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With King Achilleas both newly married and newly inheriting of the throne of Taengea, what more could a man suffer in a single moment? Yet now, word has been confirmed from spies and emissaries in Egypt, that the Pharaoh prepares for war. In the Northern states of Egypt, it has been spoted that Pharaoh Iahotep has ordered a mass number of ships to be built... Enough to sail a large fighting force across the Aegean to the southern isles of Taengea. Yet, there is still time. Whilst Egypt are building their fleet from scratch, Taengea holds its own connections and already created vessels. Now would be the time to have them fitted, made ready and the soldiers ordered to report for duty on the southern coastline of Vasiliadon... It is time to sail to Egypt and strike early and hard, before the Pharaoh's minions can infest the seas with their new hive of armoured ships.
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JD
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With King Achilleas both newly married and newly inheriting of the throne of Taengea, what more could a man suffer in a single moment? Yet now, word has been confirmed from spies and emissaries in Egypt, that the Pharaoh prepares for war. In the Northern states of Egypt, it has been spoted that Pharaoh Iahotep has ordered a mass number of ships to be built... Enough to sail a large fighting force across the Aegean to the southern isles of Taengea. Yet, there is still time. Whilst Egypt are building their fleet from scratch, Taengea holds its own connections and already created vessels. Now would be the time to have them fitted, made ready and the soldiers ordered to report for duty on the southern coastline of Vasiliadon... It is time to sail to Egypt and strike early and hard, before the Pharaoh's minions can infest the seas with their new hive of armoured ships.
Heading South Event - Taengea
With King Achilleas both newly married and newly inheriting of the throne of Taengea, what more could a man suffer in a single moment? Yet now, word has been confirmed from spies and emissaries in Egypt, that the Pharaoh prepares for war. In the Northern states of Egypt, it has been spoted that Pharaoh Iahotep has ordered a mass number of ships to be built... Enough to sail a large fighting force across the Aegean to the southern isles of Taengea. Yet, there is still time. Whilst Egypt are building their fleet from scratch, Taengea holds its own connections and already created vessels. Now would be the time to have them fitted, made ready and the soldiers ordered to report for duty on the southern coastline of Vasiliadon... It is time to sail to Egypt and strike early and hard, before the Pharaoh's minions can infest the seas with their new hive of armoured ships.
There had been barely a moment to draw breath it seemed. Not since the day of the wedding, the day of his father’s death. The day Achilleas had found himself thrust into the position of King when he had still been digging his heels in at the idea of the title of Crown Prince.
There had been the burial to arrange, one befitting of a man of his father’s standing, and beyond that, trying to ascertain what the man had and hadn’t been doing in his short tenure as King. The move to the Palati, the handing over of everything Euttica related to Emilios, and then, somewhere amongst all of that, word of war had reached the Taengeans.
It could hardly be termed a surprise to Achilleas, indeed he had been worried since the Egyptian envoy had left their shores, worried enough that he had raised it with his King after speaking with those he thought would know more. Achilleas had even gone so far as to look to reprovision arms for his own unit. There had been additional forces sent to bolster their numbers in Judea, that small collective of Greeks who kept a close eye on their Egyptian neighbours. And for good reason, it was now revealed.
But this was more than that preemptive measures to offer reassurance. This was Taengea galvanising her soldiers and preparing to leave. This was their new King readying to lead an invasion, to strike with decisive force at those who would dare threaten the safety of her shores. The intelligence told of the Egyptians building many ships, seafaring ships to cross the waters to Greece, and in their numbers.
The new king had been forced to consider how to answer such knowledge. Would they sit and wait for the first sails to be spotted on their horizons? Let foreign soldiers set foot upon the clean white sands of their land before they looked to meet them? If he were acting solely on instinct, then it would not have been a hard decision for Achilleas to make. Taengea had not been violated by an invading force for years, and he was damned if he would let it be so under his rule.
But if there was something that could be said of newest monarch, it was that he would not make such choices lightly. Indeed, Achilleas had spent days poring over maps and considering all they had learnt from their last foray onto Egyptian soil. He drew together those men he knew to be wise and well-learned, and he listened to all they had to say, piecing together innumerous different scenarios in his mind, and then later in miniature on the great table in the war room. And it all culminated in this.
Achilleas reined his horse to a halt, those guards riding with the king drawing to a halt atop the small lift in the topography that allowed a view over the camp that sprawled below. Here, those units that had been summoned had begun to arrive, setting up their own camps out beyond the rows of ships that sat upon the sands, with more arriving by the day. The King shielded his eyes with his hand as he looked down over the sprawl of activity, drawing a long breath. Garbed in a chiton of deep red, the most he had conceded towards his new status was the gold band about his head. He did not stand on ceremony, urging the red stallion forwards without further ado, the royal guard bearing the banner of Mikaelidas the only other sign to those working that their King was amongst them.
It was gratifying seeing the results of so many conversations and instructions coming together, though there was no sign of complacency in the new King. He wanted to be here in person to see the ships, to speak with the men who would follow him on this voyage that would see them answer a threat with a show of strength aimed at cutting their enemies legs out from under them before they could even take their first steps. And in this, in this bustle of preparation, Achilleas could at least feel the familiar, it somehow a comfort in a time when so much else was alien to him.
And as was his way, he was quiet as he dismounted and walked along the line of ships, focus intense and eye critical. He was no shipwright, but he had called up the best they had, because these vessels needed to be swift and seaworthy. The salt heavy air was laced with the distinctive scent of oiled wood warmed in the sun, and Achilleas paused by one ship to set a hand against the timber. These were not ships built for a naval conflict, but rather for speed in crossing the Aegean, light and many oared.
“How many?” he turned to the man who had begun tailing him in his progress along the lines, and the Master Shipwright gave the number, Achilleas seemingly satisfied as he moved on to a “And how many days until they are ready, Master Lysander?” Time was, after all, of the essence in ensuring their success.
With that established, the king left the ships behind to wander towards where the soldiers had begun to amass, and here he was seeking a familiar face, one whom he trusted implicitly to be managing things. Achilleas had sent Krysto ahead some days before, because as soldiers began to trickle in from across the Kingdom there needed to be some organisation on the ground. He scanned the gathered men for the Captain, trying to imagine this was as any other campaign, and ignoring the thin gold band upon his brow that marked its difference, his difference this time around.
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Nov 14, 2019 21:37:11 GMT
Posted In Heading South on Nov 14, 2019 21:37:11 GMT
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There had been barely a moment to draw breath it seemed. Not since the day of the wedding, the day of his father’s death. The day Achilleas had found himself thrust into the position of King when he had still been digging his heels in at the idea of the title of Crown Prince.
There had been the burial to arrange, one befitting of a man of his father’s standing, and beyond that, trying to ascertain what the man had and hadn’t been doing in his short tenure as King. The move to the Palati, the handing over of everything Euttica related to Emilios, and then, somewhere amongst all of that, word of war had reached the Taengeans.
It could hardly be termed a surprise to Achilleas, indeed he had been worried since the Egyptian envoy had left their shores, worried enough that he had raised it with his King after speaking with those he thought would know more. Achilleas had even gone so far as to look to reprovision arms for his own unit. There had been additional forces sent to bolster their numbers in Judea, that small collective of Greeks who kept a close eye on their Egyptian neighbours. And for good reason, it was now revealed.
But this was more than that preemptive measures to offer reassurance. This was Taengea galvanising her soldiers and preparing to leave. This was their new King readying to lead an invasion, to strike with decisive force at those who would dare threaten the safety of her shores. The intelligence told of the Egyptians building many ships, seafaring ships to cross the waters to Greece, and in their numbers.
The new king had been forced to consider how to answer such knowledge. Would they sit and wait for the first sails to be spotted on their horizons? Let foreign soldiers set foot upon the clean white sands of their land before they looked to meet them? If he were acting solely on instinct, then it would not have been a hard decision for Achilleas to make. Taengea had not been violated by an invading force for years, and he was damned if he would let it be so under his rule.
But if there was something that could be said of newest monarch, it was that he would not make such choices lightly. Indeed, Achilleas had spent days poring over maps and considering all they had learnt from their last foray onto Egyptian soil. He drew together those men he knew to be wise and well-learned, and he listened to all they had to say, piecing together innumerous different scenarios in his mind, and then later in miniature on the great table in the war room. And it all culminated in this.
Achilleas reined his horse to a halt, those guards riding with the king drawing to a halt atop the small lift in the topography that allowed a view over the camp that sprawled below. Here, those units that had been summoned had begun to arrive, setting up their own camps out beyond the rows of ships that sat upon the sands, with more arriving by the day. The King shielded his eyes with his hand as he looked down over the sprawl of activity, drawing a long breath. Garbed in a chiton of deep red, the most he had conceded towards his new status was the gold band about his head. He did not stand on ceremony, urging the red stallion forwards without further ado, the royal guard bearing the banner of Mikaelidas the only other sign to those working that their King was amongst them.
It was gratifying seeing the results of so many conversations and instructions coming together, though there was no sign of complacency in the new King. He wanted to be here in person to see the ships, to speak with the men who would follow him on this voyage that would see them answer a threat with a show of strength aimed at cutting their enemies legs out from under them before they could even take their first steps. And in this, in this bustle of preparation, Achilleas could at least feel the familiar, it somehow a comfort in a time when so much else was alien to him.
And as was his way, he was quiet as he dismounted and walked along the line of ships, focus intense and eye critical. He was no shipwright, but he had called up the best they had, because these vessels needed to be swift and seaworthy. The salt heavy air was laced with the distinctive scent of oiled wood warmed in the sun, and Achilleas paused by one ship to set a hand against the timber. These were not ships built for a naval conflict, but rather for speed in crossing the Aegean, light and many oared.
“How many?” he turned to the man who had begun tailing him in his progress along the lines, and the Master Shipwright gave the number, Achilleas seemingly satisfied as he moved on to a “And how many days until they are ready, Master Lysander?” Time was, after all, of the essence in ensuring their success.
With that established, the king left the ships behind to wander towards where the soldiers had begun to amass, and here he was seeking a familiar face, one whom he trusted implicitly to be managing things. Achilleas had sent Krysto ahead some days before, because as soldiers began to trickle in from across the Kingdom there needed to be some organisation on the ground. He scanned the gathered men for the Captain, trying to imagine this was as any other campaign, and ignoring the thin gold band upon his brow that marked its difference, his difference this time around.
There had been barely a moment to draw breath it seemed. Not since the day of the wedding, the day of his father’s death. The day Achilleas had found himself thrust into the position of King when he had still been digging his heels in at the idea of the title of Crown Prince.
There had been the burial to arrange, one befitting of a man of his father’s standing, and beyond that, trying to ascertain what the man had and hadn’t been doing in his short tenure as King. The move to the Palati, the handing over of everything Euttica related to Emilios, and then, somewhere amongst all of that, word of war had reached the Taengeans.
It could hardly be termed a surprise to Achilleas, indeed he had been worried since the Egyptian envoy had left their shores, worried enough that he had raised it with his King after speaking with those he thought would know more. Achilleas had even gone so far as to look to reprovision arms for his own unit. There had been additional forces sent to bolster their numbers in Judea, that small collective of Greeks who kept a close eye on their Egyptian neighbours. And for good reason, it was now revealed.
But this was more than that preemptive measures to offer reassurance. This was Taengea galvanising her soldiers and preparing to leave. This was their new King readying to lead an invasion, to strike with decisive force at those who would dare threaten the safety of her shores. The intelligence told of the Egyptians building many ships, seafaring ships to cross the waters to Greece, and in their numbers.
The new king had been forced to consider how to answer such knowledge. Would they sit and wait for the first sails to be spotted on their horizons? Let foreign soldiers set foot upon the clean white sands of their land before they looked to meet them? If he were acting solely on instinct, then it would not have been a hard decision for Achilleas to make. Taengea had not been violated by an invading force for years, and he was damned if he would let it be so under his rule.
But if there was something that could be said of newest monarch, it was that he would not make such choices lightly. Indeed, Achilleas had spent days poring over maps and considering all they had learnt from their last foray onto Egyptian soil. He drew together those men he knew to be wise and well-learned, and he listened to all they had to say, piecing together innumerous different scenarios in his mind, and then later in miniature on the great table in the war room. And it all culminated in this.
Achilleas reined his horse to a halt, those guards riding with the king drawing to a halt atop the small lift in the topography that allowed a view over the camp that sprawled below. Here, those units that had been summoned had begun to arrive, setting up their own camps out beyond the rows of ships that sat upon the sands, with more arriving by the day. The King shielded his eyes with his hand as he looked down over the sprawl of activity, drawing a long breath. Garbed in a chiton of deep red, the most he had conceded towards his new status was the gold band about his head. He did not stand on ceremony, urging the red stallion forwards without further ado, the royal guard bearing the banner of Mikaelidas the only other sign to those working that their King was amongst them.
It was gratifying seeing the results of so many conversations and instructions coming together, though there was no sign of complacency in the new King. He wanted to be here in person to see the ships, to speak with the men who would follow him on this voyage that would see them answer a threat with a show of strength aimed at cutting their enemies legs out from under them before they could even take their first steps. And in this, in this bustle of preparation, Achilleas could at least feel the familiar, it somehow a comfort in a time when so much else was alien to him.
And as was his way, he was quiet as he dismounted and walked along the line of ships, focus intense and eye critical. He was no shipwright, but he had called up the best they had, because these vessels needed to be swift and seaworthy. The salt heavy air was laced with the distinctive scent of oiled wood warmed in the sun, and Achilleas paused by one ship to set a hand against the timber. These were not ships built for a naval conflict, but rather for speed in crossing the Aegean, light and many oared.
“How many?” he turned to the man who had begun tailing him in his progress along the lines, and the Master Shipwright gave the number, Achilleas seemingly satisfied as he moved on to a “And how many days until they are ready, Master Lysander?” Time was, after all, of the essence in ensuring their success.
With that established, the king left the ships behind to wander towards where the soldiers had begun to amass, and here he was seeking a familiar face, one whom he trusted implicitly to be managing things. Achilleas had sent Krysto ahead some days before, because as soldiers began to trickle in from across the Kingdom there needed to be some organisation on the ground. He scanned the gathered men for the Captain, trying to imagine this was as any other campaign, and ignoring the thin gold band upon his brow that marked its difference, his difference this time around.
The days since the wedding had been a whirlwind of emotions. With the war against Egypt looming over them, the wedding of his best friend and the newly minted Princess Theodora had been a symbol of hope for the future. Things had been moving well with Krysto having to bring a halt to only a few problems that a wedding brought, including a scorned lover that Krysto was determined to force to remain at a distance. But things had taken that fateful turn for the worst.
Between himself and the Princess Xene, they had not been able to save King Irakles' life when he had collapsed suddenly in the midst of the reception. The quiet crowning of King Achilleas had been more somber than Krysto would have liked for his friend. However, the situation in which Achilleas had gained the crown was absolutely nothing to celebrate. While Krysto had his own opinions about the late King and how he had treated both of his only sons, Krysto had never voice them, nor his silent resentment of King Irakles. Achilleas was not a father's boy by any means, but he had always quietly sought out the acceptance and approval of the man.
