The chatbox has been hidden for this page. It will reopen upon refresh. To hide the CBox permanently, select "Permanently Toggle Cbox" in your profile User Settings.
This chatbox is hidden. To reopen, edit your User Settings.
The granite was polished enough for him to follow its long, elaborate swirls. There were not so much edges as indefinite fades. Sudden discontinuities and syllogistic resumptions while collars collapsed into one another under the flicker of torchlight. Meandering, uncertain, unending. The perfect thing for Yiannis to focus on. It was the distraction he needed right now. From the annoyance of waiting while servants went to fetch their master. Likewise the memories that had pressed in on him from the moment the mansion had appeared on the horizon. The shock of the moment demanded distraction and procrastination both.
So he understood everything really. How could anyone present themselves for elevation to Baron on the heels of this sort of death? Yiannis had made the point himself in council, and for it won the task of riding to Eubocris on behalf of the royal family. Taking rests to water his steed or even escape the heat of the day was that much easier. It wasn't until he came up to the great doors of the estate that he had to face the bald truth of it. They all knew that refusing to acknowledge the truth wouldn't change it. But Yiannis understood why he was being held up by the servants in a pointless bureaucratic display.
There were more than enough memories to lose himself here. Only a flit of his eyelids before he could see himself sparring with the older man. In the distant echoes of the hallways one could imagine how his voice must have rang out. Was it the same at home as he took in public? He meant to ask, when the audience finally got going. He meant to do a great many things. But it was easier to slip backwards. In the end, it was the smell of smoke that insisted he stay in the present.
"What did you say he was doing?" Yiannis snapped with sudden urgency.
"Organizing pap--" the servant started.
Yiannis was out of earshot by the time he'd gotten any further. He charged through the house at a full sprint, towards the source of the smoke. His horse had only been half as swift as the rumors. The night wasn't that cool. The hour for preparing supper was long past. The arithmetic there for anyone to follow. Especially when he smelled no food at all. Past the kitchen. He had watched Nicomedes taken down two men at once. The bedrooms. Run three miles in full kit. There was an ominous orange glow from the courtyard, flickering against the purple-black sky. When had he ever seen this younger son at all? But the man was there now, secreted away with documents in hand.
"TIMAEUS YOU SWINE!" he shrieked.
The other man was only just spinning to see the commotion. Kotas tucked his chin and brought his arms up. Putting the whole of his weight behind a full-speed tackle. If he hit right, the other man would be thrown into the fire pit behind them. That would be only a fraction of the suffering he deserved for fratricide.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
May 18, 2019 10:02:08 GMT
Posted In Heat & Light on May 18, 2019 10:02:08 GMT
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
The granite was polished enough for him to follow its long, elaborate swirls. There were not so much edges as indefinite fades. Sudden discontinuities and syllogistic resumptions while collars collapsed into one another under the flicker of torchlight. Meandering, uncertain, unending. The perfect thing for Yiannis to focus on. It was the distraction he needed right now. From the annoyance of waiting while servants went to fetch their master. Likewise the memories that had pressed in on him from the moment the mansion had appeared on the horizon. The shock of the moment demanded distraction and procrastination both.
So he understood everything really. How could anyone present themselves for elevation to Baron on the heels of this sort of death? Yiannis had made the point himself in council, and for it won the task of riding to Eubocris on behalf of the royal family. Taking rests to water his steed or even escape the heat of the day was that much easier. It wasn't until he came up to the great doors of the estate that he had to face the bald truth of it. They all knew that refusing to acknowledge the truth wouldn't change it. But Yiannis understood why he was being held up by the servants in a pointless bureaucratic display.
There were more than enough memories to lose himself here. Only a flit of his eyelids before he could see himself sparring with the older man. In the distant echoes of the hallways one could imagine how his voice must have rang out. Was it the same at home as he took in public? He meant to ask, when the audience finally got going. He meant to do a great many things. But it was easier to slip backwards. In the end, it was the smell of smoke that insisted he stay in the present.
"What did you say he was doing?" Yiannis snapped with sudden urgency.
"Organizing pap--" the servant started.
Yiannis was out of earshot by the time he'd gotten any further. He charged through the house at a full sprint, towards the source of the smoke. His horse had only been half as swift as the rumors. The night wasn't that cool. The hour for preparing supper was long past. The arithmetic there for anyone to follow. Especially when he smelled no food at all. Past the kitchen. He had watched Nicomedes taken down two men at once. The bedrooms. Run three miles in full kit. There was an ominous orange glow from the courtyard, flickering against the purple-black sky. When had he ever seen this younger son at all? But the man was there now, secreted away with documents in hand.
"TIMAEUS YOU SWINE!" he shrieked.
The other man was only just spinning to see the commotion. Kotas tucked his chin and brought his arms up. Putting the whole of his weight behind a full-speed tackle. If he hit right, the other man would be thrown into the fire pit behind them. That would be only a fraction of the suffering he deserved for fratricide.
The granite was polished enough for him to follow its long, elaborate swirls. There were not so much edges as indefinite fades. Sudden discontinuities and syllogistic resumptions while collars collapsed into one another under the flicker of torchlight. Meandering, uncertain, unending. The perfect thing for Yiannis to focus on. It was the distraction he needed right now. From the annoyance of waiting while servants went to fetch their master. Likewise the memories that had pressed in on him from the moment the mansion had appeared on the horizon. The shock of the moment demanded distraction and procrastination both.
So he understood everything really. How could anyone present themselves for elevation to Baron on the heels of this sort of death? Yiannis had made the point himself in council, and for it won the task of riding to Eubocris on behalf of the royal family. Taking rests to water his steed or even escape the heat of the day was that much easier. It wasn't until he came up to the great doors of the estate that he had to face the bald truth of it. They all knew that refusing to acknowledge the truth wouldn't change it. But Yiannis understood why he was being held up by the servants in a pointless bureaucratic display.
There were more than enough memories to lose himself here. Only a flit of his eyelids before he could see himself sparring with the older man. In the distant echoes of the hallways one could imagine how his voice must have rang out. Was it the same at home as he took in public? He meant to ask, when the audience finally got going. He meant to do a great many things. But it was easier to slip backwards. In the end, it was the smell of smoke that insisted he stay in the present.
"What did you say he was doing?" Yiannis snapped with sudden urgency.
"Organizing pap--" the servant started.
Yiannis was out of earshot by the time he'd gotten any further. He charged through the house at a full sprint, towards the source of the smoke. His horse had only been half as swift as the rumors. The night wasn't that cool. The hour for preparing supper was long past. The arithmetic there for anyone to follow. Especially when he smelled no food at all. Past the kitchen. He had watched Nicomedes taken down two men at once. The bedrooms. Run three miles in full kit. There was an ominous orange glow from the courtyard, flickering against the purple-black sky. When had he ever seen this younger son at all? But the man was there now, secreted away with documents in hand.
"TIMAEUS YOU SWINE!" he shrieked.
The other man was only just spinning to see the commotion. Kotas tucked his chin and brought his arms up. Putting the whole of his weight behind a full-speed tackle. If he hit right, the other man would be thrown into the fire pit behind them. That would be only a fraction of the suffering he deserved for fratricide.
How could two weeks have passed since Nicomedes died?
After the death had been confirmed and the funeral arranged, Timaeus locked himself in the office that had once been his father’s, then his brother’s, and now his… all in turn. He shut the world out as he kept his grief in the one place he felt the most connected to the two men he had lost so quickly. He had spent the first few days curled up in a corner, wallowing in his own misery, and only emerging when the pangs of hunger grew stronger than the aches in his heart.
Timaeus took no guests. He turned everyone away and ignored the missives of mourning that piled up. The twenty-two-year-old was even foolish enough to ignore a summons from the royal family, calling him to Midas to risk to the rank that he never wanted and wasn’t prepared for. His newly inherited advisors tried to have him go, but Timaeus didn’t care. He no longer cared about anything.
But his mother had insisted the boy do something. She knew this grief more intimately than her son did. It would do him no good to suffer in silence. So, in order to set her heart at ease, he promised that he would go through the office. Nicomedes was not a well-organized man. There were papers everywhere and it would give him something to do as he worked through the pain.
So that’s what he did for several days, but the papers were useless. They were numbers he didn’t understand, written by hands he didn’t know. There was no reason to keep them when they would only remind him of what he had lost.
So, he ordered the servants to build a fire.
At first, they were wary to do so and he knew exactly why. He was no fool. Timaeus knew the entire province thought he killed his brother. He didn’t need to hear the hushed whispers swirling his household to know that’s what was happening beyond the gates he refused to open, but he did anyway. It was too convenient, they’d say in low tones when they didn’t realize the now silent man was just around the corner, Look at what he gained and no one dies like that. He poisoned him, I’m sure of it.. Tim didn’t do it. He had nothing to gain. He had lost his brother.
