papers on the side of the table nearest to him, shoving them into stacks irritably whilst his thoughts churned at speed.He supposed the crown prince didn’t much care what his thoughts were on the matter, he was just supposed to do as he was told. But however unhappy Sil had been with the notion of this….servitude, it paled into insignificance at the thought of having to go to war.
He had what...maybe a week or so to talk himself out of this scenario, and to show exactly why it was a terrible fucking idea for all involved. Proving that point was the kind of battle he could get behind.