Why, Krysto had never understood. But it was too late now and the Captain found himself even more resentful of the fact that Irakles had laid this mantle upon his friend's shoulders at a time where Taengea needed as many experienced soldiers and tacticians as possible. King Irakles may have been a prat, but at least he was knowledgable of war. With one of Teangea's greatest generals now gone, Krysto quietly feared the outcome of this coming war.
War was constantly on his mind. War and Nefeli. His unborn child. He had followed Achilleas' order to manage the camp of gathering soldiers, Krysto's mind had been firmly set on his betrothed and the child he would likely never meet the entire morning. Even as he moved through the troops, gave orders to blacksmiths, and checked in on the status of their sailing ships, everything was for her. If Nefeli and his child could live a safe, happy life without them all because of their efforts in protecting Taengea in this war, Krysto would gladly fall to Hades.
Standing at the center of a group of men who were waiting for orders, Krysto stared down the list scrawled in his own shorthand on a piece of papyrus. "Hes, you're pitching the hold of the large warship. Brutus, I need you working with the blacksmith. Make sure all of the iron is up to code and sharp enough to cut stone. If we are to leave bodies on a killing field, we may as make sure that our blades will actually take a life," the Captain was ordering. "That's it. Off to it. All of you," he said sharply, watching all of the men who had crowded around him disperse to their various jobs and tasks for the morning.
Folding the papyrus and shoving it into his tunic, Krysto turned in time to catch the glint of gold in the sunlight. He hadn't witnessed the approach of Achilleas and his entourage himself, but seeing the King here and now brought him more easy that he had felt previously. Allowing a smile to settle on his lips, he stormed toward Achilleas with the same familiarity he always showed his friend.
Decorum had no place between the two of them. Clapping the King on the back in sharp, informal greeting, Krysto fixed Achilleas with a firm stare. "Take that off if you're going to look like you ate sour porridge all day, King Achilleas," Krysto advised, even reaching up to toy with the crown. "You are King, but everyone is already aware of that. You are no different to them now than you were days, weeks, or months ago."
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Nov 19, 2019 14:20:36 GMT
Posted In Heading South on Nov 19, 2019 14:20:36 GMT
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The days since the wedding had been a whirlwind of emotions. With the war against Egypt looming over them, the wedding of his best friend and the newly minted Princess Theodora had been a symbol of hope for the future. Things had been moving well with Krysto having to bring a halt to only a few problems that a wedding brought, including a scorned lover that Krysto was determined to force to remain at a distance. But things had taken that fateful turn for the worst.
Between himself and the Princess Xene, they had not been able to save King Irakles' life when he had collapsed suddenly in the midst of the reception. The quiet crowning of King Achilleas had been more somber than Krysto would have liked for his friend. However, the situation in which Achilleas had gained the crown was absolutely nothing to celebrate. While Krysto had his own opinions about the late King and how he had treated both of his only sons, Krysto had never voice them, nor his silent resentment of King Irakles. Achilleas was not a father's boy by any means, but he had always quietly sought out the acceptance and approval of the man.
Why, Krysto had never understood. But it was too late now and the Captain found himself even more resentful of the fact that Irakles had laid this mantle upon his friend's shoulders at a time where Taengea needed as many experienced soldiers and tacticians as possible. King Irakles may have been a prat, but at least he was knowledgable of war. With one of Teangea's greatest generals now gone, Krysto quietly feared the outcome of this coming war.
War was constantly on his mind. War and Nefeli. His unborn child. He had followed Achilleas' order to manage the camp of gathering soldiers, Krysto's mind had been firmly set on his betrothed and the child he would likely never meet the entire morning. Even as he moved through the troops, gave orders to blacksmiths, and checked in on the status of their sailing ships, everything was for her. If Nefeli and his child could live a safe, happy life without them all because of their efforts in protecting Taengea in this war, Krysto would gladly fall to Hades.
Standing at the center of a group of men who were waiting for orders, Krysto stared down the list scrawled in his own shorthand on a piece of papyrus. "Hes, you're pitching the hold of the large warship. Brutus, I need you working with the blacksmith. Make sure all of the iron is up to code and sharp enough to cut stone. If we are to leave bodies on a killing field, we may as make sure that our blades will actually take a life," the Captain was ordering. "That's it. Off to it. All of you," he said sharply, watching all of the men who had crowded around him disperse to their various jobs and tasks for the morning.
Folding the papyrus and shoving it into his tunic, Krysto turned in time to catch the glint of gold in the sunlight. He hadn't witnessed the approach of Achilleas and his entourage himself, but seeing the King here and now brought him more easy that he had felt previously. Allowing a smile to settle on his lips, he stormed toward Achilleas with the same familiarity he always showed his friend.
Decorum had no place between the two of them. Clapping the King on the back in sharp, informal greeting, Krysto fixed Achilleas with a firm stare. "Take that off if you're going to look like you ate sour porridge all day, King Achilleas," Krysto advised, even reaching up to toy with the crown. "You are King, but everyone is already aware of that. You are no different to them now than you were days, weeks, or months ago."
The days since the wedding had been a whirlwind of emotions. With the war against Egypt looming over them, the wedding of his best friend and the newly minted Princess Theodora had been a symbol of hope for the future. Things had been moving well with Krysto having to bring a halt to only a few problems that a wedding brought, including a scorned lover that Krysto was determined to force to remain at a distance. But things had taken that fateful turn for the worst.
Between himself and the Princess Xene, they had not been able to save King Irakles' life when he had collapsed suddenly in the midst of the reception. The quiet crowning of King Achilleas had been more somber than Krysto would have liked for his friend. However, the situation in which Achilleas had gained the crown was absolutely nothing to celebrate. While Krysto had his own opinions about the late King and how he had treated both of his only sons, Krysto had never voice them, nor his silent resentment of King Irakles. Achilleas was not a father's boy by any means, but he had always quietly sought out the acceptance and approval of the man.
Why, Krysto had never understood. But it was too late now and the Captain found himself even more resentful of the fact that Irakles had laid this mantle upon his friend's shoulders at a time where Taengea needed as many experienced soldiers and tacticians as possible. King Irakles may have been a prat, but at least he was knowledgable of war. With one of Teangea's greatest generals now gone, Krysto quietly feared the outcome of this coming war.
War was constantly on his mind. War and Nefeli. His unborn child. He had followed Achilleas' order to manage the camp of gathering soldiers, Krysto's mind had been firmly set on his betrothed and the child he would likely never meet the entire morning. Even as he moved through the troops, gave orders to blacksmiths, and checked in on the status of their sailing ships, everything was for her. If Nefeli and his child could live a safe, happy life without them all because of their efforts in protecting Taengea in this war, Krysto would gladly fall to Hades.
Standing at the center of a group of men who were waiting for orders, Krysto stared down the list scrawled in his own shorthand on a piece of papyrus. "Hes, you're pitching the hold of the large warship. Brutus, I need you working with the blacksmith. Make sure all of the iron is up to code and sharp enough to cut stone. If we are to leave bodies on a killing field, we may as make sure that our blades will actually take a life," the Captain was ordering. "That's it. Off to it. All of you," he said sharply, watching all of the men who had crowded around him disperse to their various jobs and tasks for the morning.
Folding the papyrus and shoving it into his tunic, Krysto turned in time to catch the glint of gold in the sunlight. He hadn't witnessed the approach of Achilleas and his entourage himself, but seeing the King here and now brought him more easy that he had felt previously. Allowing a smile to settle on his lips, he stormed toward Achilleas with the same familiarity he always showed his friend.
Decorum had no place between the two of them. Clapping the King on the back in sharp, informal greeting, Krysto fixed Achilleas with a firm stare. "Take that off if you're going to look like you ate sour porridge all day, King Achilleas," Krysto advised, even reaching up to toy with the crown. "You are King, but everyone is already aware of that. You are no different to them now than you were days, weeks, or months ago."
It wasn’t until the soldiers had begun to move away that Achilleas had picked out his friend, felt at least a little relief that here was a friendly face. He returned the smile Krysto fired at him, though it grew a little tense as the man showed not an ounce of restraint in his greeting. Not that such a thing was out of character at all, the pair had known each other long years and Achilleas counted the Captain amongst his closest of friends. It was hard to remember all the time that he was also his Commander, and even more so now, his King.
Still, Achilleas wondered how it looked, and he scanned those faces around them, looking back to Krysto as the man spoke, a mildly exasperated expression crossing his face. On one hand , he relished his friend’s easy familiarity, for it spoke of one who knew him well and was not afraid to say truths to him, a thing that Achilleas felt wary of now he wore the crown. On the other, he could feel the guards who shadowed him bristling, and cursed Krysto for being so irreverent in front of so many others.
This was new, for both of them, and despite his friend’s words, things were different.
Achilleas was there as King now. He might be able to cast aside the formality in more restricted audiences, indeed when he had met with Taengea’s military leaders in the confines of the palati he had felt he could be more himself. But here? Out in the open where commonfolk and nobles mingled alike, and in preparation for what would be his first real undertaking as King? Well he was aware of the pressure, that was all.
Leaning to embrace his friend in a one armed hug, the “I fear it is not so easy as simply taking it off” was low enough so only Krysto would hear it, and then Achilleas pulled back and added more loudly. “I can hardly help it if your countenance stirs such an expression upon me Captain. Tell me how things are progressing?”
Even though the decision had been made to take a small contingent of men to Egypt so that they might mobilise quickly, there was still much to be done to ready both men and ships for such a voyage. If perhaps some of the arrangements were a symptom of the new King’s meticulous nature, then so be it. Achilleas needed to be confident that he was doing everything he could to ensure the safety of his men, and their victory. He was damned if he would let their success be stolen by some oversight in this part of the endeavour.
Despite what appearances might have suggested, Achilleas was not gifted. He had his strengths, as did any man, and he had been afforded the benefits of wealth, but most of all he was a hard worker. He did not let up on himself until he had reached a goal, and on the few occasions when he might have been lax - in his youth, or when circumstances worked against him - his father had been quick to point out such failings, with a harsh and unforgiving tongue. What resulted was a perfectionist who would not accept failure in himself, nor allow for lack of effort to compromise end results.
In this endeavour, it made Achilleas a hard task master, and at times, saw the King cavil about issues that other men might have dismissed as insignificant. Krysto at least would know this behaviour for what it was, an expression of nerves that his friend would not let manifest in any other way, and he was forced to remind himself of this fact as his King interrogated him about everything. How many men had mustered? Which Lords had been seen. Were there weapons enough? Horses? By the time Achilleas recognised his behaviour, he had fired a half a dozen questions at the Captain before giving him room to answer. And he knew the answers to most of them already, he had pored over papers enough late into the night to assure himself of such things. There was a flicker of acknowledgement on the man’s face, and he lifted a hand to summon a servant.
“Some wine, please, whilst the Captain provides his report”. The cup that was passed to Krysto in the next moment was as close to an apology as he was likely to get from Achilleas in public, and the two men retired to sit under the canopy of a pavilion where the new King kicked his long legs out in front of him and tried to measure what he knew could be an overbearing nature in situations such as these.
He was putting a lot on Krysto, he knew, but with Emilios required to remain in Vasiliadon and Commander Alexios stationed out in Judea, Achilleas did not exactly have a great many others to lean on. His past role as Commander was hardly a thing he could devote himself to, not with so many other considerations now but the Mikaelidas man could admit that having this to throw himself into had been some welcome distraction from having to deal with the unexpected blow of his father’s death. Here was something he knew, and could deliver. It was something he reminded himself of as he let Krysto speak finally.
And when the man had finished, he nodded his satisfaction and went on. “I want sacrifices offered to the Gods. Make an event of it because it will fill the men's hearts with courage to know that we have appeased those who hold our fates in their hands”.
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Nov 26, 2019 23:27:10 GMT
Posted In Heading South on Nov 26, 2019 23:27:10 GMT
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It wasn’t until the soldiers had begun to move away that Achilleas had picked out his friend, felt at least a little relief that here was a friendly face. He returned the smile Krysto fired at him, though it grew a little tense as the man showed not an ounce of restraint in his greeting. Not that such a thing was out of character at all, the pair had known each other long years and Achilleas counted the Captain amongst his closest of friends. It was hard to remember all the time that he was also his Commander, and even more so now, his King.
Still, Achilleas wondered how it looked, and he scanned those faces around them, looking back to Krysto as the man spoke, a mildly exasperated expression crossing his face. On one hand , he relished his friend’s easy familiarity, for it spoke of one who knew him well and was not afraid to say truths to him, a thing that Achilleas felt wary of now he wore the crown. On the other, he could feel the guards who shadowed him bristling, and cursed Krysto for being so irreverent in front of so many others.
This was new, for both of them, and despite his friend’s words, things were different.
Achilleas was there as King now. He might be able to cast aside the formality in more restricted audiences, indeed when he had met with Taengea’s military leaders in the confines of the palati he had felt he could be more himself. But here? Out in the open where commonfolk and nobles mingled alike, and in preparation for what would be his first real undertaking as King? Well he was aware of the pressure, that was all.
Leaning to embrace his friend in a one armed hug, the “I fear it is not so easy as simply taking it off” was low enough so only Krysto would hear it, and then Achilleas pulled back and added more loudly. “I can hardly help it if your countenance stirs such an expression upon me Captain. Tell me how things are progressing?”
Even though the decision had been made to take a small contingent of men to Egypt so that they might mobilise quickly, there was still much to be done to ready both men and ships for such a voyage. If perhaps some of the arrangements were a symptom of the new King’s meticulous nature, then so be it. Achilleas needed to be confident that he was doing everything he could to ensure the safety of his men, and their victory. He was damned if he would let their success be stolen by some oversight in this part of the endeavour.
Despite what appearances might have suggested, Achilleas was not gifted. He had his strengths, as did any man, and he had been afforded the benefits of wealth, but most of all he was a hard worker. He did not let up on himself until he had reached a goal, and on the few occasions when he might have been lax - in his youth, or when circumstances worked against him - his father had been quick to point out such failings, with a harsh and unforgiving tongue. What resulted was a perfectionist who would not accept failure in himself, nor allow for lack of effort to compromise end results.
In this endeavour, it made Achilleas a hard task master, and at times, saw the King cavil about issues that other men might have dismissed as insignificant. Krysto at least would know this behaviour for what it was, an expression of nerves that his friend would not let manifest in any other way, and he was forced to remind himself of this fact as his King interrogated him about everything. How many men had mustered? Which Lords had been seen. Were there weapons enough? Horses? By the time Achilleas recognised his behaviour, he had fired a half a dozen questions at the Captain before giving him room to answer. And he knew the answers to most of them already, he had pored over papers enough late into the night to assure himself of such things. There was a flicker of acknowledgement on the man’s face, and he lifted a hand to summon a servant.
“Some wine, please, whilst the Captain provides his report”. The cup that was passed to Krysto in the next moment was as close to an apology as he was likely to get from Achilleas in public, and the two men retired to sit under the canopy of a pavilion where the new King kicked his long legs out in front of him and tried to measure what he knew could be an overbearing nature in situations such as these.
He was putting a lot on Krysto, he knew, but with Emilios required to remain in Vasiliadon and Commander Alexios stationed out in Judea, Achilleas did not exactly have a great many others to lean on. His past role as Commander was hardly a thing he could devote himself to, not with so many other considerations now but the Mikaelidas man could admit that having this to throw himself into had been some welcome distraction from having to deal with the unexpected blow of his father’s death. Here was something he knew, and could deliver. It was something he reminded himself of as he let Krysto speak finally.