It’s safe to say that those attendants did not remain in the household very long.
But he understood their wariness. Here he was, a suspected murderer, leaving his voluntary solitude asking for a fire to be built while he held a stack of unknown papers in it in his hands. Could these documents prove his guilt? They whispered as they carried out his wishes all the same. He was the baron now, Timaeus was not to be questioned. Not even when he demanded privacy in the courtyard as he burned years of useless papers, blinking back tears that he blamed on the smoke, curling and swirling against a bright orange sky as the sun disappeared over the mountain peaks. A sky that his father and Nicomedes would never see again.
Why did he get another night and they didn’t?
He must have stood out there for hours, slowly burning years of his family’s work in a silence that was only disturbed by weak sniffles from a man who now felt utterly alone in the world. The orange quickly gave way to darkness and yet he didn’t budge. Not when a lone servant appeared to inform him that there was a guest at the gates.
“Turn them away.” He had snapped, but his mind was so blank, he couldn’t remember. “No visitors. Not anymore.” If Timaeus had his way, he’d shut up the whole damn house and run away from the horrors that awaited him here. But he didn’t have that choice. He no longer had any choice.
He was lost so deep in his misery that he did not notice the other man enter the courtyard. He had not been expecting him either as his orders had been clear. However, the space was filled with angry words all the same, forcing Timaeus to spin around and come face to face with a man who wanted to kill him over a crime he did not commit.
It was clearly the would-be murderer's plan to knock the new Baron off guard. Little did he know that this quiet younger brother who preferred barracks to the court was not someone who would go down easily.
Nicomedes had been the thinker, but Timaeus had been the soldier.
Seeing his would-be attacker charge at him, Timaeus dropped the papers in his hands and braced himself for an impact he could not avoid. When the two collided, the new baron’s firm stance and strong arms would be his godsend. Grasping the stranger’s shoulders, Timaeus threw his weight the opposite way, using the man’s own momentum against him. It was a risky gamble, but it worked as the two men tumbled into the dirt and just barely avoided landing in the flames of the fire.
Shadows obscured his assailant’s face, but there was no mistaking the fire burning in Timaeus’s eyes as he glared down at the man who tried to kill him. Looming over him, using his own weight to keep him down as he pressed down on to his shoulder blades and a single knee dug into the man’s left hip, keeping him from flipping lest the be thrown in the fire. Violently, he shook the man the man against the ground, thrashing him about like a child taking out his anger on a toy as he screamed at him, “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?”
Fueled by his own anger and sheer rush of adrenaline, Timaeus ceased his shaking and let go of one of the stranger’s shoulders. Then without thinking, he reeled his sword arm back and slugged him across the face. He felt a bit of relief open up in him as he released all the pent-up anger held with him since that night Nicomedes collapsed at that fateful meal just a few short weeks ago. A sick and twisted part of him enjoyed that stomach-churning SMACK! that resounded through the night air as his fist connected.
Finally, he silently thought to himself, as he reached down for the man’s neck, Someone gets to hurt like I hurt.. His lip curled up into a snarl as he pressed down and his knee dug sharply into the man’s flesh. The man had to hurt, but Timaeus was careful enough to leave him enough room to breathe. Some dark part of him that he had never seen before wanted to hear the man scream like how Timaeus wanted to scream.
“Who are you.” He growled at the man, completely unaware he was now torturing a prince, “What are you doing here?”
Every moment of silence pushed the weight of Tim down further onto the man’s trachea. He was increasing the pressure, he was increasing the pain.
And the monster in Timaeus liked it.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
May 18, 2019 10:02:37 GMT
Posted In Heat & Light on May 18, 2019 10:02:37 GMT
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
How could two weeks have passed since Nicomedes died?
After the death had been confirmed and the funeral arranged, Timaeus locked himself in the office that had once been his father’s, then his brother’s, and now his… all in turn. He shut the world out as he kept his grief in the one place he felt the most connected to the two men he had lost so quickly. He had spent the first few days curled up in a corner, wallowing in his own misery, and only emerging when the pangs of hunger grew stronger than the aches in his heart.
Timaeus took no guests. He turned everyone away and ignored the missives of mourning that piled up. The twenty-two-year-old was even foolish enough to ignore a summons from the royal family, calling him to Midas to risk to the rank that he never wanted and wasn’t prepared for. His newly inherited advisors tried to have him go, but Timaeus didn’t care. He no longer cared about anything.
But his mother had insisted the boy do something. She knew this grief more intimately than her son did. It would do him no good to suffer in silence. So, in order to set her heart at ease, he promised that he would go through the office. Nicomedes was not a well-organized man. There were papers everywhere and it would give him something to do as he worked through the pain.
So that’s what he did for several days, but the papers were useless. They were numbers he didn’t understand, written by hands he didn’t know. There was no reason to keep them when they would only remind him of what he had lost.
So, he ordered the servants to build a fire.
At first, they were wary to do so and he knew exactly why. He was no fool. Timaeus knew the entire province thought he killed his brother. He didn’t need to hear the hushed whispers swirling his household to know that’s what was happening beyond the gates he refused to open, but he did anyway. It was too convenient, they’d say in low tones when they didn’t realize the now silent man was just around the corner, Look at what he gained and no one dies like that. He poisoned him, I’m sure of it.. Tim didn’t do it. He had nothing to gain. He had lost his brother.
It’s safe to say that those attendants did not remain in the household very long.
But he understood their wariness. Here he was, a suspected murderer, leaving his voluntary solitude asking for a fire to be built while he held a stack of unknown papers in it in his hands. Could these documents prove his guilt? They whispered as they carried out his wishes all the same. He was the baron now, Timaeus was not to be questioned. Not even when he demanded privacy in the courtyard as he burned years of useless papers, blinking back tears that he blamed on the smoke, curling and swirling against a bright orange sky as the sun disappeared over the mountain peaks. A sky that his father and Nicomedes would never see again.
Why did he get another night and they didn’t?
He must have stood out there for hours, slowly burning years of his family’s work in a silence that was only disturbed by weak sniffles from a man who now felt utterly alone in the world. The orange quickly gave way to darkness and yet he didn’t budge. Not when a lone servant appeared to inform him that there was a guest at the gates.
“Turn them away.” He had snapped, but his mind was so blank, he couldn’t remember. “No visitors. Not anymore.” If Timaeus had his way, he’d shut up the whole damn house and run away from the horrors that awaited him here. But he didn’t have that choice. He no longer had any choice.
He was lost so deep in his misery that he did not notice the other man enter the courtyard. He had not been expecting him either as his orders had been clear. However, the space was filled with angry words all the same, forcing Timaeus to spin around and come face to face with a man who wanted to kill him over a crime he did not commit.
It was clearly the would-be murderer's plan to knock the new Baron off guard. Little did he know that this quiet younger brother who preferred barracks to the court was not someone who would go down easily.
Nicomedes had been the thinker, but Timaeus had been the soldier.
Seeing his would-be attacker charge at him, Timaeus dropped the papers in his hands and braced himself for an impact he could not avoid. When the two collided, the new baron’s firm stance and strong arms would be his godsend. Grasping the stranger’s shoulders, Timaeus threw his weight the opposite way, using the man’s own momentum against him. It was a risky gamble, but it worked as the two men tumbled into the dirt and just barely avoided landing in the flames of the fire.
Shadows obscured his assailant’s face, but there was no mistaking the fire burning in Timaeus’s eyes as he glared down at the man who tried to kill him. Looming over him, using his own weight to keep him down as he pressed down on to his shoulder blades and a single knee dug into the man’s left hip, keeping him from flipping lest the be thrown in the fire. Violently, he shook the man the man against the ground, thrashing him about like a child taking out his anger on a toy as he screamed at him, “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?”
Fueled by his own anger and sheer rush of adrenaline, Timaeus ceased his shaking and let go of one of the stranger’s shoulders. Then without thinking, he reeled his sword arm back and slugged him across the face. He felt a bit of relief open up in him as he released all the pent-up anger held with him since that night Nicomedes collapsed at that fateful meal just a few short weeks ago. A sick and twisted part of him enjoyed that stomach-churning SMACK! that resounded through the night air as his fist connected.
Finally, he silently thought to himself, as he reached down for the man’s neck, Someone gets to hurt like I hurt.. His lip curled up into a snarl as he pressed down and his knee dug sharply into the man’s flesh. The man had to hurt, but Timaeus was careful enough to leave him enough room to breathe. Some dark part of him that he had never seen before wanted to hear the man scream like how Timaeus wanted to scream.