And when the man had finished, he nodded his satisfaction and went on. “I want sacrifices offered to the Gods. Make an event of it because it will fill the men's hearts with courage to know that we have appeased those who hold our fates in their hands”.
It wasn’t until the soldiers had begun to move away that Achilleas had picked out his friend, felt at least a little relief that here was a friendly face. He returned the smile Krysto fired at him, though it grew a little tense as the man showed not an ounce of restraint in his greeting. Not that such a thing was out of character at all, the pair had known each other long years and Achilleas counted the Captain amongst his closest of friends. It was hard to remember all the time that he was also his Commander, and even more so now, his King.
Still, Achilleas wondered how it looked, and he scanned those faces around them, looking back to Krysto as the man spoke, a mildly exasperated expression crossing his face. On one hand , he relished his friend’s easy familiarity, for it spoke of one who knew him well and was not afraid to say truths to him, a thing that Achilleas felt wary of now he wore the crown. On the other, he could feel the guards who shadowed him bristling, and cursed Krysto for being so irreverent in front of so many others.
This was new, for both of them, and despite his friend’s words, things were different.
Achilleas was there as King now. He might be able to cast aside the formality in more restricted audiences, indeed when he had met with Taengea’s military leaders in the confines of the palati he had felt he could be more himself. But here? Out in the open where commonfolk and nobles mingled alike, and in preparation for what would be his first real undertaking as King? Well he was aware of the pressure, that was all.
Leaning to embrace his friend in a one armed hug, the “I fear it is not so easy as simply taking it off” was low enough so only Krysto would hear it, and then Achilleas pulled back and added more loudly. “I can hardly help it if your countenance stirs such an expression upon me Captain. Tell me how things are progressing?”
Even though the decision had been made to take a small contingent of men to Egypt so that they might mobilise quickly, there was still much to be done to ready both men and ships for such a voyage. If perhaps some of the arrangements were a symptom of the new King’s meticulous nature, then so be it. Achilleas needed to be confident that he was doing everything he could to ensure the safety of his men, and their victory. He was damned if he would let their success be stolen by some oversight in this part of the endeavour.
Despite what appearances might have suggested, Achilleas was not gifted. He had his strengths, as did any man, and he had been afforded the benefits of wealth, but most of all he was a hard worker. He did not let up on himself until he had reached a goal, and on the few occasions when he might have been lax - in his youth, or when circumstances worked against him - his father had been quick to point out such failings, with a harsh and unforgiving tongue. What resulted was a perfectionist who would not accept failure in himself, nor allow for lack of effort to compromise end results.
In this endeavour, it made Achilleas a hard task master, and at times, saw the King cavil about issues that other men might have dismissed as insignificant. Krysto at least would know this behaviour for what it was, an expression of nerves that his friend would not let manifest in any other way, and he was forced to remind himself of this fact as his King interrogated him about everything. How many men had mustered? Which Lords had been seen. Were there weapons enough? Horses? By the time Achilleas recognised his behaviour, he had fired a half a dozen questions at the Captain before giving him room to answer. And he knew the answers to most of them already, he had pored over papers enough late into the night to assure himself of such things. There was a flicker of acknowledgement on the man’s face, and he lifted a hand to summon a servant.
“Some wine, please, whilst the Captain provides his report”. The cup that was passed to Krysto in the next moment was as close to an apology as he was likely to get from Achilleas in public, and the two men retired to sit under the canopy of a pavilion where the new King kicked his long legs out in front of him and tried to measure what he knew could be an overbearing nature in situations such as these.
He was putting a lot on Krysto, he knew, but with Emilios required to remain in Vasiliadon and Commander Alexios stationed out in Judea, Achilleas did not exactly have a great many others to lean on. His past role as Commander was hardly a thing he could devote himself to, not with so many other considerations now but the Mikaelidas man could admit that having this to throw himself into had been some welcome distraction from having to deal with the unexpected blow of his father’s death. Here was something he knew, and could deliver. It was something he reminded himself of as he let Krysto speak finally.
And when the man had finished, he nodded his satisfaction and went on. “I want sacrifices offered to the Gods. Make an event of it because it will fill the men's hearts with courage to know that we have appeased those who hold our fates in their hands”.
If there was one thing that had been a bit of a struggle for Krysto, it was the fact that his best friend was now... the King. This was nothing that they had ever discussed happening. There were no plans or assumptions to be made in this situation. They had not hashed out what would be arranged between the two of them if this were to come to pass. It had never been anything but a far off possibility at worst and an imposibility at best. For the paradigm to shift about them more than it already had in the last few weeks was something that Krysto was trying not to take to heart.
King Achilleas was forced to act differently. How it was to affect their friendship, the man did not know, nor did he quite care. There were bigger things to worry about, starting with the status of the present and the war they were to be preparing for. Long ago, Krysto had told himself that war was not something he ever truly wanted to return to. The first instance, fighting in the last Egyptian-Greek conflict, had been enough for the young man. Now older and more practiced and with a long-term title under his belt, it was easier to stomach.
But only minutely.
He had Nefeli and his unborn child to think about.
Right now, however, his duty was to his King. Even if his King was his closest friend. King Achilleas' friendly embrace was inviting, but his jab toward Krysto had the man frowning at him only briefly. Then it was gone and he was glancing around at everyone around them, realizing that he truly had overstepped boundaries he had never thought would suddenly have separated them even further. Having to force down the momentary feeling of revulsion and irritation at the feeling of eyes on them, the man made only a motion for them to walk together.
Krysto had made fine work of the camp, as was expected of him. He himself held himself to such a staunch standard that it was difficult to expect anything less than the perfection he had come to embrace. Separated from the King, Krysto walked with a sharp distance between them and his hands at his sides. The armor that he wore was like a second skin that he hardly noticed anymore. It had not taken long for him to learn to move in something so confining, but he had doned the armor of his Kingdom at an exceedingly young age. This was nothing, if not the most comfortable he could be while at war.
"Everything is progressing upon your timetables, King Mikaelidas," Captain Krysto said in a stoic tone. The usual mask that he used when making a conscious effort to keep distance where distance was due.
He expected the onslaught of questions, staring ahead as they walked together. Krysto ignored the guards that shadowed the new King. Krysto was their better as the new Captain of the Kingsguard. Whether they remembered such a fact was beyond him, but a single warning glance back at the following guards was enough to have at least one of the men rethinking the very clear signal that he could pounce at any moment. Just one of them faltered and the resulting scowl from Krysto that the man showed any sign of weakness while at Achilleas back was clearly settled on his features. His displeasure was blatant, his disapproval enough to dry the mouth.
Krysto's answers to Achilleas' questions were all firm and to the point. "Enough men to fill every ship that we can send to Egypt without leaving our own shores unprotected. Most of the militant lords have shown their faces. The blacksmiths are making extra weapons as quickly as they and the soldiers aiding them can. Otherwise our shipment of weapons arrived this morning and is being taken inventory of as we speak. The men will be outfitted by nightfall. Lord Leventi is ensuring that the military's supply of horses is at acceptable levels," each answer was given in the same quick succession that King Achilleas had thrown them.
This was not unusual of the pair. Often, they were on such a wavelength that this was all to be expected. Sometimes Achilleas seemed to try and temper his personality and Krysto wondered if he truly felt guilt for something that he himself had long grown used to. There was no judgement here. Nor was Krysto displeased with the lack of room to speak. The captain was content to speak when given the chance, and remain quiet when Achilleas spoke.
At least in public. Were they in private, Krysto would have made a snide remark about his tendency to overshadow people while simultaneously asking a barage of questions without waiting for their answers. Arriving into the pavillion, Krysto did not deny the gift of wine, immediately taking a sip of it to wash away the bitter taste out of his mouth. When he let the cup move from his lips, he fixed Achilleas with a firm stare. He did not sit because he had not been invited to.
"Everything is in order, but you already know that, my King," Krysto said simply, "I'm sure you've already read the reports I sent back to the city sixty times or so. You know it inside and out. You have missed nothing. I have missed nothing," Krysto noted calmly, "Does this suffice as my report or must I go into the details you are already aware of?" His smile was wry at best and he shifted from one food to the other.
The mention of sacrifices to the gods had Krysto taking another long swig of his wine. He supped from his cup and then sighed through his nose, "I'll ensure that we perform sacrifices for Poseidon, Ares, and Apollo. Maybe Hades as well to give the men a somber sort of hope that they will be guided safely should they fall," he said honestly. They would need to ensure that each soldier carried a coin with them. Just in case. Even the haughty soldiers who were insistent that they would not die. That was not how wars worked. Death did not come because soldiers chose to die. "Is there anything else I should put to order, my King?"
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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If there was one thing that had been a bit of a struggle for Krysto, it was the fact that his best friend was now... the King. This was nothing that they had ever discussed happening. There were no plans or assumptions to be made in this situation. They had not hashed out what would be arranged between the two of them if this were to come to pass. It had never been anything but a far off possibility at worst and an imposibility at best. For the paradigm to shift about them more than it already had in the last few weeks was something that Krysto was trying not to take to heart.
King Achilleas was forced to act differently. How it was to affect their friendship, the man did not know, nor did he quite care. There were bigger things to worry about, starting with the status of the present and the war they were to be preparing for. Long ago, Krysto had told himself that war was not something he ever truly wanted to return to. The first instance, fighting in the last Egyptian-Greek conflict, had been enough for the young man. Now older and more practiced and with a long-term title under his belt, it was easier to stomach.
But only minutely.
He had Nefeli and his unborn child to think about.
Right now, however, his duty was to his King. Even if his King was his closest friend. King Achilleas' friendly embrace was inviting, but his jab toward Krysto had the man frowning at him only briefly. Then it was gone and he was glancing around at everyone around them, realizing that he truly had overstepped boundaries he had never thought would suddenly have separated them even further. Having to force down the momentary feeling of revulsion and irritation at the feeling of eyes on them, the man made only a motion for them to walk together.
Krysto had made fine work of the camp, as was expected of him. He himself held himself to such a staunch standard that it was difficult to expect anything less than the perfection he had come to embrace. Separated from the King, Krysto walked with a sharp distance between them and his hands at his sides. The armor that he wore was like a second skin that he hardly noticed anymore. It had not taken long for him to learn to move in something so confining, but he had doned the armor of his Kingdom at an exceedingly young age. This was nothing, if not the most comfortable he could be while at war.
"Everything is progressing upon your timetables, King Mikaelidas," Captain Krysto said in a stoic tone. The usual mask that he used when making a conscious effort to keep distance where distance was due.
He expected the onslaught of questions, staring ahead as they walked together. Krysto ignored the guards that shadowed the new King. Krysto was their better as the new Captain of the Kingsguard. Whether they remembered such a fact was beyond him, but a single warning glance back at the following guards was enough to have at least one of the men rethinking the very clear signal that he could pounce at any moment. Just one of them faltered and the resulting scowl from Krysto that the man showed any sign of weakness while at Achilleas back was clearly settled on his features. His displeasure was blatant, his disapproval enough to dry the mouth.
Krysto's answers to Achilleas' questions were all firm and to the point. "Enough men to fill every ship that we can send to Egypt without leaving our own shores unprotected. Most of the militant lords have shown their faces. The blacksmiths are making extra weapons as quickly as they and the soldiers aiding them can. Otherwise our shipment of weapons arrived this morning and is being taken inventory of as we speak. The men will be outfitted by nightfall. Lord Leventi is ensuring that the military's supply of horses is at acceptable levels," each answer was given in the same quick succession that King Achilleas had thrown them.
This was not unusual of the pair. Often, they were on such a wavelength that this was all to be expected. Sometimes Achilleas seemed to try and temper his personality and Krysto wondered if he truly felt guilt for something that he himself had long grown used to. There was no judgement here. Nor was Krysto displeased with the lack of room to speak. The captain was content to speak when given the chance, and remain quiet when Achilleas spoke.
At least in public. Were they in private, Krysto would have made a snide remark about his tendency to overshadow people while simultaneously asking a barage of questions without waiting for their answers. Arriving into the pavillion, Krysto did not deny the gift of wine, immediately taking a sip of it to wash away the bitter taste out of his mouth. When he let the cup move from his lips, he fixed Achilleas with a firm stare. He did not sit because he had not been invited to.
"Everything is in order, but you already know that, my King," Krysto said simply, "I'm sure you've already read the reports I sent back to the city sixty times or so. You know it inside and out. You have missed nothing. I have missed nothing," Krysto noted calmly, "Does this suffice as my report or must I go into the details you are already aware of?" His smile was wry at best and he shifted from one food to the other.
The mention of sacrifices to the gods had Krysto taking another long swig of his wine. He supped from his cup and then sighed through his nose, "I'll ensure that we perform sacrifices for Poseidon, Ares, and Apollo. Maybe Hades as well to give the men a somber sort of hope that they will be guided safely should they fall," he said honestly. They would need to ensure that each soldier carried a coin with them. Just in case. Even the haughty soldiers who were insistent that they would not die. That was not how wars worked. Death did not come because soldiers chose to die. "Is there anything else I should put to order, my King?"
If there was one thing that had been a bit of a struggle for Krysto, it was the fact that his best friend was now... the King. This was nothing that they had ever discussed happening. There were no plans or assumptions to be made in this situation. They had not hashed out what would be arranged between the two of them if this were to come to pass. It had never been anything but a far off possibility at worst and an imposibility at best. For the paradigm to shift about them more than it already had in the last few weeks was something that Krysto was trying not to take to heart.
King Achilleas was forced to act differently. How it was to affect their friendship, the man did not know, nor did he quite care. There were bigger things to worry about, starting with the status of the present and the war they were to be preparing for. Long ago, Krysto had told himself that war was not something he ever truly wanted to return to. The first instance, fighting in the last Egyptian-Greek conflict, had been enough for the young man. Now older and more practiced and with a long-term title under his belt, it was easier to stomach.
But only minutely.
He had Nefeli and his unborn child to think about.
Right now, however, his duty was to his King. Even if his King was his closest friend. King Achilleas' friendly embrace was inviting, but his jab toward Krysto had the man frowning at him only briefly. Then it was gone and he was glancing around at everyone around them, realizing that he truly had overstepped boundaries he had never thought would suddenly have separated them even further. Having to force down the momentary feeling of revulsion and irritation at the feeling of eyes on them, the man made only a motion for them to walk together.
Krysto had made fine work of the camp, as was expected of him. He himself held himself to such a staunch standard that it was difficult to expect anything less than the perfection he had come to embrace. Separated from the King, Krysto walked with a sharp distance between them and his hands at his sides. The armor that he wore was like a second skin that he hardly noticed anymore. It had not taken long for him to learn to move in something so confining, but he had doned the armor of his Kingdom at an exceedingly young age. This was nothing, if not the most comfortable he could be while at war.
"Everything is progressing upon your timetables, King Mikaelidas," Captain Krysto said in a stoic tone. The usual mask that he used when making a conscious effort to keep distance where distance was due.