“Who are you.” He growled at the man, completely unaware he was now torturing a prince, “What are you doing here?”
Every moment of silence pushed the weight of Tim down further onto the man’s trachea. He was increasing the pressure, he was increasing the pain.
And the monster in Timaeus liked it.
How could two weeks have passed since Nicomedes died?
After the death had been confirmed and the funeral arranged, Timaeus locked himself in the office that had once been his father’s, then his brother’s, and now his… all in turn. He shut the world out as he kept his grief in the one place he felt the most connected to the two men he had lost so quickly. He had spent the first few days curled up in a corner, wallowing in his own misery, and only emerging when the pangs of hunger grew stronger than the aches in his heart.
Timaeus took no guests. He turned everyone away and ignored the missives of mourning that piled up. The twenty-two-year-old was even foolish enough to ignore a summons from the royal family, calling him to Midas to risk to the rank that he never wanted and wasn’t prepared for. His newly inherited advisors tried to have him go, but Timaeus didn’t care. He no longer cared about anything.
But his mother had insisted the boy do something. She knew this grief more intimately than her son did. It would do him no good to suffer in silence. So, in order to set her heart at ease, he promised that he would go through the office. Nicomedes was not a well-organized man. There were papers everywhere and it would give him something to do as he worked through the pain.
So that’s what he did for several days, but the papers were useless. They were numbers he didn’t understand, written by hands he didn’t know. There was no reason to keep them when they would only remind him of what he had lost.
So, he ordered the servants to build a fire.
At first, they were wary to do so and he knew exactly why. He was no fool. Timaeus knew the entire province thought he killed his brother. He didn’t need to hear the hushed whispers swirling his household to know that’s what was happening beyond the gates he refused to open, but he did anyway. It was too convenient, they’d say in low tones when they didn’t realize the now silent man was just around the corner, Look at what he gained and no one dies like that. He poisoned him, I’m sure of it.. Tim didn’t do it. He had nothing to gain. He had lost his brother.
It’s safe to say that those attendants did not remain in the household very long.
But he understood their wariness. Here he was, a suspected murderer, leaving his voluntary solitude asking for a fire to be built while he held a stack of unknown papers in it in his hands. Could these documents prove his guilt? They whispered as they carried out his wishes all the same. He was the baron now, Timaeus was not to be questioned. Not even when he demanded privacy in the courtyard as he burned years of useless papers, blinking back tears that he blamed on the smoke, curling and swirling against a bright orange sky as the sun disappeared over the mountain peaks. A sky that his father and Nicomedes would never see again.
Why did he get another night and they didn’t?
He must have stood out there for hours, slowly burning years of his family’s work in a silence that was only disturbed by weak sniffles from a man who now felt utterly alone in the world. The orange quickly gave way to darkness and yet he didn’t budge. Not when a lone servant appeared to inform him that there was a guest at the gates.
“Turn them away.” He had snapped, but his mind was so blank, he couldn’t remember. “No visitors. Not anymore.” If Timaeus had his way, he’d shut up the whole damn house and run away from the horrors that awaited him here. But he didn’t have that choice. He no longer had any choice.
He was lost so deep in his misery that he did not notice the other man enter the courtyard. He had not been expecting him either as his orders had been clear. However, the space was filled with angry words all the same, forcing Timaeus to spin around and come face to face with a man who wanted to kill him over a crime he did not commit.
It was clearly the would-be murderer's plan to knock the new Baron off guard. Little did he know that this quiet younger brother who preferred barracks to the court was not someone who would go down easily.
Nicomedes had been the thinker, but Timaeus had been the soldier.
Seeing his would-be attacker charge at him, Timaeus dropped the papers in his hands and braced himself for an impact he could not avoid. When the two collided, the new baron’s firm stance and strong arms would be his godsend. Grasping the stranger’s shoulders, Timaeus threw his weight the opposite way, using the man’s own momentum against him. It was a risky gamble, but it worked as the two men tumbled into the dirt and just barely avoided landing in the flames of the fire.
Shadows obscured his assailant’s face, but there was no mistaking the fire burning in Timaeus’s eyes as he glared down at the man who tried to kill him. Looming over him, using his own weight to keep him down as he pressed down on to his shoulder blades and a single knee dug into the man’s left hip, keeping him from flipping lest the be thrown in the fire. Violently, he shook the man the man against the ground, thrashing him about like a child taking out his anger on a toy as he screamed at him, “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?”
Fueled by his own anger and sheer rush of adrenaline, Timaeus ceased his shaking and let go of one of the stranger’s shoulders. Then without thinking, he reeled his sword arm back and slugged him across the face. He felt a bit of relief open up in him as he released all the pent-up anger held with him since that night Nicomedes collapsed at that fateful meal just a few short weeks ago. A sick and twisted part of him enjoyed that stomach-churning SMACK! that resounded through the night air as his fist connected.
Finally, he silently thought to himself, as he reached down for the man’s neck, Someone gets to hurt like I hurt.. His lip curled up into a snarl as he pressed down and his knee dug sharply into the man’s flesh. The man had to hurt, but Timaeus was careful enough to leave him enough room to breathe. Some dark part of him that he had never seen before wanted to hear the man scream like how Timaeus wanted to scream.
“Who are you.” He growled at the man, completely unaware he was now torturing a prince, “What are you doing here?”
Every moment of silence pushed the weight of Tim down further onto the man’s trachea. He was increasing the pressure, he was increasing the pain.
And the monster in Timaeus liked it.
Yiannis had miscalculated. He realized it as right side dropped. It was an abrupt, dramatic, irreversible motion. He was trying to fight against his own center of gravity. There was a thud as his shoulder met the earth, and a crack as his opponent dropped atop him. Moving with a wrestler's efficiency. Turning both bodies to his own advantage. By the time he would have adjusted, Yiannis was pinned beneath him. He tried to struggle. The knee in his side wasn't enough. A second later his whole skull was rattling. Teeth clapping against each other. Then the world went black. His lip freshly whet with a bitter, ferric taste. The whole world was spinning. His limbs were sprawled akimbo. It occurred to him that Nicomedes might have gone this way. With a lurid sociopath glowering over him. He forced his body limp, even as it got harder to breathe. Waited until his ears stopped rining and he could the crackle of the fire just beside them.
"Who are you? What are you doing here?" Timaeus growled.
Yiannis lets his lips move, but only an uneven hiss escaped. That was both desperate and important. Drawing air back inwards became that much harder. His throat narrower. He stopped holding back and let his eyes flicker the truth. The dread, feral terror screaming at his body to move. Let him know I wanted to speak. Lean ever so closer, straining to hear.
"Justice" he whispered.
His right hand came alive. How long was it? Three seconds stretched into eternity. His hand closed around red hot embers at the fire's edge. Pressing into his palms and sliding under his fingernails even as dying skin curled back from it. Searing pain giving the extra kick of energy his body couldn't. The left arm snapped, wrist flicked. Loosing their contents upwards. Towards the eyes. His scream transcended into a battle cry. The right arm came free and flew into vicious hook. His whole torso surged forward as he twisted out from under the Valaortis. He kicked sloppily, not sure if he would hit anything. Scrambled upwards to his feet.
Yiannis wheeled around searching. Drawing in deep, heavy breaths. His whole body trembling with spasmodic rage. There he was. Blood pumping fast enough to strategize, but not to think, Yiannis charged forward. He snatched up a fire iron mid-stride, wielding it like a xiphos. Second strike would not be so easy as first blood.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
May 18, 2019 10:03:08 GMT
Posted In Heat & Light on May 18, 2019 10:03:08 GMT
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
Yiannis had miscalculated. He realized it as right side dropped. It was an abrupt, dramatic, irreversible motion. He was trying to fight against his own center of gravity. There was a thud as his shoulder met the earth, and a crack as his opponent dropped atop him. Moving with a wrestler's efficiency. Turning both bodies to his own advantage. By the time he would have adjusted, Yiannis was pinned beneath him. He tried to struggle. The knee in his side wasn't enough. A second later his whole skull was rattling. Teeth clapping against each other. Then the world went black. His lip freshly whet with a bitter, ferric taste. The whole world was spinning. His limbs were sprawled akimbo. It occurred to him that Nicomedes might have gone this way. With a lurid sociopath glowering over him. He forced his body limp, even as it got harder to breathe. Waited until his ears stopped rining and he could the crackle of the fire just beside them.
"Who are you? What are you doing here?" Timaeus growled.