He expected the onslaught of questions, staring ahead as they walked together. Krysto ignored the guards that shadowed the new King. Krysto was their better as the new Captain of the Kingsguard. Whether they remembered such a fact was beyond him, but a single warning glance back at the following guards was enough to have at least one of the men rethinking the very clear signal that he could pounce at any moment. Just one of them faltered and the resulting scowl from Krysto that the man showed any sign of weakness while at Achilleas back was clearly settled on his features. His displeasure was blatant, his disapproval enough to dry the mouth.
Krysto's answers to Achilleas' questions were all firm and to the point. "Enough men to fill every ship that we can send to Egypt without leaving our own shores unprotected. Most of the militant lords have shown their faces. The blacksmiths are making extra weapons as quickly as they and the soldiers aiding them can. Otherwise our shipment of weapons arrived this morning and is being taken inventory of as we speak. The men will be outfitted by nightfall. Lord Leventi is ensuring that the military's supply of horses is at acceptable levels," each answer was given in the same quick succession that King Achilleas had thrown them.
This was not unusual of the pair. Often, they were on such a wavelength that this was all to be expected. Sometimes Achilleas seemed to try and temper his personality and Krysto wondered if he truly felt guilt for something that he himself had long grown used to. There was no judgement here. Nor was Krysto displeased with the lack of room to speak. The captain was content to speak when given the chance, and remain quiet when Achilleas spoke.
At least in public. Were they in private, Krysto would have made a snide remark about his tendency to overshadow people while simultaneously asking a barage of questions without waiting for their answers. Arriving into the pavillion, Krysto did not deny the gift of wine, immediately taking a sip of it to wash away the bitter taste out of his mouth. When he let the cup move from his lips, he fixed Achilleas with a firm stare. He did not sit because he had not been invited to.
"Everything is in order, but you already know that, my King," Krysto said simply, "I'm sure you've already read the reports I sent back to the city sixty times or so. You know it inside and out. You have missed nothing. I have missed nothing," Krysto noted calmly, "Does this suffice as my report or must I go into the details you are already aware of?" His smile was wry at best and he shifted from one food to the other.
The mention of sacrifices to the gods had Krysto taking another long swig of his wine. He supped from his cup and then sighed through his nose, "I'll ensure that we perform sacrifices for Poseidon, Ares, and Apollo. Maybe Hades as well to give the men a somber sort of hope that they will be guided safely should they fall," he said honestly. They would need to ensure that each soldier carried a coin with them. Just in case. Even the haughty soldiers who were insistent that they would not die. That was not how wars worked. Death did not come because soldiers chose to die. "Is there anything else I should put to order, my King?"
It wasn't precisely part of his usual duties to escort cargo to the purchasers of fine Leventi stock. The Head of his House and controller of the business administration and financial processes of the horseflesh trade that his dynasteia was so famous for, basic handling of transport was hardly part of Fotios' job description anymore.
Not that he didn't know how to do it.
Thanks to his father Serafim being a man of anal perfectionism, a polymath and an almost religious believer in knowledge being equal to power and power being the key to success, Fotios and his brothers had each been forced to work within the role if each different stage of their trade. From the studding and lineage management, to the birthing of foals, through the training and breaking of the animal to the delivery of them. Fotios had performed a surgical investigation of a horse, had been forced to cut a foal from its mother pre-birth when nature hadn't done its job, and he had learnt for over half a year with a horse physician to understand the better breeding, nutrition and exercise secrets that would create the healthiest, strongest and fastest beasts in Greece.
Fotios knew every element of an equine as his knew himself and the trade of then was his lifesblood as well as his livelihood.
So, when a baron of one of the Mikaelidas provinces had confirmed that roughly two dozen additional steeds were required for his battalion in order to support new recruits, it had been at the risk of his family name and value to refuse.
Finding the horses was of no difficulty. At any one time, Fotios' photographic memory knew where ever steed of Leventi breeding was being store, pastured, worked, trained and sold. Where the animals would come from was not a problem. The only issue had been the need to take them from differing locations. Not a delivery he had expected to make, the biggest inconvenience to his morning but least issue to his accounts and business was to skim a few creatures from separate locations - a task he was not willing to entrust to lowly cattle herder when the deadline for delivery was the setting sail to war.
Fotios had been up at dawn and was then journeying around the Leventi lands and subsidiaries all morning to collect the required beasts. It had taken him hours, he was hungry, he was thirsty and he was excessively hot from the late summer day. And he was looking forward to returning home, seeing to the duties he had left unattended at the estate and then crawl into a steaming bath.
But first, he had to deliver the horses he had so painstakingly collected at the cost of his stomach, to the beaches where cargo and resources were being loaded into ships.
By the time Fotios led a small team of his stable hands onto the dunes with twenty four geldings of the finest and best trained stock in Taengea in tow, he was ready to call it a day and expectant of a Mikaelidas lord (from any province - he didn't much care at this point) to step forward and claim the animals as they made a distinguished and auspicious arrival upon the shoreline...
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Nov 28, 2019 19:19:28 GMT
Posted In Heading South on Nov 28, 2019 19:19:28 GMT
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
It wasn't precisely part of his usual duties to escort cargo to the purchasers of fine Leventi stock. The Head of his House and controller of the business administration and financial processes of the horseflesh trade that his dynasteia was so famous for, basic handling of transport was hardly part of Fotios' job description anymore.
Not that he didn't know how to do it.
Thanks to his father Serafim being a man of anal perfectionism, a polymath and an almost religious believer in knowledge being equal to power and power being the key to success, Fotios and his brothers had each been forced to work within the role if each different stage of their trade. From the studding and lineage management, to the birthing of foals, through the training and breaking of the animal to the delivery of them. Fotios had performed a surgical investigation of a horse, had been forced to cut a foal from its mother pre-birth when nature hadn't done its job, and he had learnt for over half a year with a horse physician to understand the better breeding, nutrition and exercise secrets that would create the healthiest, strongest and fastest beasts in Greece.
Fotios knew every element of an equine as his knew himself and the trade of then was his lifesblood as well as his livelihood.
So, when a baron of one of the Mikaelidas provinces had confirmed that roughly two dozen additional steeds were required for his battalion in order to support new recruits, it had been at the risk of his family name and value to refuse.
Finding the horses was of no difficulty. At any one time, Fotios' photographic memory knew where ever steed of Leventi breeding was being store, pastured, worked, trained and sold. Where the animals would come from was not a problem. The only issue had been the need to take them from differing locations. Not a delivery he had expected to make, the biggest inconvenience to his morning but least issue to his accounts and business was to skim a few creatures from separate locations - a task he was not willing to entrust to lowly cattle herder when the deadline for delivery was the setting sail to war.
Fotios had been up at dawn and was then journeying around the Leventi lands and subsidiaries all morning to collect the required beasts. It had taken him hours, he was hungry, he was thirsty and he was excessively hot from the late summer day. And he was looking forward to returning home, seeing to the duties he had left unattended at the estate and then crawl into a steaming bath.
But first, he had to deliver the horses he had so painstakingly collected at the cost of his stomach, to the beaches where cargo and resources were being loaded into ships.
By the time Fotios led a small team of his stable hands onto the dunes with twenty four geldings of the finest and best trained stock in Taengea in tow, he was ready to call it a day and expectant of a Mikaelidas lord (from any province - he didn't much care at this point) to step forward and claim the animals as they made a distinguished and auspicious arrival upon the shoreline...
It wasn't precisely part of his usual duties to escort cargo to the purchasers of fine Leventi stock. The Head of his House and controller of the business administration and financial processes of the horseflesh trade that his dynasteia was so famous for, basic handling of transport was hardly part of Fotios' job description anymore.
Not that he didn't know how to do it.
Thanks to his father Serafim being a man of anal perfectionism, a polymath and an almost religious believer in knowledge being equal to power and power being the key to success, Fotios and his brothers had each been forced to work within the role if each different stage of their trade. From the studding and lineage management, to the birthing of foals, through the training and breaking of the animal to the delivery of them. Fotios had performed a surgical investigation of a horse, had been forced to cut a foal from its mother pre-birth when nature hadn't done its job, and he had learnt for over half a year with a horse physician to understand the better breeding, nutrition and exercise secrets that would create the healthiest, strongest and fastest beasts in Greece.
Fotios knew every element of an equine as his knew himself and the trade of then was his lifesblood as well as his livelihood.
So, when a baron of one of the Mikaelidas provinces had confirmed that roughly two dozen additional steeds were required for his battalion in order to support new recruits, it had been at the risk of his family name and value to refuse.
Finding the horses was of no difficulty. At any one time, Fotios' photographic memory knew where ever steed of Leventi breeding was being store, pastured, worked, trained and sold. Where the animals would come from was not a problem. The only issue had been the need to take them from differing locations. Not a delivery he had expected to make, the biggest inconvenience to his morning but least issue to his accounts and business was to skim a few creatures from separate locations - a task he was not willing to entrust to lowly cattle herder when the deadline for delivery was the setting sail to war.
Fotios had been up at dawn and was then journeying around the Leventi lands and subsidiaries all morning to collect the required beasts. It had taken him hours, he was hungry, he was thirsty and he was excessively hot from the late summer day. And he was looking forward to returning home, seeing to the duties he had left unattended at the estate and then crawl into a steaming bath.
But first, he had to deliver the horses he had so painstakingly collected at the cost of his stomach, to the beaches where cargo and resources were being loaded into ships.
By the time Fotios led a small team of his stable hands onto the dunes with twenty four geldings of the finest and best trained stock in Taengea in tow, he was ready to call it a day and expectant of a Mikaelidas lord (from any province - he didn't much care at this point) to step forward and claim the animals as they made a distinguished and auspicious arrival upon the shoreline...
Of course Krysto had satisfactory answers to all the questions that kis King threw at him. Of course Achilleas knew as much, because his friend was uncannily accurate in his assessment that the Mikaleidas man had scoured the written reports he had already sent to the city. This was just Achilleas outwardly asserting himself, finding his feet ‘on the ground’ as it were.
The sacrifices were important, both for morale in the men and for Achilleas’ own peace of mind. The twists and turns his own life had taken was proof enough to the man that they still found satisfaction in toying with the mortal world, and he would not lead Taengean men on foreign shores without ensuring they had done enough to court the Gods fickle favour. He nodded sharply at Krysto’s assurances, trusting the man well enough to see it done. “Let me know when, I would be present and offer the first sacrifice myself.”
Noticing that his friend still stood, and realising that it was because he had not formally invited him to sit, Achilleas stifled a sigh. “Be seated, Captain” the new King said shortly, shooting a look at the other man. “You have done well, I am sure you do not need me to say it. Have you all the support you need to get this finished?”
He took a sip of the wine that had been brought, trying to stem the frustration at being on the outskirts of this work that he knew he was actually good at. Instead of being able to do it himself he was left having to push and more on to Krysto and his contemporaries. That left Achilleas free to do other things that were now expected of him, the meetings and conferences, the reassuring and justifying that the course of action they had decided upon was solid. Agreeing what was to be done in his absence, that Emilios would lead as his title denoted, had admittedly left the King a little uncomfortable.
He knew his brother had the potential to be great, Emilios was quick thinking and industrious when he put his mind towards something. The problem was his tendency to not do that. And as was customary, his brother had been volatile since their father’s death. Achilleas had not borne witness to the destruction he was said to have wrought in their father’s study, but he had heard of it. And though he and Emilios had not exactly had a heart to heart, it had never been their way, his brother had never bothered to hide his feelings. That worried Achilleas, with him to be left in a position where his every expression or turn of phrase could offend those they needed.
Their House was fragmented, clinging on to power after being carved asunder by death and scandal, and though he didn’t want to think it, Achilleas knew well enough that there would be those who might look to exploit such weakness when his focus was drawn by an external threat. Emilios would need to be strong without alienating their allies, and those that he was not entirely sure could be called such. Such as the man he could see now, cresting the brow of one of the dunes, causing a stir with the horses that he mustered.
Head of House Leventi, his wife’s uncle, his late father’s best friend. And now a man who laid claim to the legal weight of House Mikaelidas too. Achilleas had been livid when he had heard, unable to understand what would lead his father to make such a stupid decision, trying to ignore the hurt at such an open lack of faith in his own sons. In Achilleas, really, for it was he that stood to inherit the role of Head of House. And now it was his brother who had to manage that. He had not spoken of the break of faith to anyone, not even his friend beside him. It was yet another claw in the lion’s side that did not need sharing with the world. The King’s gaze narrowed a little at the sight of the Leventi Lord, and he waved a hand, beckoned over one of the men who stood at hand.
“Go and invite the Lord Leventi to join us for some refreshment. See those horses are inspected and stabled”
He had seen the man only a couple of times since Emilios had come to him, and both occasions had been amongst many others as they discussed the threat that Taengea faced and how they would answer it. This would be..more intimate, and had he been acting off feeling alone, Achilleas would not have received him, but he knew better. Now more than ever they needed to keep the man close, for he could make life difficult if he so wished. And so the new King plastered a pleasant smile on his face as he awaited his uncle in law to draw close. The man was familiar enough, having been his father’s close confidante over the years, and before the thing with Stephanos, Achilleas had never turned much thought toward the Leventi Lord. He was powerful, that was sure enough, but had been an established ally of Irakles’ and therefore, by notion, of Achilleas himself. Now he felt less certain.
But it was a doubt he did not let show as he rose to meet the older man, allowing him to bow before he reached forward to clasp the other man’s arm in a familiar greeting.
“Lord Leventi, it appears as though you have delivered for Taengea once again, friend”. Achilleas glanced over the man’s shoulder toward where the horses were being led away, his smile not dimming as he nodded toward Krysto. “And this man has been delivering everything else, I am pleased to say. You will rest for a moment and take some refreshment before your journey back to the city, yes?”
Another seat was quickly brought forward, and somehow there was a platter of fruit and nuts conjured up from somewhere too. Not everything about being King was burdensome, it would seem. Sitting once more, Achilleas gestured for Lord Fotios to join them. “I am surprised, my Lord, that the task of such a delivery has fallen to you?”
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Of course Krysto had satisfactory answers to all the questions that kis King threw at him. Of course Achilleas knew as much, because his friend was uncannily accurate in his assessment that the Mikaleidas man had scoured the written reports he had already sent to the city. This was just Achilleas outwardly asserting himself, finding his feet ‘on the ground’ as it were.
The sacrifices were important, both for morale in the men and for Achilleas’ own peace of mind. The twists and turns his own life had taken was proof enough to the man that they still found satisfaction in toying with the mortal world, and he would not lead Taengean men on foreign shores without ensuring they had done enough to court the Gods fickle favour. He nodded sharply at Krysto’s assurances, trusting the man well enough to see it done. “Let me know when, I would be present and offer the first sacrifice myself.”
Noticing that his friend still stood, and realising that it was because he had not formally invited him to sit, Achilleas stifled a sigh. “Be seated, Captain” the new King said shortly, shooting a look at the other man. “You have done well, I am sure you do not need me to say it. Have you all the support you need to get this finished?”
He took a sip of the wine that had been brought, trying to stem the frustration at being on the outskirts of this work that he knew he was actually good at. Instead of being able to do it himself he was left having to push and more on to Krysto and his contemporaries. That left Achilleas free to do other things that were now expected of him, the meetings and conferences, the reassuring and justifying that the course of action they had decided upon was solid. Agreeing what was to be done in his absence, that Emilios would lead as his title denoted, had admittedly left the King a little uncomfortable.
He knew his brother had the potential to be great, Emilios was quick thinking and industrious when he put his mind towards something. The problem was his tendency to not do that. And as was customary, his brother had been volatile since their father’s death. Achilleas had not borne witness to the destruction he was said to have wrought in their father’s study, but he had heard of it. And though he and Emilios had not exactly had a heart to heart, it had never been their way, his brother had never bothered to hide his feelings. That worried Achilleas, with him to be left in a position where his every expression or turn of phrase could offend those they needed.
Their House was fragmented, clinging on to power after being carved asunder by death and scandal, and though he didn’t want to think it, Achilleas knew well enough that there would be those who might look to exploit such weakness when his focus was drawn by an external threat. Emilios would need to be strong without alienating their allies, and those that he was not entirely sure could be called such. Such as the man he could see now, cresting the brow of one of the dunes, causing a stir with the horses that he mustered.
Head of House Leventi, his wife’s uncle, his late father’s best friend. And now a man who laid claim to the legal weight of House Mikaelidas too. Achilleas had been livid when he had heard, unable to understand what would lead his father to make such a stupid decision, trying to ignore the hurt at such an open lack of faith in his own sons. In Achilleas, really, for it was he that stood to inherit the role of Head of House. And now it was his brother who had to manage that. He had not spoken of the break of faith to anyone, not even his friend beside him. It was yet another claw in the lion’s side that did not need sharing with the world. The King’s gaze narrowed a little at the sight of the Leventi Lord, and he waved a hand, beckoned over one of the men who stood at hand.
“Go and invite the Lord Leventi to join us for some refreshment. See those horses are inspected and stabled”
He had seen the man only a couple of times since Emilios had come to him, and both occasions had been amongst many others as they discussed the threat that Taengea faced and how they would answer it. This would be..more intimate, and had he been acting off feeling alone, Achilleas would not have received him, but he knew better. Now more than ever they needed to keep the man close, for he could make life difficult if he so wished. And so the new King plastered a pleasant smile on his face as he awaited his uncle in law to draw close. The man was familiar enough, having been his father’s close confidante over the years, and before the thing with Stephanos, Achilleas had never turned much thought toward the Leventi Lord. He was powerful, that was sure enough, but had been an established ally of Irakles’ and therefore, by notion, of Achilleas himself. Now he felt less certain.
But it was a doubt he did not let show as he rose to meet the older man, allowing him to bow before he reached forward to clasp the other man’s arm in a familiar greeting.
“Lord Leventi, it appears as though you have delivered for Taengea once again, friend”. Achilleas glanced over the man’s shoulder toward where the horses were being led away, his smile not dimming as he nodded toward Krysto. “And this man has been delivering everything else, I am pleased to say. You will rest for a moment and take some refreshment before your journey back to the city, yes?”
Another seat was quickly brought forward, and somehow there was a platter of fruit and nuts conjured up from somewhere too. Not everything about being King was burdensome, it would seem. Sitting once more, Achilleas gestured for Lord Fotios to join them. “I am surprised, my Lord, that the task of such a delivery has fallen to you?”
Of course Krysto had satisfactory answers to all the questions that kis King threw at him. Of course Achilleas knew as much, because his friend was uncannily accurate in his assessment that the Mikaleidas man had scoured the written reports he had already sent to the city. This was just Achilleas outwardly asserting himself, finding his feet ‘on the ground’ as it were.
The sacrifices were important, both for morale in the men and for Achilleas’ own peace of mind. The twists and turns his own life had taken was proof enough to the man that they still found satisfaction in toying with the mortal world, and he would not lead Taengean men on foreign shores without ensuring they had done enough to court the Gods fickle favour. He nodded sharply at Krysto’s assurances, trusting the man well enough to see it done. “Let me know when, I would be present and offer the first sacrifice myself.”
Noticing that his friend still stood, and realising that it was because he had not formally invited him to sit, Achilleas stifled a sigh. “Be seated, Captain” the new King said shortly, shooting a look at the other man. “You have done well, I am sure you do not need me to say it. Have you all the support you need to get this finished?”
He took a sip of the wine that had been brought, trying to stem the frustration at being on the outskirts of this work that he knew he was actually good at. Instead of being able to do it himself he was left having to push and more on to Krysto and his contemporaries. That left Achilleas free to do other things that were now expected of him, the meetings and conferences, the reassuring and justifying that the course of action they had decided upon was solid. Agreeing what was to be done in his absence, that Emilios would lead as his title denoted, had admittedly left the King a little uncomfortable.
He knew his brother had the potential to be great, Emilios was quick thinking and industrious when he put his mind towards something. The problem was his tendency to not do that. And as was customary, his brother had been volatile since their father’s death. Achilleas had not borne witness to the destruction he was said to have wrought in their father’s study, but he had heard of it. And though he and Emilios had not exactly had a heart to heart, it had never been their way, his brother had never bothered to hide his feelings. That worried Achilleas, with him to be left in a position where his every expression or turn of phrase could offend those they needed.
Their House was fragmented, clinging on to power after being carved asunder by death and scandal, and though he didn’t want to think it, Achilleas knew well enough that there would be those who might look to exploit such weakness when his focus was drawn by an external threat. Emilios would need to be strong without alienating their allies, and those that he was not entirely sure could be called such. Such as the man he could see now, cresting the brow of one of the dunes, causing a stir with the horses that he mustered.
Head of House Leventi, his wife’s uncle, his late father’s best friend. And now a man who laid claim to the legal weight of House Mikaelidas too. Achilleas had been livid when he had heard, unable to understand what would lead his father to make such a stupid decision, trying to ignore the hurt at such an open lack of faith in his own sons. In Achilleas, really, for it was he that stood to inherit the role of Head of House. And now it was his brother who had to manage that. He had not spoken of the break of faith to anyone, not even his friend beside him. It was yet another claw in the lion’s side that did not need sharing with the world. The King’s gaze narrowed a little at the sight of the Leventi Lord, and he waved a hand, beckoned over one of the men who stood at hand.
“Go and invite the Lord Leventi to join us for some refreshment. See those horses are inspected and stabled”
He had seen the man only a couple of times since Emilios had come to him, and both occasions had been amongst many others as they discussed the threat that Taengea faced and how they would answer it. This would be..more intimate, and had he been acting off feeling alone, Achilleas would not have received him, but he knew better. Now more than ever they needed to keep the man close, for he could make life difficult if he so wished. And so the new King plastered a pleasant smile on his face as he awaited his uncle in law to draw close. The man was familiar enough, having been his father’s close confidante over the years, and before the thing with Stephanos, Achilleas had never turned much thought toward the Leventi Lord. He was powerful, that was sure enough, but had been an established ally of Irakles’ and therefore, by notion, of Achilleas himself. Now he felt less certain.
But it was a doubt he did not let show as he rose to meet the older man, allowing him to bow before he reached forward to clasp the other man’s arm in a familiar greeting.
“Lord Leventi, it appears as though you have delivered for Taengea once again, friend”. Achilleas glanced over the man’s shoulder toward where the horses were being led away, his smile not dimming as he nodded toward Krysto. “And this man has been delivering everything else, I am pleased to say. You will rest for a moment and take some refreshment before your journey back to the city, yes?”
Another seat was quickly brought forward, and somehow there was a platter of fruit and nuts conjured up from somewhere too. Not everything about being King was burdensome, it would seem. Sitting once more, Achilleas gestured for Lord Fotios to join them. “I am surprised, my Lord, that the task of such a delivery has fallen to you?”
This morning had seen him roughly shaken from sleep, and hauled out of bed in order to assist in the moving of horses. That kind of enterprise was always a pain. First there was the assembling of the servants, such as himself, then they had to trudge across Vasiliadon, then go about the actual process of gathering the animals. Of course, the beasts didn’t come without their things. Bridals, blankets, in some cases, necessary armor if they were for calvary. What he’d learned about horses were that they were delicate animals. Powerful while in their element? Absolutely, but delicate all the same. They could not be too hot, too cold, could not stay wet for long periods of time. They fell ill easily, required a special diet, their stomachs could twist and they’d have to be put down, or one of their legs could break for seemingly no reason.
When one horse nipped him hard on the shoulder while they were walking, he cried out and glared at the offending animal, giving it an elbow to it’s chin. No. Give him donkeys any day. At least to own. Donkeys were far more stubborn and less impressive than horses, but they were healthier and hardier. They were also more what he was used to dealing with. Thankfully, he wasn’t going to war to care for these animals. He was going to stay in Vasiliadon where it was safe...he did have the odd moment where he wondered if he could sign up as a soldier for the Greeks and somehow make his posting in Judea. Then he could bring Hannah to live with him...but then he’d be ostracized from his own people for being some sort of traitor. It wasn’t a perfect idea, but one he toyed with as he helped lead two horses, one on each side, across the dunes after Lord Fotios.
He stood by, half listening to the conversation but their speech was too fast and he gave up trying to understand. Instead he contented himself with his little soldier day dream and thinking on his wife and child. It used to be that he thought of Hannah holding a baby, but now he pictured a boy, sometimes a little girl, depending on the day, helping his wife cook or clean, or some other domestic chore. Intellectually he knew his wife had probably remarried by now, but he liked to assume she hadn’t. He also liked to assume she was happy and content with their little one, and that both were waiting for him.
He didn’t hear the king telling one of his captains to see that the horses were inspected and stabled. Isaiah was still dreamily looking out over the ocean, picturing nice things that he couldn’t know had never been, and he started once he found someone in front of him, speaking Greek. “Slower,” he asked politely, his accent thick.
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Dec 17, 2019 15:49:24 GMT
Posted In Heading South on Dec 17, 2019 15:49:24 GMT
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This morning had seen him roughly shaken from sleep, and hauled out of bed in order to assist in the moving of horses. That kind of enterprise was always a pain. First there was the assembling of the servants, such as himself, then they had to trudge across Vasiliadon, then go about the actual process of gathering the animals. Of course, the beasts didn’t come without their things. Bridals, blankets, in some cases, necessary armor if they were for calvary. What he’d learned about horses were that they were delicate animals. Powerful while in their element? Absolutely, but delicate all the same. They could not be too hot, too cold, could not stay wet for long periods of time. They fell ill easily, required a special diet, their stomachs could twist and they’d have to be put down, or one of their legs could break for seemingly no reason.
When one horse nipped him hard on the shoulder while they were walking, he cried out and glared at the offending animal, giving it an elbow to it’s chin. No. Give him donkeys any day. At least to own. Donkeys were far more stubborn and less impressive than horses, but they were healthier and hardier. They were also more what he was used to dealing with. Thankfully, he wasn’t going to war to care for these animals. He was going to stay in Vasiliadon where it was safe...he did have the odd moment where he wondered if he could sign up as a soldier for the Greeks and somehow make his posting in Judea. Then he could bring Hannah to live with him...but then he’d be ostracized from his own people for being some sort of traitor. It wasn’t a perfect idea, but one he toyed with as he helped lead two horses, one on each side, across the dunes after Lord Fotios.
He stood by, half listening to the conversation but their speech was too fast and he gave up trying to understand. Instead he contented himself with his little soldier day dream and thinking on his wife and child. It used to be that he thought of Hannah holding a baby, but now he pictured a boy, sometimes a little girl, depending on the day, helping his wife cook or clean, or some other domestic chore. Intellectually he knew his wife had probably remarried by now, but he liked to assume she hadn’t. He also liked to assume she was happy and content with their little one, and that both were waiting for him.
He didn’t hear the king telling one of his captains to see that the horses were inspected and stabled. Isaiah was still dreamily looking out over the ocean, picturing nice things that he couldn’t know had never been, and he started once he found someone in front of him, speaking Greek. “Slower,” he asked politely, his accent thick.
This morning had seen him roughly shaken from sleep, and hauled out of bed in order to assist in the moving of horses. That kind of enterprise was always a pain. First there was the assembling of the servants, such as himself, then they had to trudge across Vasiliadon, then go about the actual process of gathering the animals. Of course, the beasts didn’t come without their things. Bridals, blankets, in some cases, necessary armor if they were for calvary. What he’d learned about horses were that they were delicate animals. Powerful while in their element? Absolutely, but delicate all the same. They could not be too hot, too cold, could not stay wet for long periods of time. They fell ill easily, required a special diet, their stomachs could twist and they’d have to be put down, or one of their legs could break for seemingly no reason.
When one horse nipped him hard on the shoulder while they were walking, he cried out and glared at the offending animal, giving it an elbow to it’s chin. No. Give him donkeys any day. At least to own. Donkeys were far more stubborn and less impressive than horses, but they were healthier and hardier. They were also more what he was used to dealing with. Thankfully, he wasn’t going to war to care for these animals. He was going to stay in Vasiliadon where it was safe...he did have the odd moment where he wondered if he could sign up as a soldier for the Greeks and somehow make his posting in Judea. Then he could bring Hannah to live with him...but then he’d be ostracized from his own people for being some sort of traitor. It wasn’t a perfect idea, but one he toyed with as he helped lead two horses, one on each side, across the dunes after Lord Fotios.
He stood by, half listening to the conversation but their speech was too fast and he gave up trying to understand. Instead he contented himself with his little soldier day dream and thinking on his wife and child. It used to be that he thought of Hannah holding a baby, but now he pictured a boy, sometimes a little girl, depending on the day, helping his wife cook or clean, or some other domestic chore. Intellectually he knew his wife had probably remarried by now, but he liked to assume she hadn’t. He also liked to assume she was happy and content with their little one, and that both were waiting for him.
He didn’t hear the king telling one of his captains to see that the horses were inspected and stabled. Isaiah was still dreamily looking out over the ocean, picturing nice things that he couldn’t know had never been, and he started once he found someone in front of him, speaking Greek. “Slower,” he asked politely, his accent thick.
Krysto did his part in informing King Achilleas of all the mandatory bits and pieces. He chose not to sit, however, when Achilleas offered him to, finding that he truly did want to stand. War made him far too restless to stay in one place. His mind and body were always vying for movement. A need to not sit for too long, even if the sole purpose was to enjoy the company of his very best friend and newly crowned king. There was still so much work that needed to be done that he wasn't going to let himself rest. At least, not yet. Not until he was sure that everything was taken care of and that everyone had found work.
Spotting the retinue of horses and man across the horizon from the entrance to the tent, Krysto shook his head as the large group came to a stop. "I would sit, your majesty, but I fear that there is still much more work to be done before the day is out. If you'll excuse me, I want to ensure that the horses are inspected properly before sundown," Krysto noted. He had no fears that Lord Leventi would have done his part perfectly, but he was also not keen on staying for whatever conversation King Achilleas and Lord Leventi were about to have.
He understood Achilleas' mild reservations about Lord Leventi. Being so close to the late King Irakles certainly didn't do him any favors. With so much on his own plate, Krysto simply preferred to separate himself from the King and the noble so that he could get ahead on some of the tasks he still needed to finish. Bowing to both men and backing away to take his leave, Krysto turned on his heel and started his way toward the large group of horses that had brought by Lord Leventi.