Yiannis lets his lips move, but only an uneven hiss escaped. That was both desperate and important. Drawing air back inwards became that much harder. His throat narrower. He stopped holding back and let his eyes flicker the truth. The dread, feral terror screaming at his body to move. Let him know I wanted to speak. Lean ever so closer, straining to hear.
"Justice" he whispered.
His right hand came alive. How long was it? Three seconds stretched into eternity. His hand closed around red hot embers at the fire's edge. Pressing into his palms and sliding under his fingernails even as dying skin curled back from it. Searing pain giving the extra kick of energy his body couldn't. The left arm snapped, wrist flicked. Loosing their contents upwards. Towards the eyes. His scream transcended into a battle cry. The right arm came free and flew into vicious hook. His whole torso surged forward as he twisted out from under the Valaortis. He kicked sloppily, not sure if he would hit anything. Scrambled upwards to his feet.
Yiannis wheeled around searching. Drawing in deep, heavy breaths. His whole body trembling with spasmodic rage. There he was. Blood pumping fast enough to strategize, but not to think, Yiannis charged forward. He snatched up a fire iron mid-stride, wielding it like a xiphos. Second strike would not be so easy as first blood.
Yiannis had miscalculated. He realized it as right side dropped. It was an abrupt, dramatic, irreversible motion. He was trying to fight against his own center of gravity. There was a thud as his shoulder met the earth, and a crack as his opponent dropped atop him. Moving with a wrestler's efficiency. Turning both bodies to his own advantage. By the time he would have adjusted, Yiannis was pinned beneath him. He tried to struggle. The knee in his side wasn't enough. A second later his whole skull was rattling. Teeth clapping against each other. Then the world went black. His lip freshly whet with a bitter, ferric taste. The whole world was spinning. His limbs were sprawled akimbo. It occurred to him that Nicomedes might have gone this way. With a lurid sociopath glowering over him. He forced his body limp, even as it got harder to breathe. Waited until his ears stopped rining and he could the crackle of the fire just beside them.
"Who are you? What are you doing here?" Timaeus growled.
Yiannis lets his lips move, but only an uneven hiss escaped. That was both desperate and important. Drawing air back inwards became that much harder. His throat narrower. He stopped holding back and let his eyes flicker the truth. The dread, feral terror screaming at his body to move. Let him know I wanted to speak. Lean ever so closer, straining to hear.
"Justice" he whispered.
His right hand came alive. How long was it? Three seconds stretched into eternity. His hand closed around red hot embers at the fire's edge. Pressing into his palms and sliding under his fingernails even as dying skin curled back from it. Searing pain giving the extra kick of energy his body couldn't. The left arm snapped, wrist flicked. Loosing their contents upwards. Towards the eyes. His scream transcended into a battle cry. The right arm came free and flew into vicious hook. His whole torso surged forward as he twisted out from under the Valaortis. He kicked sloppily, not sure if he would hit anything. Scrambled upwards to his feet.
Yiannis wheeled around searching. Drawing in deep, heavy breaths. His whole body trembling with spasmodic rage. There he was. Blood pumping fast enough to strategize, but not to think, Yiannis charged forward. He snatched up a fire iron mid-stride, wielding it like a xiphos. Second strike would not be so easy as first blood.
A cry of pain rang out through the night as the embers were thrown into his eyes and face by Yiannis, a move forcing Timaeus to release the other man as his hands scrambled for his face to brush away the little flecks of searing pain. With one or two swipes, he was able to remove the smoky embers, but he could still feel their heat scorch his flesh and even though his eyes were screwed shut, he could feel some of the heat behind his eyelids. If he were to open them, he doubted he would be able to see clearly from them.
He didn’t need to though. Not when he felt a punch connect with his own jaw sending him reeling back off of the man. His scream from the embers died out into grunts of pain as Timaeus blindly fell backward. As if that wasn’t enough, he felt the man’s foot connect with his stomach several times, forcing him to turn as he fell so that he landed on his stomach. This did nothing but add to the sheer pain that threatened to steal his last meal from him.
Now in a vulnerable position, he cautiously opened his eyes, but he could have just kept them closed for how useful they were. Everything was just a mess and a hazy outline of color. Nothing would focus as his eyes searched wildly for any sign of his assailant who he had lost track of in the scuffle.
Through the blurriness, Timaeus could see the tall blob that was the prince. His heart sank as he also recognized the long thin outline of the iron poker in Yiannis’s hand. The man held it as if it were a sword and all the color drained from Timaeus’s pained face. There was no question that if his attacker launched an assault with that kind of weapon and if he were to get the upper hand, he would surely beat the younger man to death. Iron was far heavier than flesh and bone. Any man could take a thousand strikes from a closed fist, but it would only take a few from a rod like that to send them to the Styx.
Faced with this new threat, Timaeus scrambled backward, practically crawling along the ground as his insides screamed and threatened to lose itself with every movement. His eyes searched wildly for some sort of defense as he rapidly blinked, trying to force his vision to return to normal, but he didn’t need to see clearly to noticed something by the bonfire nearby that offer Tim some hope.
The colors blended with the movement of the flames, but that thin gray outline was unmistakable. His hand closed around the handle just as Yiannis’s rod made contact with his side, sending the already downed man sprawling to the ground as his arms gave out beneath him. The handle fumbled from his grasp as he fell, but it only took a moment for Timaeus’s shaking grasp to close around it once more. Holding onto the grip as if his life depended on it, Timaeus quickly rolled over onto his back. White spots appeared in his vision as his battered-self cried out against the pain, but he pushed through it like the soldier he was. He had to. There was no other choice.
Not when the prince was looming over him with the rod held high above his head, ready to strike the new baron again. Having only seconds to react, Timaeus swung his own fire poker in front of him to form an obstacle that the other man would not be able to break through. Holding tightly to both ends, Timaeus used his precarious position to his advantage as the two makeshift swords collided with a deafening clang. As he was lying on the ground and his hold on the fire poker was stable, he was able to absorb the strength of Yiannis’s blow. It was not easy though as the man was strong and he was hellbent on his mission of hurting Timaeus, just like how he was just as willing to tear him limb from limb.
“What justice?” Timaeus growled as before tapping into a reserve of energy in order to give one last forceful shove aimed to knock Yiannis back just for a moment.
But a moment was all the Valaoritis boy needed.
As the prince stumbled back, Timaeus let go of the barbed end of the iron. Without giving him a chance to recover, he swung it hard into the side of the prince’s knee with the hope of buckling him to the ground so that he may take the upper hand again. It worked. A sly smirk crossed the twenty-two-year-old’s face as he scrambled to his feet. Quickly, Timaeus closed the distance before grabbing the front of Yiannis’s tunic to hold him in place as he reeled his arm back for another punch to the prince’s jaw. This one was weaker than the previous one as the injuries the prince landed to Timaeus was beginning to take their toll, but the rage he felt was still just as strong.
One. Two. Timaeus quickly lobbed off hits, getting his revenge for the iron poker before he paused for a moment to sputter out between raspy breaths as his quickly tiring body struggled to get the air he needed desperately. “What...the…actual fuck… are you doing here?” His hits ceased as the man waited for the other one to give him an answer as he still didn’t understand why this was happening.
That was probably a stupid mistake that Timaeus was bound to regret.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
May 18, 2019 10:03:37 GMT
Posted In Heat & Light on May 18, 2019 10:03:37 GMT
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
A cry of pain rang out through the night as the embers were thrown into his eyes and face by Yiannis, a move forcing Timaeus to release the other man as his hands scrambled for his face to brush away the little flecks of searing pain. With one or two swipes, he was able to remove the smoky embers, but he could still feel their heat scorch his flesh and even though his eyes were screwed shut, he could feel some of the heat behind his eyelids. If he were to open them, he doubted he would be able to see clearly from them.
He didn’t need to though. Not when he felt a punch connect with his own jaw sending him reeling back off of the man. His scream from the embers died out into grunts of pain as Timaeus blindly fell backward. As if that wasn’t enough, he felt the man’s foot connect with his stomach several times, forcing him to turn as he fell so that he landed on his stomach. This did nothing but add to the sheer pain that threatened to steal his last meal from him.
Now in a vulnerable position, he cautiously opened his eyes, but he could have just kept them closed for how useful they were. Everything was just a mess and a hazy outline of color. Nothing would focus as his eyes searched wildly for any sign of his assailant who he had lost track of in the scuffle.
Through the blurriness, Timaeus could see the tall blob that was the prince. His heart sank as he also recognized the long thin outline of the iron poker in Yiannis’s hand. The man held it as if it were a sword and all the color drained from Timaeus’s pained face. There was no question that if his attacker launched an assault with that kind of weapon and if he were to get the upper hand, he would surely beat the younger man to death. Iron was far heavier than flesh and bone. Any man could take a thousand strikes from a closed fist, but it would only take a few from a rod like that to send them to the Styx.
Faced with this new threat, Timaeus scrambled backward, practically crawling along the ground as his insides screamed and threatened to lose itself with every movement. His eyes searched wildly for some sort of defense as he rapidly blinked, trying to force his vision to return to normal, but he didn’t need to see clearly to noticed something by the bonfire nearby that offer Tim some hope.
The colors blended with the movement of the flames, but that thin gray outline was unmistakable. His hand closed around the handle just as Yiannis’s rod made contact with his side, sending the already downed man sprawling to the ground as his arms gave out beneath him. The handle fumbled from his grasp as he fell, but it only took a moment for Timaeus’s shaking grasp to close around it once more. Holding onto the grip as if his life depended on it, Timaeus quickly rolled over onto his back. White spots appeared in his vision as his battered-self cried out against the pain, but he pushed through it like the soldier he was. He had to. There was no other choice.
Not when the prince was looming over him with the rod held high above his head, ready to strike the new baron again. Having only seconds to react, Timaeus swung his own fire poker in front of him to form an obstacle that the other man would not be able to break through. Holding tightly to both ends, Timaeus used his precarious position to his advantage as the two makeshift swords collided with a deafening clang. As he was lying on the ground and his hold on the fire poker was stable, he was able to absorb the strength of Yiannis’s blow. It was not easy though as the man was strong and he was hellbent on his mission of hurting Timaeus, just like how he was just as willing to tear him limb from limb.
“What justice?” Timaeus growled as before tapping into a reserve of energy in order to give one last forceful shove aimed to knock Yiannis back just for a moment.
But a moment was all the Valaoritis boy needed.
As the prince stumbled back, Timaeus let go of the barbed end of the iron. Without giving him a chance to recover, he swung it hard into the side of the prince’s knee with the hope of buckling him to the ground so that he may take the upper hand again. It worked. A sly smirk crossed the twenty-two-year-old’s face as he scrambled to his feet. Quickly, Timaeus closed the distance before grabbing the front of Yiannis’s tunic to hold him in place as he reeled his arm back for another punch to the prince’s jaw. This one was weaker than the previous one as the injuries the prince landed to Timaeus was beginning to take their toll, but the rage he felt was still just as strong.
One. Two. Timaeus quickly lobbed off hits, getting his revenge for the iron poker before he paused for a moment to sputter out between raspy breaths as his quickly tiring body struggled to get the air he needed desperately. “What...the…actual fuck… are you doing here?” His hits ceased as the man waited for the other one to give him an answer as he still didn’t understand why this was happening.
That was probably a stupid mistake that Timaeus was bound to regret.
A cry of pain rang out through the night as the embers were thrown into his eyes and face by Yiannis, a move forcing Timaeus to release the other man as his hands scrambled for his face to brush away the little flecks of searing pain. With one or two swipes, he was able to remove the smoky embers, but he could still feel their heat scorch his flesh and even though his eyes were screwed shut, he could feel some of the heat behind his eyelids. If he were to open them, he doubted he would be able to see clearly from them.
He didn’t need to though. Not when he felt a punch connect with his own jaw sending him reeling back off of the man. His scream from the embers died out into grunts of pain as Timaeus blindly fell backward. As if that wasn’t enough, he felt the man’s foot connect with his stomach several times, forcing him to turn as he fell so that he landed on his stomach. This did nothing but add to the sheer pain that threatened to steal his last meal from him.
Now in a vulnerable position, he cautiously opened his eyes, but he could have just kept them closed for how useful they were. Everything was just a mess and a hazy outline of color. Nothing would focus as his eyes searched wildly for any sign of his assailant who he had lost track of in the scuffle.
Through the blurriness, Timaeus could see the tall blob that was the prince. His heart sank as he also recognized the long thin outline of the iron poker in Yiannis’s hand. The man held it as if it were a sword and all the color drained from Timaeus’s pained face. There was no question that if his attacker launched an assault with that kind of weapon and if he were to get the upper hand, he would surely beat the younger man to death. Iron was far heavier than flesh and bone. Any man could take a thousand strikes from a closed fist, but it would only take a few from a rod like that to send them to the Styx.
Faced with this new threat, Timaeus scrambled backward, practically crawling along the ground as his insides screamed and threatened to lose itself with every movement. His eyes searched wildly for some sort of defense as he rapidly blinked, trying to force his vision to return to normal, but he didn’t need to see clearly to noticed something by the bonfire nearby that offer Tim some hope.
The colors blended with the movement of the flames, but that thin gray outline was unmistakable. His hand closed around the handle just as Yiannis’s rod made contact with his side, sending the already downed man sprawling to the ground as his arms gave out beneath him. The handle fumbled from his grasp as he fell, but it only took a moment for Timaeus’s shaking grasp to close around it once more. Holding onto the grip as if his life depended on it, Timaeus quickly rolled over onto his back. White spots appeared in his vision as his battered-self cried out against the pain, but he pushed through it like the soldier he was. He had to. There was no other choice.
Not when the prince was looming over him with the rod held high above his head, ready to strike the new baron again. Having only seconds to react, Timaeus swung his own fire poker in front of him to form an obstacle that the other man would not be able to break through. Holding tightly to both ends, Timaeus used his precarious position to his advantage as the two makeshift swords collided with a deafening clang. As he was lying on the ground and his hold on the fire poker was stable, he was able to absorb the strength of Yiannis’s blow. It was not easy though as the man was strong and he was hellbent on his mission of hurting Timaeus, just like how he was just as willing to tear him limb from limb.
“What justice?” Timaeus growled as before tapping into a reserve of energy in order to give one last forceful shove aimed to knock Yiannis back just for a moment.
But a moment was all the Valaoritis boy needed.
As the prince stumbled back, Timaeus let go of the barbed end of the iron. Without giving him a chance to recover, he swung it hard into the side of the prince’s knee with the hope of buckling him to the ground so that he may take the upper hand again. It worked. A sly smirk crossed the twenty-two-year-old’s face as he scrambled to his feet. Quickly, Timaeus closed the distance before grabbing the front of Yiannis’s tunic to hold him in place as he reeled his arm back for another punch to the prince’s jaw. This one was weaker than the previous one as the injuries the prince landed to Timaeus was beginning to take their toll, but the rage he felt was still just as strong.
One. Two. Timaeus quickly lobbed off hits, getting his revenge for the iron poker before he paused for a moment to sputter out between raspy breaths as his quickly tiring body struggled to get the air he needed desperately. “What...the…actual fuck… are you doing here?” His hits ceased as the man waited for the other one to give him an answer as he still didn’t understand why this was happening.
That was probably a stupid mistake that Timaeus was bound to regret.
Yiannis knew close combat. Dodge, parry, and thrust. The irons scrapped against each other, leveraging for advantage. He had seen this a dozen times. One of them would slip, and then he would gut them. Now he'd seen the extent of Timaeus's swordplay. Everything was down to swordplay now. Yiannis's axe was better. But the iron was no axe. He misjudged the length. Just slightly enough for Timaeus to focus his energy at the far end. It twirled him sideways. Kotas leaned hard to keep his balance. Over-extended his leg in the process. Iron came singing downward. Crunch.
There was another heavy thud that sent the world spinning. Something closing over his throat. Someone was speaking, but his ears rang too loud to hear. Blood pouring from his mouth. Yiannis couldn't get his hands up in time. In truth, he didn't even know where they were. Too much mental energy. When he could build, though, was a better idea of where the blows were coming from. He started to feel their rhythm. What it meant about his opponent's position. So he was well prepared to notice when they suddenly stopped. His fist was already tight. It snapped out like a cobra's bite, aimed directly for the voice box. That resultant gag was enough of a signal. Yiannis lunged.
The next thing he tasted was dirt. Gasping raggedly for breath. The pain so deep that his head swam and vision went dark. He wanted to pick himself up off the floor, but he got too light-headed whenever his head left the grass. His voice was a spittle-filled gag. But even at full volume, he couldn't have screamed any louder than his own knee. It shut out thought and awareness. As if, starting there, something had emerged to rip his whole body asunder and set it aflame. In those first few seconds, he wasn't even certain whether he was still moving or standing still. When he came back to Earth he was babbling.
"Damn you. Throw across the Styx you worthless swine. I heard his speeches, read his epitomes. Perfect my stance in the phalan besides him. Damn you! Throwing it all away for a title. So that you could be baron. What did you think of us, that you imagined we would elevate a patricide. I'll kill you where you stand, dog" he said said, voice hot.