They seemed like magnificent stock, and it was a little sad to think that many of these massive creatures would not live to see the end of the war. It was not always the men that fell, but their steeds as well. Krysto had seen many a horse fall, whether they were part of the calvalry or the charioteers. Horses would fall and it would be both horse and human blood that would soak killing fields. It would not be just the screaming of humans, but of their equine counterparts. Krysto remembered the sound well even years after the last conflict. A lover of horses, those sounds had haunted him more than the cries of men ever had.
Human nature was so fickle, wasn't it?
Trailing through the camp, Krysto stopped before a servant that was tending to a few of the horses. He started to say something about inspecting the horses, but the man told him to speak slower. Krysto noticed the accent, wondering if his very very basic hebrew skills might help. But the man appeared to speak Greek, so he simply slowed his words so that they were easier to understand. "We need to have all of the horses inspected before they're taken to stable. You'll assist me from here on," Krysto said calmly, reaching a hand out to introduce himself. "I am Captain Krysto, the organizer of this camp."
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Krysto did his part in informing King Achilleas of all the mandatory bits and pieces. He chose not to sit, however, when Achilleas offered him to, finding that he truly did want to stand. War made him far too restless to stay in one place. His mind and body were always vying for movement. A need to not sit for too long, even if the sole purpose was to enjoy the company of his very best friend and newly crowned king. There was still so much work that needed to be done that he wasn't going to let himself rest. At least, not yet. Not until he was sure that everything was taken care of and that everyone had found work.
Spotting the retinue of horses and man across the horizon from the entrance to the tent, Krysto shook his head as the large group came to a stop. "I would sit, your majesty, but I fear that there is still much more work to be done before the day is out. If you'll excuse me, I want to ensure that the horses are inspected properly before sundown," Krysto noted. He had no fears that Lord Leventi would have done his part perfectly, but he was also not keen on staying for whatever conversation King Achilleas and Lord Leventi were about to have.
He understood Achilleas' mild reservations about Lord Leventi. Being so close to the late King Irakles certainly didn't do him any favors. With so much on his own plate, Krysto simply preferred to separate himself from the King and the noble so that he could get ahead on some of the tasks he still needed to finish. Bowing to both men and backing away to take his leave, Krysto turned on his heel and started his way toward the large group of horses that had brought by Lord Leventi.
They seemed like magnificent stock, and it was a little sad to think that many of these massive creatures would not live to see the end of the war. It was not always the men that fell, but their steeds as well. Krysto had seen many a horse fall, whether they were part of the calvalry or the charioteers. Horses would fall and it would be both horse and human blood that would soak killing fields. It would not be just the screaming of humans, but of their equine counterparts. Krysto remembered the sound well even years after the last conflict. A lover of horses, those sounds had haunted him more than the cries of men ever had.
Human nature was so fickle, wasn't it?
Trailing through the camp, Krysto stopped before a servant that was tending to a few of the horses. He started to say something about inspecting the horses, but the man told him to speak slower. Krysto noticed the accent, wondering if his very very basic hebrew skills might help. But the man appeared to speak Greek, so he simply slowed his words so that they were easier to understand. "We need to have all of the horses inspected before they're taken to stable. You'll assist me from here on," Krysto said calmly, reaching a hand out to introduce himself. "I am Captain Krysto, the organizer of this camp."
Krysto did his part in informing King Achilleas of all the mandatory bits and pieces. He chose not to sit, however, when Achilleas offered him to, finding that he truly did want to stand. War made him far too restless to stay in one place. His mind and body were always vying for movement. A need to not sit for too long, even if the sole purpose was to enjoy the company of his very best friend and newly crowned king. There was still so much work that needed to be done that he wasn't going to let himself rest. At least, not yet. Not until he was sure that everything was taken care of and that everyone had found work.
Spotting the retinue of horses and man across the horizon from the entrance to the tent, Krysto shook his head as the large group came to a stop. "I would sit, your majesty, but I fear that there is still much more work to be done before the day is out. If you'll excuse me, I want to ensure that the horses are inspected properly before sundown," Krysto noted. He had no fears that Lord Leventi would have done his part perfectly, but he was also not keen on staying for whatever conversation King Achilleas and Lord Leventi were about to have.
He understood Achilleas' mild reservations about Lord Leventi. Being so close to the late King Irakles certainly didn't do him any favors. With so much on his own plate, Krysto simply preferred to separate himself from the King and the noble so that he could get ahead on some of the tasks he still needed to finish. Bowing to both men and backing away to take his leave, Krysto turned on his heel and started his way toward the large group of horses that had brought by Lord Leventi.
They seemed like magnificent stock, and it was a little sad to think that many of these massive creatures would not live to see the end of the war. It was not always the men that fell, but their steeds as well. Krysto had seen many a horse fall, whether they were part of the calvalry or the charioteers. Horses would fall and it would be both horse and human blood that would soak killing fields. It would not be just the screaming of humans, but of their equine counterparts. Krysto remembered the sound well even years after the last conflict. A lover of horses, those sounds had haunted him more than the cries of men ever had.
Human nature was so fickle, wasn't it?
Trailing through the camp, Krysto stopped before a servant that was tending to a few of the horses. He started to say something about inspecting the horses, but the man told him to speak slower. Krysto noticed the accent, wondering if his very very basic hebrew skills might help. But the man appeared to speak Greek, so he simply slowed his words so that they were easier to understand. "We need to have all of the horses inspected before they're taken to stable. You'll assist me from here on," Krysto said calmly, reaching a hand out to introduce himself. "I am Captain Krysto, the organizer of this camp."
Isaiah had not been born a servant. He’d been born to a merchant family and while they’d never be considered rich or anywhere close, they were comfortable. Food was never in questionable supply and they’d had steady work. As a child, he’d ridden in his father’s wagon, half hidden among the olive oil jars while his brother rode in the wagon seat next to their father. It was his job to figure out which bottle was next and to whom it belonged. When he was older, his father had taken up the stall duties and left the deliveries to him and his brother. They were, again, not servants, but always directed in where the giant earthen vessels of oil were to be placed in a household. His whole life was directed; everyone wanted to do the thinking for him and while he had never minded it all that much, it was a little stifling at times. But, it was good training, for now, he definitely was a servant. His was to do, not to question, and so, he kept his words to himself. The ones that would have informed this Captain Krysto that Lord Fotios had already gone over every single animal himself and deemed them perfectly suited. Besides, if the captain wanted to waste his time and assure himself, it was of no concern of Isaiah’s. These weren’t his horses. This wasn’t his command. All he was here for was to lead a horse where he was told to take it. So that’s what he resolved to do.
Nodding to Captain Krysto, he did as Krysto instructed, putting his own horse first for the captain to go over. He didn’t say a single word. Didn’t tell the captain that the horse wasn’t sick, had no blemishes, was a perfect example of horseflesh. Nothing. Doing his best to assist where assistance was required, he glanced up at the sun every once in a while, gauging the time and wondering how long this whole enterprise was supposed to take. The thing he hated most about being a servant was that his time wasn’t really his own. He was always waiting on someone else. On their time table, their schedule, doing what they wanted. But, it was written that to be meek and patient was the way, and so Isaiah attempted to readopt those qualities and trailed after Krysto, doing whatever he was told to do.
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Isaiah had not been born a servant. He’d been born to a merchant family and while they’d never be considered rich or anywhere close, they were comfortable. Food was never in questionable supply and they’d had steady work. As a child, he’d ridden in his father’s wagon, half hidden among the olive oil jars while his brother rode in the wagon seat next to their father. It was his job to figure out which bottle was next and to whom it belonged. When he was older, his father had taken up the stall duties and left the deliveries to him and his brother. They were, again, not servants, but always directed in where the giant earthen vessels of oil were to be placed in a household. His whole life was directed; everyone wanted to do the thinking for him and while he had never minded it all that much, it was a little stifling at times. But, it was good training, for now, he definitely was a servant. His was to do, not to question, and so, he kept his words to himself. The ones that would have informed this Captain Krysto that Lord Fotios had already gone over every single animal himself and deemed them perfectly suited. Besides, if the captain wanted to waste his time and assure himself, it was of no concern of Isaiah’s. These weren’t his horses. This wasn’t his command. All he was here for was to lead a horse where he was told to take it. So that’s what he resolved to do.
Nodding to Captain Krysto, he did as Krysto instructed, putting his own horse first for the captain to go over. He didn’t say a single word. Didn’t tell the captain that the horse wasn’t sick, had no blemishes, was a perfect example of horseflesh. Nothing. Doing his best to assist where assistance was required, he glanced up at the sun every once in a while, gauging the time and wondering how long this whole enterprise was supposed to take. The thing he hated most about being a servant was that his time wasn’t really his own. He was always waiting on someone else. On their time table, their schedule, doing what they wanted. But, it was written that to be meek and patient was the way, and so Isaiah attempted to readopt those qualities and trailed after Krysto, doing whatever he was told to do.
Isaiah had not been born a servant. He’d been born to a merchant family and while they’d never be considered rich or anywhere close, they were comfortable. Food was never in questionable supply and they’d had steady work. As a child, he’d ridden in his father’s wagon, half hidden among the olive oil jars while his brother rode in the wagon seat next to their father. It was his job to figure out which bottle was next and to whom it belonged. When he was older, his father had taken up the stall duties and left the deliveries to him and his brother. They were, again, not servants, but always directed in where the giant earthen vessels of oil were to be placed in a household. His whole life was directed; everyone wanted to do the thinking for him and while he had never minded it all that much, it was a little stifling at times. But, it was good training, for now, he definitely was a servant. His was to do, not to question, and so, he kept his words to himself. The ones that would have informed this Captain Krysto that Lord Fotios had already gone over every single animal himself and deemed them perfectly suited. Besides, if the captain wanted to waste his time and assure himself, it was of no concern of Isaiah’s. These weren’t his horses. This wasn’t his command. All he was here for was to lead a horse where he was told to take it. So that’s what he resolved to do.
Nodding to Captain Krysto, he did as Krysto instructed, putting his own horse first for the captain to go over. He didn’t say a single word. Didn’t tell the captain that the horse wasn’t sick, had no blemishes, was a perfect example of horseflesh. Nothing. Doing his best to assist where assistance was required, he glanced up at the sun every once in a while, gauging the time and wondering how long this whole enterprise was supposed to take. The thing he hated most about being a servant was that his time wasn’t really his own. He was always waiting on someone else. On their time table, their schedule, doing what they wanted. But, it was written that to be meek and patient was the way, and so Isaiah attempted to readopt those qualities and trailed after Krysto, doing whatever he was told to do.
Fotios dismounted and approached the King as and when was appropriate. Only when Achilleas had made eye contact and gestured to indicate Fotios's closer approach, did he suffer himself upon the king's company. He nodded respectfully, a man who was rare to smile and so didn't fake it now, and simply placed a hand over his heart as he responded to the king's open recognition of his delivery to the beaches.
"Of course, Your Majesty." He insisted, his head offering a shake and his hand a dismissive gesture. "Taengea is both my home and my heart. I'll not see it suffer if I can anything to lend otherwise." He insisted with a genuine and honest turn of phrase and look to his eye. For this was all entirely true. Fotios loved his kingdom and his nation. He adored Taengea from its open meadows to its sprawling woodlands and beautiful shores. He was proud of his status within that world as the Head of the House of Leventi and he would not see it change for all the world unless he was determined that it should.
Paying no mind to the Captain that was assigned to care of the horses, nor the servant with whom he interacted - for there was little need for a man of his position to be so distracted, Fotios' attentions were for the king.
Encouraged to come and sit with the king, Fotios was entirely content to take up the invitation and settle himself into the chair available. He found it amusing when the young king appeared a little surprised at the promptness with which refreshments appeared at his elbow. A man used to the means and life of a soldier whose noble world consisted of that of a young lord in a side branch of a royal House. For Fotios, immediate supplication of his whims and desires was an obvious and guaranteed requirement from his staff, servants and slaves. He was used to, and pleased by the immediate attentions and selected a pear from the plate that was proffered at his shoulder.
"Wine would be well received after such a long ride." He said, to the servant, glancing quickly to Achilleas for his authorisation before a vase of burgundy was whisked from somewhere. Fotios was offered a chalice that he accepted gratefully and yet did not drink from immediately. Instead, he turned his attentions to Achilleas' other comment, his lip turning up at the side of his mouth.
"And surprised so you should be." He said with an element of jest in his tone, followed by annoyance directed at this he spoke of. "But occasionally our subordinates are not always as efficient as we wish. And I would not have the royal forces at a loss for the want of a few smarter choices from my House's provinces."
Lifting the cup to his lips and taking a limited sip from the rim, Fotios turned his head a little in a gesture of curious concern.
"You seem distracted with worries, Your Majesty." Fotios commented but turned such an observation into a mild joke before it could be taken offence to. "It seemed to me that you develop a dip between your brows when you are concentrating, Your Majesty. I could of course be wrong - perhaps you are just sterner of disposition than I had thought."
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Jan 20, 2020 20:00:44 GMT
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Fotios dismounted and approached the King as and when was appropriate. Only when Achilleas had made eye contact and gestured to indicate Fotios's closer approach, did he suffer himself upon the king's company. He nodded respectfully, a man who was rare to smile and so didn't fake it now, and simply placed a hand over his heart as he responded to the king's open recognition of his delivery to the beaches.
"Of course, Your Majesty." He insisted, his head offering a shake and his hand a dismissive gesture. "Taengea is both my home and my heart. I'll not see it suffer if I can anything to lend otherwise." He insisted with a genuine and honest turn of phrase and look to his eye. For this was all entirely true. Fotios loved his kingdom and his nation. He adored Taengea from its open meadows to its sprawling woodlands and beautiful shores. He was proud of his status within that world as the Head of the House of Leventi and he would not see it change for all the world unless he was determined that it should.
Paying no mind to the Captain that was assigned to care of the horses, nor the servant with whom he interacted - for there was little need for a man of his position to be so distracted, Fotios' attentions were for the king.
Encouraged to come and sit with the king, Fotios was entirely content to take up the invitation and settle himself into the chair available. He found it amusing when the young king appeared a little surprised at the promptness with which refreshments appeared at his elbow. A man used to the means and life of a soldier whose noble world consisted of that of a young lord in a side branch of a royal House. For Fotios, immediate supplication of his whims and desires was an obvious and guaranteed requirement from his staff, servants and slaves. He was used to, and pleased by the immediate attentions and selected a pear from the plate that was proffered at his shoulder.
"Wine would be well received after such a long ride." He said, to the servant, glancing quickly to Achilleas for his authorisation before a vase of burgundy was whisked from somewhere. Fotios was offered a chalice that he accepted gratefully and yet did not drink from immediately. Instead, he turned his attentions to Achilleas' other comment, his lip turning up at the side of his mouth.
"And surprised so you should be." He said with an element of jest in his tone, followed by annoyance directed at this he spoke of. "But occasionally our subordinates are not always as efficient as we wish. And I would not have the royal forces at a loss for the want of a few smarter choices from my House's provinces."
Lifting the cup to his lips and taking a limited sip from the rim, Fotios turned his head a little in a gesture of curious concern.
"You seem distracted with worries, Your Majesty." Fotios commented but turned such an observation into a mild joke before it could be taken offence to. "It seemed to me that you develop a dip between your brows when you are concentrating, Your Majesty. I could of course be wrong - perhaps you are just sterner of disposition than I had thought."