He had made it up to his knees by now. Quavering unsteadily, but at least he was rising. No more. He collapsed again, only catching himself with his hands. Ignoring the tears that flowed from the pain. Trying to claw his way back to his feet and wheel on his opponent. He had no other choice. House Kotas would not suffer a murderer. This was right.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
May 18, 2019 10:04:07 GMT
Posted In Heat & Light on May 18, 2019 10:04:07 GMT
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
Yiannis knew close combat. Dodge, parry, and thrust. The irons scrapped against each other, leveraging for advantage. He had seen this a dozen times. One of them would slip, and then he would gut them. Now he'd seen the extent of Timaeus's swordplay. Everything was down to swordplay now. Yiannis's axe was better. But the iron was no axe. He misjudged the length. Just slightly enough for Timaeus to focus his energy at the far end. It twirled him sideways. Kotas leaned hard to keep his balance. Over-extended his leg in the process. Iron came singing downward. Crunch.
There was another heavy thud that sent the world spinning. Something closing over his throat. Someone was speaking, but his ears rang too loud to hear. Blood pouring from his mouth. Yiannis couldn't get his hands up in time. In truth, he didn't even know where they were. Too much mental energy. When he could build, though, was a better idea of where the blows were coming from. He started to feel their rhythm. What it meant about his opponent's position. So he was well prepared to notice when they suddenly stopped. His fist was already tight. It snapped out like a cobra's bite, aimed directly for the voice box. That resultant gag was enough of a signal. Yiannis lunged.
The next thing he tasted was dirt. Gasping raggedly for breath. The pain so deep that his head swam and vision went dark. He wanted to pick himself up off the floor, but he got too light-headed whenever his head left the grass. His voice was a spittle-filled gag. But even at full volume, he couldn't have screamed any louder than his own knee. It shut out thought and awareness. As if, starting there, something had emerged to rip his whole body asunder and set it aflame. In those first few seconds, he wasn't even certain whether he was still moving or standing still. When he came back to Earth he was babbling.
"Damn you. Throw across the Styx you worthless swine. I heard his speeches, read his epitomes. Perfect my stance in the phalan besides him. Damn you! Throwing it all away for a title. So that you could be baron. What did you think of us, that you imagined we would elevate a patricide. I'll kill you where you stand, dog" he said said, voice hot.
He had made it up to his knees by now. Quavering unsteadily, but at least he was rising. No more. He collapsed again, only catching himself with his hands. Ignoring the tears that flowed from the pain. Trying to claw his way back to his feet and wheel on his opponent. He had no other choice. House Kotas would not suffer a murderer. This was right.
Yiannis knew close combat. Dodge, parry, and thrust. The irons scrapped against each other, leveraging for advantage. He had seen this a dozen times. One of them would slip, and then he would gut them. Now he'd seen the extent of Timaeus's swordplay. Everything was down to swordplay now. Yiannis's axe was better. But the iron was no axe. He misjudged the length. Just slightly enough for Timaeus to focus his energy at the far end. It twirled him sideways. Kotas leaned hard to keep his balance. Over-extended his leg in the process. Iron came singing downward. Crunch.
There was another heavy thud that sent the world spinning. Something closing over his throat. Someone was speaking, but his ears rang too loud to hear. Blood pouring from his mouth. Yiannis couldn't get his hands up in time. In truth, he didn't even know where they were. Too much mental energy. When he could build, though, was a better idea of where the blows were coming from. He started to feel their rhythm. What it meant about his opponent's position. So he was well prepared to notice when they suddenly stopped. His fist was already tight. It snapped out like a cobra's bite, aimed directly for the voice box. That resultant gag was enough of a signal. Yiannis lunged.
The next thing he tasted was dirt. Gasping raggedly for breath. The pain so deep that his head swam and vision went dark. He wanted to pick himself up off the floor, but he got too light-headed whenever his head left the grass. His voice was a spittle-filled gag. But even at full volume, he couldn't have screamed any louder than his own knee. It shut out thought and awareness. As if, starting there, something had emerged to rip his whole body asunder and set it aflame. In those first few seconds, he wasn't even certain whether he was still moving or standing still. When he came back to Earth he was babbling.
"Damn you. Throw across the Styx you worthless swine. I heard his speeches, read his epitomes. Perfect my stance in the phalan besides him. Damn you! Throwing it all away for a title. So that you could be baron. What did you think of us, that you imagined we would elevate a patricide. I'll kill you where you stand, dog" he said said, voice hot.
He had made it up to his knees by now. Quavering unsteadily, but at least he was rising. No more. He collapsed again, only catching himself with his hands. Ignoring the tears that flowed from the pain. Trying to claw his way back to his feet and wheel on his opponent. He had no other choice. House Kotas would not suffer a murderer. This was right.
The fight was drawing to a close, Timaeus could just feel it to be true. Though then again, that may just be him noticing how both of them had been severely weakened and how it was unlikely that either of them would be able to continue on much longer. These last few blows would determine the winner and if Timaeus were to live… as this man clearly wanted him dead, he would have to ensure that he was the one to come out on top. He had to. His family couldn’t bear another loss. It was not Tim’s time to cross the Styx. It just couldn’t be.
Ignoring his own pain, Timaeus slowly moved over to where the prince was stumbling to his knees, crying from his own pain, babbling all the while. He prepared himself to launch one final attack that would incapacitate the man so that his stronger guards he would soon summon could deal with him and the new baron could tend to his wounds.
Then he caught what the Prince was saying. It took him a moment, but he understood the vitriol-filled words calling Timaeus a murderer, blaming him for the death of his brother Nico. Suddenly the realization dawned on him. This is why the man wanted him dead. He thought that Timaeus murdered Nicomedes in cold blood.
A new rage boiled inside him that he was unable to contain. With a strangled cry of anger as the implication tore through his mind, going against everything Timaeus and his family had ever stood for, the baron launched himself at the man. Knocking him back into the dirt, Timaeus used his disbelief of being accused of such a horrible crime he would never commit to fuel the last few punches he would land on Yiannis’s skin.
“You… think… I...murdered...him… for… a… title?!” Timaeus screamed between blows to the man’s face and torso, letting his anger guide him as he reacted in the worst way possible to such a claim, “He… was… my… brother… you… filthy… ugly… son… of… a… gorgon…” Hot stinging tears blurred his already stunted vision as he just landed blow after blow that he had no way to guide. Yiannis’s accusation hurt more than any blow the man had landed previously, especially as the man didn’t know how much pain the death of Nicomedes brought Timaeus. Nor did he seem to know that Timaeus had tried to save him. Yiannis clearly didn’t hear of how Tim had pounded on his brother’s chest for eternity after he collapsed, willing his strong heart to beat again once more. How could he not know of how Timaeus howled and fought as he was dragged off his brother’s cold body, refusing to give up and hand him over to the healers who had been summoned?
Did that sound like a man who was guilty of murder?
After a few moments, Timaeus finally let off the man, though not because of his anger abating. No, instead he was simply too weak to continue his assault. His bloody knuckles could do no more damage… yet Timaeus couldn’t let such an accusation slide nor could he let this man win. Not when he held no qualms about telling such lies.
So, he used the very last of his strength to grab the man roughly by the scruff of his neck. Tim hauled him to his hands and knees before using their combined weight to toss them close to the fire. It was fitting really, how this fight would end with the same way it had started. Yet, this would be different, Guiding him by firm grip he had on his tunic, Timaeus pushed him a mere foot away from the fire that burned just as brightly as the anger in his eyes. The heat singed both of their faces as Timaeus fell to his knees as well, severely weakened by his own injuries, but refusing to let go of his hold on this liar.
“If I am really the murderer that you think I am, then what is to stop me from shoving you forward into these flames? Give me one good reason why I shouldn't end your life right here...” Timaeus growled in the prince’s ear and he feigned pushing him forward. A sick and twisted smile crossed his face as he watched how his attacker instinctively flailed as he surely felt his body lurch forward. Timaeus could imagine him getting frustrated at his body’s innate response, especially as Timaeus never loosened his ironclad grip on the back of his tunic. As blinded as he was by his pain, a horrible mixture of grief and ache from his own blows, Timaeus was not foolish enough to stoop to the level of depravity that Yiannis believed him to be capable of. In his core, he knew himself to not be the monster everyone else seemed to think he was… a man willing to kill his own brother for a title. A monster so desperate for power and glory that the craving for it triumphed over all common sense. He knew that this wasn’t him...
Though how long would it take for him to be told over and over that this was who he was before Timaeus started to believe it?