Fotios dismounted and approached the King as and when was appropriate. Only when Achilleas had made eye contact and gestured to indicate Fotios's closer approach, did he suffer himself upon the king's company. He nodded respectfully, a man who was rare to smile and so didn't fake it now, and simply placed a hand over his heart as he responded to the king's open recognition of his delivery to the beaches.
"Of course, Your Majesty." He insisted, his head offering a shake and his hand a dismissive gesture. "Taengea is both my home and my heart. I'll not see it suffer if I can anything to lend otherwise." He insisted with a genuine and honest turn of phrase and look to his eye. For this was all entirely true. Fotios loved his kingdom and his nation. He adored Taengea from its open meadows to its sprawling woodlands and beautiful shores. He was proud of his status within that world as the Head of the House of Leventi and he would not see it change for all the world unless he was determined that it should.
Paying no mind to the Captain that was assigned to care of the horses, nor the servant with whom he interacted - for there was little need for a man of his position to be so distracted, Fotios' attentions were for the king.
Encouraged to come and sit with the king, Fotios was entirely content to take up the invitation and settle himself into the chair available. He found it amusing when the young king appeared a little surprised at the promptness with which refreshments appeared at his elbow. A man used to the means and life of a soldier whose noble world consisted of that of a young lord in a side branch of a royal House. For Fotios, immediate supplication of his whims and desires was an obvious and guaranteed requirement from his staff, servants and slaves. He was used to, and pleased by the immediate attentions and selected a pear from the plate that was proffered at his shoulder.
"Wine would be well received after such a long ride." He said, to the servant, glancing quickly to Achilleas for his authorisation before a vase of burgundy was whisked from somewhere. Fotios was offered a chalice that he accepted gratefully and yet did not drink from immediately. Instead, he turned his attentions to Achilleas' other comment, his lip turning up at the side of his mouth.
"And surprised so you should be." He said with an element of jest in his tone, followed by annoyance directed at this he spoke of. "But occasionally our subordinates are not always as efficient as we wish. And I would not have the royal forces at a loss for the want of a few smarter choices from my House's provinces."
Lifting the cup to his lips and taking a limited sip from the rim, Fotios turned his head a little in a gesture of curious concern.
"You seem distracted with worries, Your Majesty." Fotios commented but turned such an observation into a mild joke before it could be taken offence to. "It seemed to me that you develop a dip between your brows when you are concentrating, Your Majesty. I could of course be wrong - perhaps you are just sterner of disposition than I had thought."
Achilleas could quite happily have kicked Krysto when the man chose that precise moment to abandon him alone to entertain the Leventi Lord. But of course, his friend did not know what made his King so ambivalent towards the other man, and so he watched him take his leave, the Captain moving to intercept some serf dealing with the newly arrived horses.
He retook his seat and then turned his attention back to his father’s old friend, waving a hand for the man to be given wine before he lifted a brow at Lord Fotios’ words. They reminded him once more how fortunate he was to have those he trusted who could be left to deliver what he asked of them. Achilleas idly wondered which of the Leventi Barons had invoked their Lord’s displeasure and thought he was glad not to be in their position. But he gave a small nod of recognition for Lord Fotios’ efforts, not unappreciated.
His own cup of wine, though reclaimed by his hand, did not make its way to his lips, as the new King looked beyond to where the horses were being mustered towards the lines that had been set up on the other side of the camp. He did not need to be thinking about it, but his mind was considering the inconvenience of the positioning, and he thought he might mention it to Krysto later. Lord Fotios’ voice called his attention back, and the gaze that came to rest upon the Leventi Head of House was a little guarded.
“I do?” Achilleas queried, and soon replaced said expression with what he hoped was an easy smile. “You will forgive me. It has been an adjustment setting aside those things I am used to attending to, and as you say, placing your trust in those around you does not always ensure success. Though” and he gestured to the sprawl of activity going on around them. “Here, Krysto and the Captains are not failing me. I am not worried”
It was not entirely truthful. Shifts of position and title had left some conspicuous voids in the upper echelons of the Taengean military; his father, gone. Stephanos fled. Emilios bound to remain as Crown Prince and Commander Alexios returned to Judea meant that there was no layer of command between Achilleas himself and these Captain’s who gathered their men for war.
Not ideal, but there was little time for changes, and though Achilleas had toyed with the idea of promoting another man to the rank of Commander, it was not a thing he wanted to do on impulse. So instead he did his best to trust those on the ground to do everything to his exacting standards, and then privately fretted that they were not.
Perhaps it was his mind’s way of ensuring it was too occupied to be sidetracked by the shadow of an uneasy grief hovering and yet still to really sink in. There was no time for it, not now.
“It is difficult to judge sometimes” Achilleas said abruptly, eyes roving over those soldiers and citizens that worked to prepare their country for war. “When people want a King who is stoic and stern-faced, or when they wish for one who smiles and waves. For the two do not sit together and it is rather exhausting trying to decide.”
His father had been good at that, both charming and terrifying people at the appropriate moments. Achilleas was not sure he had it so finely mastered, and with Lord Fotios’ comments, now felt even more uncertain of what perception people would be taking of their new King. Suppressing a sigh, the man took a small sip of wine as he surveyed the camp. At least soon he would be more soldier than sovereign, a role he could embrace more comfortably and with less self-doubt.
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Jan 25, 2020 13:19:36 GMT
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Achilleas could quite happily have kicked Krysto when the man chose that precise moment to abandon him alone to entertain the Leventi Lord. But of course, his friend did not know what made his King so ambivalent towards the other man, and so he watched him take his leave, the Captain moving to intercept some serf dealing with the newly arrived horses.
He retook his seat and then turned his attention back to his father’s old friend, waving a hand for the man to be given wine before he lifted a brow at Lord Fotios’ words. They reminded him once more how fortunate he was to have those he trusted who could be left to deliver what he asked of them. Achilleas idly wondered which of the Leventi Barons had invoked their Lord’s displeasure and thought he was glad not to be in their position. But he gave a small nod of recognition for Lord Fotios’ efforts, not unappreciated.
His own cup of wine, though reclaimed by his hand, did not make its way to his lips, as the new King looked beyond to where the horses were being mustered towards the lines that had been set up on the other side of the camp. He did not need to be thinking about it, but his mind was considering the inconvenience of the positioning, and he thought he might mention it to Krysto later. Lord Fotios’ voice called his attention back, and the gaze that came to rest upon the Leventi Head of House was a little guarded.
“I do?” Achilleas queried, and soon replaced said expression with what he hoped was an easy smile. “You will forgive me. It has been an adjustment setting aside those things I am used to attending to, and as you say, placing your trust in those around you does not always ensure success. Though” and he gestured to the sprawl of activity going on around them. “Here, Krysto and the Captains are not failing me. I am not worried”
It was not entirely truthful. Shifts of position and title had left some conspicuous voids in the upper echelons of the Taengean military; his father, gone. Stephanos fled. Emilios bound to remain as Crown Prince and Commander Alexios returned to Judea meant that there was no layer of command between Achilleas himself and these Captain’s who gathered their men for war.
Not ideal, but there was little time for changes, and though Achilleas had toyed with the idea of promoting another man to the rank of Commander, it was not a thing he wanted to do on impulse. So instead he did his best to trust those on the ground to do everything to his exacting standards, and then privately fretted that they were not.
Perhaps it was his mind’s way of ensuring it was too occupied to be sidetracked by the shadow of an uneasy grief hovering and yet still to really sink in. There was no time for it, not now.
“It is difficult to judge sometimes” Achilleas said abruptly, eyes roving over those soldiers and citizens that worked to prepare their country for war. “When people want a King who is stoic and stern-faced, or when they wish for one who smiles and waves. For the two do not sit together and it is rather exhausting trying to decide.”
His father had been good at that, both charming and terrifying people at the appropriate moments. Achilleas was not sure he had it so finely mastered, and with Lord Fotios’ comments, now felt even more uncertain of what perception people would be taking of their new King. Suppressing a sigh, the man took a small sip of wine as he surveyed the camp. At least soon he would be more soldier than sovereign, a role he could embrace more comfortably and with less self-doubt.
Achilleas could quite happily have kicked Krysto when the man chose that precise moment to abandon him alone to entertain the Leventi Lord. But of course, his friend did not know what made his King so ambivalent towards the other man, and so he watched him take his leave, the Captain moving to intercept some serf dealing with the newly arrived horses.
He retook his seat and then turned his attention back to his father’s old friend, waving a hand for the man to be given wine before he lifted a brow at Lord Fotios’ words. They reminded him once more how fortunate he was to have those he trusted who could be left to deliver what he asked of them. Achilleas idly wondered which of the Leventi Barons had invoked their Lord’s displeasure and thought he was glad not to be in their position. But he gave a small nod of recognition for Lord Fotios’ efforts, not unappreciated.
His own cup of wine, though reclaimed by his hand, did not make its way to his lips, as the new King looked beyond to where the horses were being mustered towards the lines that had been set up on the other side of the camp. He did not need to be thinking about it, but his mind was considering the inconvenience of the positioning, and he thought he might mention it to Krysto later. Lord Fotios’ voice called his attention back, and the gaze that came to rest upon the Leventi Head of House was a little guarded.
“I do?” Achilleas queried, and soon replaced said expression with what he hoped was an easy smile. “You will forgive me. It has been an adjustment setting aside those things I am used to attending to, and as you say, placing your trust in those around you does not always ensure success. Though” and he gestured to the sprawl of activity going on around them. “Here, Krysto and the Captains are not failing me. I am not worried”
It was not entirely truthful. Shifts of position and title had left some conspicuous voids in the upper echelons of the Taengean military; his father, gone. Stephanos fled. Emilios bound to remain as Crown Prince and Commander Alexios returned to Judea meant that there was no layer of command between Achilleas himself and these Captain’s who gathered their men for war.
Not ideal, but there was little time for changes, and though Achilleas had toyed with the idea of promoting another man to the rank of Commander, it was not a thing he wanted to do on impulse. So instead he did his best to trust those on the ground to do everything to his exacting standards, and then privately fretted that they were not.
Perhaps it was his mind’s way of ensuring it was too occupied to be sidetracked by the shadow of an uneasy grief hovering and yet still to really sink in. There was no time for it, not now.
“It is difficult to judge sometimes” Achilleas said abruptly, eyes roving over those soldiers and citizens that worked to prepare their country for war. “When people want a King who is stoic and stern-faced, or when they wish for one who smiles and waves. For the two do not sit together and it is rather exhausting trying to decide.”
His father had been good at that, both charming and terrifying people at the appropriate moments. Achilleas was not sure he had it so finely mastered, and with Lord Fotios’ comments, now felt even more uncertain of what perception people would be taking of their new King. Suppressing a sigh, the man took a small sip of wine as he surveyed the camp. At least soon he would be more soldier than sovereign, a role he could embrace more comfortably and with less self-doubt.
Fotios sat in his chair, becoming more comfortable as the King spoke and engaged him in casual chatter. One of his ankles came up to rest upon the opposite knee and his elbow found the arm of the chair his, his fingers brushing against his lips in contemplation as Achilleas voices his concerns. His other hand held his wine cup. Having taken a sip, it now rested from his fingertips over the end of the other arm of his little throne.
"If you'll permit me, Your Majesty..." Fotios began when the younger man drew quiet in his comments over whether he should be a king of stone or one of empathy. "I would not try to decide." Fotios paused to let his words become clearer in the rustle of the coastal breeze. The fabric of the shade above their heads rippled in deep tones. "You are the king of Taengea. It is your choice entirely how you behave for your people will never come to a universal agreement of their own preference on the matter." Fotios's hand gestured outwards as he spoke, suggesting transparency and honesty - both of which he genuinely meant.
"You are a successful Commander of the armies, Your Majesty, you have lead men successfully for years. You are the image of a Grecian hero, if you don't mind me saying, and yet you have not lost the approval of your people or your men through tales of barbarism." Fotios's shoulders lifted a little. "The change of your title from Commander to King should make no difference. Be as you are and your people and your men will follow you still. Second guess yourself and only then will you appear weak."
Fotios' words were honestly given and well-meaning in their offering. He had absolutely no intention of seeing Achilleas lose the support of the people, nor his position being seen as one claimed by chance over earning. Unlike Fotios, Achilleas was a man who naturally evoked the fealty of those around him and it seemed illogical to him that such a man would be concerned for his image.
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Jan 25, 2020 18:32:26 GMT
Posted In Heading South on Jan 25, 2020 18:32:26 GMT
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Fotios sat in his chair, becoming more comfortable as the King spoke and engaged him in casual chatter. One of his ankles came up to rest upon the opposite knee and his elbow found the arm of the chair his, his fingers brushing against his lips in contemplation as Achilleas voices his concerns. His other hand held his wine cup. Having taken a sip, it now rested from his fingertips over the end of the other arm of his little throne.
"If you'll permit me, Your Majesty..." Fotios began when the younger man drew quiet in his comments over whether he should be a king of stone or one of empathy. "I would not try to decide." Fotios paused to let his words become clearer in the rustle of the coastal breeze. The fabric of the shade above their heads rippled in deep tones. "You are the king of Taengea. It is your choice entirely how you behave for your people will never come to a universal agreement of their own preference on the matter." Fotios's hand gestured outwards as he spoke, suggesting transparency and honesty - both of which he genuinely meant.
"You are a successful Commander of the armies, Your Majesty, you have lead men successfully for years. You are the image of a Grecian hero, if you don't mind me saying, and yet you have not lost the approval of your people or your men through tales of barbarism." Fotios's shoulders lifted a little. "The change of your title from Commander to King should make no difference. Be as you are and your people and your men will follow you still. Second guess yourself and only then will you appear weak."
Fotios' words were honestly given and well-meaning in their offering. He had absolutely no intention of seeing Achilleas lose the support of the people, nor his position being seen as one claimed by chance over earning. Unlike Fotios, Achilleas was a man who naturally evoked the fealty of those around him and it seemed illogical to him that such a man would be concerned for his image.
Fotios sat in his chair, becoming more comfortable as the King spoke and engaged him in casual chatter. One of his ankles came up to rest upon the opposite knee and his elbow found the arm of the chair his, his fingers brushing against his lips in contemplation as Achilleas voices his concerns. His other hand held his wine cup. Having taken a sip, it now rested from his fingertips over the end of the other arm of his little throne.
"If you'll permit me, Your Majesty..." Fotios began when the younger man drew quiet in his comments over whether he should be a king of stone or one of empathy. "I would not try to decide." Fotios paused to let his words become clearer in the rustle of the coastal breeze. The fabric of the shade above their heads rippled in deep tones. "You are the king of Taengea. It is your choice entirely how you behave for your people will never come to a universal agreement of their own preference on the matter." Fotios's hand gestured outwards as he spoke, suggesting transparency and honesty - both of which he genuinely meant.
"You are a successful Commander of the armies, Your Majesty, you have lead men successfully for years. You are the image of a Grecian hero, if you don't mind me saying, and yet you have not lost the approval of your people or your men through tales of barbarism." Fotios's shoulders lifted a little. "The change of your title from Commander to King should make no difference. Be as you are and your people and your men will follow you still. Second guess yourself and only then will you appear weak."