In truth, Timaeus refused to let go of Yiannis because he hurt in ways he could never explain. It went deeper than the cuts in his flesh that turned his skin sticky and red. More than the stinging in his eyes that was slowly beginning to fade. Larger than the way his stomach lurched with every labored breath he took. No, this pain went deep into his core. His heart cried out over the loss of his brother who noticed his absence in ways Timaeus never imagined. The empty place in the dining hall. The darkness of his rooms. The lack of laughter late into the night. All things that he never took note of before, but now he couldn’t fail to miss. It weighed heavily on him and the guilt that came with it seemed to be crushing the lost lad. If only Timaeus hadn’t let them drag him off of Nico’s stilled body that night… if the had just let him keep trying to beat the life back into his brother’s chest… Everything would be alright. It would all be normal.
But the body had already been long burned. There was no way Nico would ever come back to those he left behind.
The truth of this hurt more than any blow Yiannis could leave upon his skin and Timaeus was so hopelessly lost. He didn’t know what to do or how to even deal with this pain on his own. He needed Nico by his side, The ever strong and resilient man would know what to do to make this pain go away. But he wasn’t here and all Timaeus could do was pass the pain to others.
Maybe that would make it hurt less if someone else had to feel it instead of him?
That’s why Timaeus continued to hold Yiannis dangerously close to the fire. He needed someone else to feel this pain so he wouldn’t have to. It was the only thing Tim could think to do, believing that it may bring him peace. If only he knew it never would.
As the sting of Yiannis’s words began to fade, so did the strength that it brought Tim. Soon enough, the new baron found himself equally hunched over in the dirt. His grip was weakening and was quickly was turning from a threat within itself to one of support. It was almost as if Tim was leaning on him to keep him upright as his chest tightened in that familiar way Timaeus had learned to recognize as the warning signs of an uncontrollable sob building within him, Even thinking about living without Nico while also being blamed for his murder was beginning to overwhelm him. Tim knew he couldn’t fight this off, not while he was fighting to ignore the physical pain that was erupting throughout his body.
“No,” Timaeus quietly muttered to himself as he tried to chase the thoughts of what his world now was from his mind. Soon enough, in a move that would surely confuse the man who had nearly been thrown into the fire just a moment prior, Timaeus’s grip loosened as he screwed his eyes shut and he let go of Yiannis.
Now lacking the physical support this had given him, Timaeus collapsed into the dirt, finally giving into the blows that had sapped at his remaining energy. His now leaking eyes remained tightly closed as his chest heaved in sobs that racked through the younger man’s body. Words would not come to Timaeus, not that he was trying anyway, as he worked through his grief. His grip on his surroundings faded, only being aware of the hard ground he laid upon and the warmth of the fire next to him as his body curled within itself slightly. It was a small way of shielding himself while he was trapped in this uncontrollable state of vulnerability that his attacker may take as an admission of guilt he did not carry.
As he heard the other man shift, Timaeus was innately aware that the prince may make good on his promise to kill him for a crime he did not commit. Yet, he couldn’t be bothered to roll away or stand again to defend what he knew to be true. It was a useless fight the baron would never win, he could see that now. There was no changing how the world would see him in the aftermath of events even he didn’t understand.
All he knew was that Yiannis was wrong.
But there was no way Timaeus could ever prove it to him.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
May 18, 2019 10:04:38 GMT
Posted In Heat & Light on May 18, 2019 10:04:38 GMT
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
The fight was drawing to a close, Timaeus could just feel it to be true. Though then again, that may just be him noticing how both of them had been severely weakened and how it was unlikely that either of them would be able to continue on much longer. These last few blows would determine the winner and if Timaeus were to live… as this man clearly wanted him dead, he would have to ensure that he was the one to come out on top. He had to. His family couldn’t bear another loss. It was not Tim’s time to cross the Styx. It just couldn’t be.
Ignoring his own pain, Timaeus slowly moved over to where the prince was stumbling to his knees, crying from his own pain, babbling all the while. He prepared himself to launch one final attack that would incapacitate the man so that his stronger guards he would soon summon could deal with him and the new baron could tend to his wounds.
Then he caught what the Prince was saying. It took him a moment, but he understood the vitriol-filled words calling Timaeus a murderer, blaming him for the death of his brother Nico. Suddenly the realization dawned on him. This is why the man wanted him dead. He thought that Timaeus murdered Nicomedes in cold blood.
A new rage boiled inside him that he was unable to contain. With a strangled cry of anger as the implication tore through his mind, going against everything Timaeus and his family had ever stood for, the baron launched himself at the man. Knocking him back into the dirt, Timaeus used his disbelief of being accused of such a horrible crime he would never commit to fuel the last few punches he would land on Yiannis’s skin.
“You… think… I...murdered...him… for… a… title?!” Timaeus screamed between blows to the man’s face and torso, letting his anger guide him as he reacted in the worst way possible to such a claim, “He… was… my… brother… you… filthy… ugly… son… of… a… gorgon…” Hot stinging tears blurred his already stunted vision as he just landed blow after blow that he had no way to guide. Yiannis’s accusation hurt more than any blow the man had landed previously, especially as the man didn’t know how much pain the death of Nicomedes brought Timaeus. Nor did he seem to know that Timaeus had tried to save him. Yiannis clearly didn’t hear of how Tim had pounded on his brother’s chest for eternity after he collapsed, willing his strong heart to beat again once more. How could he not know of how Timaeus howled and fought as he was dragged off his brother’s cold body, refusing to give up and hand him over to the healers who had been summoned?
Did that sound like a man who was guilty of murder?
After a few moments, Timaeus finally let off the man, though not because of his anger abating. No, instead he was simply too weak to continue his assault. His bloody knuckles could do no more damage… yet Timaeus couldn’t let such an accusation slide nor could he let this man win. Not when he held no qualms about telling such lies.
So, he used the very last of his strength to grab the man roughly by the scruff of his neck. Tim hauled him to his hands and knees before using their combined weight to toss them close to the fire. It was fitting really, how this fight would end with the same way it had started. Yet, this would be different, Guiding him by firm grip he had on his tunic, Timaeus pushed him a mere foot away from the fire that burned just as brightly as the anger in his eyes. The heat singed both of their faces as Timaeus fell to his knees as well, severely weakened by his own injuries, but refusing to let go of his hold on this liar.
“If I am really the murderer that you think I am, then what is to stop me from shoving you forward into these flames? Give me one good reason why I shouldn't end your life right here...” Timaeus growled in the prince’s ear and he feigned pushing him forward. A sick and twisted smile crossed his face as he watched how his attacker instinctively flailed as he surely felt his body lurch forward. Timaeus could imagine him getting frustrated at his body’s innate response, especially as Timaeus never loosened his ironclad grip on the back of his tunic. As blinded as he was by his pain, a horrible mixture of grief and ache from his own blows, Timaeus was not foolish enough to stoop to the level of depravity that Yiannis believed him to be capable of. In his core, he knew himself to not be the monster everyone else seemed to think he was… a man willing to kill his own brother for a title. A monster so desperate for power and glory that the craving for it triumphed over all common sense. He knew that this wasn’t him...
Though how long would it take for him to be told over and over that this was who he was before Timaeus started to believe it?
In truth, Timaeus refused to let go of Yiannis because he hurt in ways he could never explain. It went deeper than the cuts in his flesh that turned his skin sticky and red. More than the stinging in his eyes that was slowly beginning to fade. Larger than the way his stomach lurched with every labored breath he took. No, this pain went deep into his core. His heart cried out over the loss of his brother who noticed his absence in ways Timaeus never imagined. The empty place in the dining hall. The darkness of his rooms. The lack of laughter late into the night. All things that he never took note of before, but now he couldn’t fail to miss. It weighed heavily on him and the guilt that came with it seemed to be crushing the lost lad. If only Timaeus hadn’t let them drag him off of Nico’s stilled body that night… if the had just let him keep trying to beat the life back into his brother’s chest… Everything would be alright. It would all be normal.
But the body had already been long burned. There was no way Nico would ever come back to those he left behind.
The truth of this hurt more than any blow Yiannis could leave upon his skin and Timaeus was so hopelessly lost. He didn’t know what to do or how to even deal with this pain on his own. He needed Nico by his side, The ever strong and resilient man would know what to do to make this pain go away. But he wasn’t here and all Timaeus could do was pass the pain to others.
Maybe that would make it hurt less if someone else had to feel it instead of him?
That’s why Timaeus continued to hold Yiannis dangerously close to the fire. He needed someone else to feel this pain so he wouldn’t have to. It was the only thing Tim could think to do, believing that it may bring him peace. If only he knew it never would.