Fotios' words were honestly given and well-meaning in their offering. He had absolutely no intention of seeing Achilleas lose the support of the people, nor his position being seen as one claimed by chance over earning. Unlike Fotios, Achilleas was a man who naturally evoked the fealty of those around him and it seemed illogical to him that such a man would be concerned for his image.
Achilleas had let his gaze drift back towards the Lord as he began to speak, a flick of his brows the only response at Fotios’ careful if you may permit... For whatever reservations he might hold about the fact that the Leventi Lord now held far more power than he should, there was no denying that the man had a keen mind and was a more useful ally than not. Achilleas was loathe to use the word enemy, but a certain saying sprung to mind as he surveyed the older man.
Keep your friends close….
And so he paid heed to Fotios’ words, blue eyes settling upon the man who had been his father’s closest friend. They were different, though they might have been confidantes. Whereas his father had been direct, often brutally so, the Leventi Lord had a more polished, subtle way about him, Achilleas mused, befitting a man who kept as many secrets as he. The Mikealidas lord listened to the older man reason out his assertion that the new King ought to just...be himself.
Certainly not like his father, then. He might have laughed at the irony of it. Here he was, being schooled that in fact, all he had done to this point would be enough to stand him in good stead as long as he did not doubt himself. And yet that doubt had been borne of years of being told that what he was, was not enough.
Part of him, the wronged part, wanted to petulantly remark that Fotios had clearly not spoken such complimentary words when he had been detailing out with Irakles how incompetent his sons were and drawing up the papers that clawed their birthright from them. It sat on the edge of his tongue for a moment before Achilleas swallowed it back, pressed his lips together and gave a small nod.
He did not know if Lord Fotios knew that he was aware of his conversation with Emilios, or that Achilleas himself had seen the will that laid out that last final blow from their father, but he did not think it wise to bring it up here when weariness made his temper short and his tongue sharper than it ought to be when dealing with the Head of the Leventi House.
And so his response was mild, bland. “I appreciate your words, my Lord, and hope they prove true. For like you, Taengea has my heart also, and I do not wish to falter in her steering her toward a safe and prosperous future.”
He gestured toward the hive of activity going on around them. “I dislike that this is all driven by a need for such a hasty reaction to the news received, but to act quickly and decisively whilst we have the element of surprise will hopefully save a greater conflict. And if it should not, then..then it falls to my brother and the rest of you who remain to defend until our Colchian allies join us.” Achilleas tipped his cup in his hand, swirled the wine within before he looked up again to the former master of secrets, a question he had been meaning to ask.
“What know you of the state of affairs in Athenia? I have not yet had word from them ...”
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Jan 27, 2020 21:37:54 GMT
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Achilleas had let his gaze drift back towards the Lord as he began to speak, a flick of his brows the only response at Fotios’ careful if you may permit... For whatever reservations he might hold about the fact that the Leventi Lord now held far more power than he should, there was no denying that the man had a keen mind and was a more useful ally than not. Achilleas was loathe to use the word enemy, but a certain saying sprung to mind as he surveyed the older man.
Keep your friends close….
And so he paid heed to Fotios’ words, blue eyes settling upon the man who had been his father’s closest friend. They were different, though they might have been confidantes. Whereas his father had been direct, often brutally so, the Leventi Lord had a more polished, subtle way about him, Achilleas mused, befitting a man who kept as many secrets as he. The Mikealidas lord listened to the older man reason out his assertion that the new King ought to just...be himself.
Certainly not like his father, then. He might have laughed at the irony of it. Here he was, being schooled that in fact, all he had done to this point would be enough to stand him in good stead as long as he did not doubt himself. And yet that doubt had been borne of years of being told that what he was, was not enough.
Part of him, the wronged part, wanted to petulantly remark that Fotios had clearly not spoken such complimentary words when he had been detailing out with Irakles how incompetent his sons were and drawing up the papers that clawed their birthright from them. It sat on the edge of his tongue for a moment before Achilleas swallowed it back, pressed his lips together and gave a small nod.
He did not know if Lord Fotios knew that he was aware of his conversation with Emilios, or that Achilleas himself had seen the will that laid out that last final blow from their father, but he did not think it wise to bring it up here when weariness made his temper short and his tongue sharper than it ought to be when dealing with the Head of the Leventi House.
And so his response was mild, bland. “I appreciate your words, my Lord, and hope they prove true. For like you, Taengea has my heart also, and I do not wish to falter in her steering her toward a safe and prosperous future.”
He gestured toward the hive of activity going on around them. “I dislike that this is all driven by a need for such a hasty reaction to the news received, but to act quickly and decisively whilst we have the element of surprise will hopefully save a greater conflict. And if it should not, then..then it falls to my brother and the rest of you who remain to defend until our Colchian allies join us.” Achilleas tipped his cup in his hand, swirled the wine within before he looked up again to the former master of secrets, a question he had been meaning to ask.
“What know you of the state of affairs in Athenia? I have not yet had word from them ...”
Achilleas had let his gaze drift back towards the Lord as he began to speak, a flick of his brows the only response at Fotios’ careful if you may permit... For whatever reservations he might hold about the fact that the Leventi Lord now held far more power than he should, there was no denying that the man had a keen mind and was a more useful ally than not. Achilleas was loathe to use the word enemy, but a certain saying sprung to mind as he surveyed the older man.
Keep your friends close….
And so he paid heed to Fotios’ words, blue eyes settling upon the man who had been his father’s closest friend. They were different, though they might have been confidantes. Whereas his father had been direct, often brutally so, the Leventi Lord had a more polished, subtle way about him, Achilleas mused, befitting a man who kept as many secrets as he. The Mikealidas lord listened to the older man reason out his assertion that the new King ought to just...be himself.
Certainly not like his father, then. He might have laughed at the irony of it. Here he was, being schooled that in fact, all he had done to this point would be enough to stand him in good stead as long as he did not doubt himself. And yet that doubt had been borne of years of being told that what he was, was not enough.
Part of him, the wronged part, wanted to petulantly remark that Fotios had clearly not spoken such complimentary words when he had been detailing out with Irakles how incompetent his sons were and drawing up the papers that clawed their birthright from them. It sat on the edge of his tongue for a moment before Achilleas swallowed it back, pressed his lips together and gave a small nod.
He did not know if Lord Fotios knew that he was aware of his conversation with Emilios, or that Achilleas himself had seen the will that laid out that last final blow from their father, but he did not think it wise to bring it up here when weariness made his temper short and his tongue sharper than it ought to be when dealing with the Head of the Leventi House.
And so his response was mild, bland. “I appreciate your words, my Lord, and hope they prove true. For like you, Taengea has my heart also, and I do not wish to falter in her steering her toward a safe and prosperous future.”
He gestured toward the hive of activity going on around them. “I dislike that this is all driven by a need for such a hasty reaction to the news received, but to act quickly and decisively whilst we have the element of surprise will hopefully save a greater conflict. And if it should not, then..then it falls to my brother and the rest of you who remain to defend until our Colchian allies join us.” Achilleas tipped his cup in his hand, swirled the wine within before he looked up again to the former master of secrets, a question he had been meaning to ask.
“What know you of the state of affairs in Athenia? I have not yet had word from them ...”
Fotios nodded at Achilleas' assertions that a quick and effective attack towards the Egyptians' best means of making the journey to Taengea was indeed the smartest option to play. Whilst it forced the King to make limited reparations and resources for the attack, it was a lesser of two evils than to take greater time over one's military force and then regret it when Egypt was banging on their doors. For all the threats and concerns of an eager attack to drive Egypt backwards, the king was entirely right in his choice of action. At least as far as Fotios could tell. Unlike many monarchs of the world, Achilleas was actually experienced on the battle field. He would be able to make the most of whatever limited resources time had forced him to fight with.
"We shall not fail you in your absence, Your Majesty." Were Fotios's simple words when it came to the King mentioning the it would be down to himself and the other noblemen who remained in the city to protect the capitol if the royal forces should fail and Egypt made it across the sea regardless. Fotios was a man of more brain than brawn but he held a strong skill with a bow and was a man who would fight with the heart of a stallion if it meant protecting Vasiliadon and, in turn, Taengea from the grip of Egyptians rule.
When the man beside him spoke of affairs in Athenia, Fotios had just taken a sip from of the rim of his chalice. His brow turned upwards at the query and the toe of the boot that had been resting upon his knee shifted a little as Fotios resettled in his seat. His arm came to rest upon the same of the chair and the cup was once more poised between his thumb and finger tips, dangling over its end. As if considering his answer, Fotios' wrist turned in light circles, causing the burgundy liquid within to turn and wave like the ocean, but never enough to risk spilling over its lip. The Head of the Leventi House took a long inhale as if he were a suffering parent not knowing what to do with a wayward and rebellious child.
"Our neighbours have, if you can believe it suffered more so than ourselves in recent months. I think they can be looked upon as a cautionary tale of what would have happened had you father not the clarity of mind to renounce your cousin's claim to the throne." Fotios' gaze was careful as he looked upon Achilleas. "Forgive me, Your Majesty, for I know the subject makes you sympathetic for the lost king but I can only claim that which I observe. Athenia has lost its Queen, disappeared into the ether so some say, Dead say others. The people and the Senate tear themselves in two unable to reach a consensus without proof of death or treason. Low food, minimal trade, fights and protesting in the streets." Fotios took another sip from the rim of his cup. "This is another reason why your plan of attack is a well-calculated one. By not engaging Egypt in battle but simply impeding their ability to leave their shores we by the time required for Athenia to climb out of the pit they have dug and be in a position to aid in any outright war that is likely to come our way..."
His eyes narrowing a little as he looked to the man beside him, considering his words over a lack of response.
"Whom was it that you sent a missive to, if you don't mind my asking, Your Majesty? Perhaps I can suggest an alternative that might be more forthcoming with a reply?"
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Jan 27, 2020 22:02:07 GMT
Posted In Heading South on Jan 27, 2020 22:02:07 GMT
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Fotios nodded at Achilleas' assertions that a quick and effective attack towards the Egyptians' best means of making the journey to Taengea was indeed the smartest option to play. Whilst it forced the King to make limited reparations and resources for the attack, it was a lesser of two evils than to take greater time over one's military force and then regret it when Egypt was banging on their doors. For all the threats and concerns of an eager attack to drive Egypt backwards, the king was entirely right in his choice of action. At least as far as Fotios could tell. Unlike many monarchs of the world, Achilleas was actually experienced on the battle field. He would be able to make the most of whatever limited resources time had forced him to fight with.
"We shall not fail you in your absence, Your Majesty." Were Fotios's simple words when it came to the King mentioning the it would be down to himself and the other noblemen who remained in the city to protect the capitol if the royal forces should fail and Egypt made it across the sea regardless. Fotios was a man of more brain than brawn but he held a strong skill with a bow and was a man who would fight with the heart of a stallion if it meant protecting Vasiliadon and, in turn, Taengea from the grip of Egyptians rule.
When the man beside him spoke of affairs in Athenia, Fotios had just taken a sip from of the rim of his chalice. His brow turned upwards at the query and the toe of the boot that had been resting upon his knee shifted a little as Fotios resettled in his seat. His arm came to rest upon the same of the chair and the cup was once more poised between his thumb and finger tips, dangling over its end. As if considering his answer, Fotios' wrist turned in light circles, causing the burgundy liquid within to turn and wave like the ocean, but never enough to risk spilling over its lip. The Head of the Leventi House took a long inhale as if he were a suffering parent not knowing what to do with a wayward and rebellious child.
"Our neighbours have, if you can believe it suffered more so than ourselves in recent months. I think they can be looked upon as a cautionary tale of what would have happened had you father not the clarity of mind to renounce your cousin's claim to the throne." Fotios' gaze was careful as he looked upon Achilleas. "Forgive me, Your Majesty, for I know the subject makes you sympathetic for the lost king but I can only claim that which I observe. Athenia has lost its Queen, disappeared into the ether so some say, Dead say others. The people and the Senate tear themselves in two unable to reach a consensus without proof of death or treason. Low food, minimal trade, fights and protesting in the streets." Fotios took another sip from the rim of his cup. "This is another reason why your plan of attack is a well-calculated one. By not engaging Egypt in battle but simply impeding their ability to leave their shores we by the time required for Athenia to climb out of the pit they have dug and be in a position to aid in any outright war that is likely to come our way..."
His eyes narrowing a little as he looked to the man beside him, considering his words over a lack of response.
"Whom was it that you sent a missive to, if you don't mind my asking, Your Majesty? Perhaps I can suggest an alternative that might be more forthcoming with a reply?"
Fotios nodded at Achilleas' assertions that a quick and effective attack towards the Egyptians' best means of making the journey to Taengea was indeed the smartest option to play. Whilst it forced the King to make limited reparations and resources for the attack, it was a lesser of two evils than to take greater time over one's military force and then regret it when Egypt was banging on their doors. For all the threats and concerns of an eager attack to drive Egypt backwards, the king was entirely right in his choice of action. At least as far as Fotios could tell. Unlike many monarchs of the world, Achilleas was actually experienced on the battle field. He would be able to make the most of whatever limited resources time had forced him to fight with.
"We shall not fail you in your absence, Your Majesty." Were Fotios's simple words when it came to the King mentioning the it would be down to himself and the other noblemen who remained in the city to protect the capitol if the royal forces should fail and Egypt made it across the sea regardless. Fotios was a man of more brain than brawn but he held a strong skill with a bow and was a man who would fight with the heart of a stallion if it meant protecting Vasiliadon and, in turn, Taengea from the grip of Egyptians rule.
When the man beside him spoke of affairs in Athenia, Fotios had just taken a sip from of the rim of his chalice. His brow turned upwards at the query and the toe of the boot that had been resting upon his knee shifted a little as Fotios resettled in his seat. His arm came to rest upon the same of the chair and the cup was once more poised between his thumb and finger tips, dangling over its end. As if considering his answer, Fotios' wrist turned in light circles, causing the burgundy liquid within to turn and wave like the ocean, but never enough to risk spilling over its lip. The Head of the Leventi House took a long inhale as if he were a suffering parent not knowing what to do with a wayward and rebellious child.
"Our neighbours have, if you can believe it suffered more so than ourselves in recent months. I think they can be looked upon as a cautionary tale of what would have happened had you father not the clarity of mind to renounce your cousin's claim to the throne." Fotios' gaze was careful as he looked upon Achilleas. "Forgive me, Your Majesty, for I know the subject makes you sympathetic for the lost king but I can only claim that which I observe. Athenia has lost its Queen, disappeared into the ether so some say, Dead say others. The people and the Senate tear themselves in two unable to reach a consensus without proof of death or treason. Low food, minimal trade, fights and protesting in the streets." Fotios took another sip from the rim of his cup. "This is another reason why your plan of attack is a well-calculated one. By not engaging Egypt in battle but simply impeding their ability to leave their shores we by the time required for Athenia to climb out of the pit they have dug and be in a position to aid in any outright war that is likely to come our way..."
His eyes narrowing a little as he looked to the man beside him, considering his words over a lack of response.
"Whom was it that you sent a missive to, if you don't mind my asking, Your Majesty? Perhaps I can suggest an alternative that might be more forthcoming with a reply?"