As the sting of Yiannis’s words began to fade, so did the strength that it brought Tim. Soon enough, the new baron found himself equally hunched over in the dirt. His grip was weakening and was quickly was turning from a threat within itself to one of support. It was almost as if Tim was leaning on him to keep him upright as his chest tightened in that familiar way Timaeus had learned to recognize as the warning signs of an uncontrollable sob building within him, Even thinking about living without Nico while also being blamed for his murder was beginning to overwhelm him. Tim knew he couldn’t fight this off, not while he was fighting to ignore the physical pain that was erupting throughout his body.
“No,” Timaeus quietly muttered to himself as he tried to chase the thoughts of what his world now was from his mind. Soon enough, in a move that would surely confuse the man who had nearly been thrown into the fire just a moment prior, Timaeus’s grip loosened as he screwed his eyes shut and he let go of Yiannis.
Now lacking the physical support this had given him, Timaeus collapsed into the dirt, finally giving into the blows that had sapped at his remaining energy. His now leaking eyes remained tightly closed as his chest heaved in sobs that racked through the younger man’s body. Words would not come to Timaeus, not that he was trying anyway, as he worked through his grief. His grip on his surroundings faded, only being aware of the hard ground he laid upon and the warmth of the fire next to him as his body curled within itself slightly. It was a small way of shielding himself while he was trapped in this uncontrollable state of vulnerability that his attacker may take as an admission of guilt he did not carry.
As he heard the other man shift, Timaeus was innately aware that the prince may make good on his promise to kill him for a crime he did not commit. Yet, he couldn’t be bothered to roll away or stand again to defend what he knew to be true. It was a useless fight the baron would never win, he could see that now. There was no changing how the world would see him in the aftermath of events even he didn’t understand.
All he knew was that Yiannis was wrong.
But there was no way Timaeus could ever prove it to him.
The fight was drawing to a close, Timaeus could just feel it to be true. Though then again, that may just be him noticing how both of them had been severely weakened and how it was unlikely that either of them would be able to continue on much longer. These last few blows would determine the winner and if Timaeus were to live… as this man clearly wanted him dead, he would have to ensure that he was the one to come out on top. He had to. His family couldn’t bear another loss. It was not Tim’s time to cross the Styx. It just couldn’t be.
Ignoring his own pain, Timaeus slowly moved over to where the prince was stumbling to his knees, crying from his own pain, babbling all the while. He prepared himself to launch one final attack that would incapacitate the man so that his stronger guards he would soon summon could deal with him and the new baron could tend to his wounds.
Then he caught what the Prince was saying. It took him a moment, but he understood the vitriol-filled words calling Timaeus a murderer, blaming him for the death of his brother Nico. Suddenly the realization dawned on him. This is why the man wanted him dead. He thought that Timaeus murdered Nicomedes in cold blood.
A new rage boiled inside him that he was unable to contain. With a strangled cry of anger as the implication tore through his mind, going against everything Timaeus and his family had ever stood for, the baron launched himself at the man. Knocking him back into the dirt, Timaeus used his disbelief of being accused of such a horrible crime he would never commit to fuel the last few punches he would land on Yiannis’s skin.
“You… think… I...murdered...him… for… a… title?!” Timaeus screamed between blows to the man’s face and torso, letting his anger guide him as he reacted in the worst way possible to such a claim, “He… was… my… brother… you… filthy… ugly… son… of… a… gorgon…” Hot stinging tears blurred his already stunted vision as he just landed blow after blow that he had no way to guide. Yiannis’s accusation hurt more than any blow the man had landed previously, especially as the man didn’t know how much pain the death of Nicomedes brought Timaeus. Nor did he seem to know that Timaeus had tried to save him. Yiannis clearly didn’t hear of how Tim had pounded on his brother’s chest for eternity after he collapsed, willing his strong heart to beat again once more. How could he not know of how Timaeus howled and fought as he was dragged off his brother’s cold body, refusing to give up and hand him over to the healers who had been summoned?
Did that sound like a man who was guilty of murder?
After a few moments, Timaeus finally let off the man, though not because of his anger abating. No, instead he was simply too weak to continue his assault. His bloody knuckles could do no more damage… yet Timaeus couldn’t let such an accusation slide nor could he let this man win. Not when he held no qualms about telling such lies.
So, he used the very last of his strength to grab the man roughly by the scruff of his neck. Tim hauled him to his hands and knees before using their combined weight to toss them close to the fire. It was fitting really, how this fight would end with the same way it had started. Yet, this would be different, Guiding him by firm grip he had on his tunic, Timaeus pushed him a mere foot away from the fire that burned just as brightly as the anger in his eyes. The heat singed both of their faces as Timaeus fell to his knees as well, severely weakened by his own injuries, but refusing to let go of his hold on this liar.
“If I am really the murderer that you think I am, then what is to stop me from shoving you forward into these flames? Give me one good reason why I shouldn't end your life right here...” Timaeus growled in the prince’s ear and he feigned pushing him forward. A sick and twisted smile crossed his face as he watched how his attacker instinctively flailed as he surely felt his body lurch forward. Timaeus could imagine him getting frustrated at his body’s innate response, especially as Timaeus never loosened his ironclad grip on the back of his tunic. As blinded as he was by his pain, a horrible mixture of grief and ache from his own blows, Timaeus was not foolish enough to stoop to the level of depravity that Yiannis believed him to be capable of. In his core, he knew himself to not be the monster everyone else seemed to think he was… a man willing to kill his own brother for a title. A monster so desperate for power and glory that the craving for it triumphed over all common sense. He knew that this wasn’t him...
Though how long would it take for him to be told over and over that this was who he was before Timaeus started to believe it?
In truth, Timaeus refused to let go of Yiannis because he hurt in ways he could never explain. It went deeper than the cuts in his flesh that turned his skin sticky and red. More than the stinging in his eyes that was slowly beginning to fade. Larger than the way his stomach lurched with every labored breath he took. No, this pain went deep into his core. His heart cried out over the loss of his brother who noticed his absence in ways Timaeus never imagined. The empty place in the dining hall. The darkness of his rooms. The lack of laughter late into the night. All things that he never took note of before, but now he couldn’t fail to miss. It weighed heavily on him and the guilt that came with it seemed to be crushing the lost lad. If only Timaeus hadn’t let them drag him off of Nico’s stilled body that night… if the had just let him keep trying to beat the life back into his brother’s chest… Everything would be alright. It would all be normal.
But the body had already been long burned. There was no way Nico would ever come back to those he left behind.
The truth of this hurt more than any blow Yiannis could leave upon his skin and Timaeus was so hopelessly lost. He didn’t know what to do or how to even deal with this pain on his own. He needed Nico by his side, The ever strong and resilient man would know what to do to make this pain go away. But he wasn’t here and all Timaeus could do was pass the pain to others.
Maybe that would make it hurt less if someone else had to feel it instead of him?
That’s why Timaeus continued to hold Yiannis dangerously close to the fire. He needed someone else to feel this pain so he wouldn’t have to. It was the only thing Tim could think to do, believing that it may bring him peace. If only he knew it never would.
As the sting of Yiannis’s words began to fade, so did the strength that it brought Tim. Soon enough, the new baron found himself equally hunched over in the dirt. His grip was weakening and was quickly was turning from a threat within itself to one of support. It was almost as if Tim was leaning on him to keep him upright as his chest tightened in that familiar way Timaeus had learned to recognize as the warning signs of an uncontrollable sob building within him, Even thinking about living without Nico while also being blamed for his murder was beginning to overwhelm him. Tim knew he couldn’t fight this off, not while he was fighting to ignore the physical pain that was erupting throughout his body.
“No,” Timaeus quietly muttered to himself as he tried to chase the thoughts of what his world now was from his mind. Soon enough, in a move that would surely confuse the man who had nearly been thrown into the fire just a moment prior, Timaeus’s grip loosened as he screwed his eyes shut and he let go of Yiannis.
Now lacking the physical support this had given him, Timaeus collapsed into the dirt, finally giving into the blows that had sapped at his remaining energy. His now leaking eyes remained tightly closed as his chest heaved in sobs that racked through the younger man’s body. Words would not come to Timaeus, not that he was trying anyway, as he worked through his grief. His grip on his surroundings faded, only being aware of the hard ground he laid upon and the warmth of the fire next to him as his body curled within itself slightly. It was a small way of shielding himself while he was trapped in this uncontrollable state of vulnerability that his attacker may take as an admission of guilt he did not carry.
As he heard the other man shift, Timaeus was innately aware that the prince may make good on his promise to kill him for a crime he did not commit. Yet, he couldn’t be bothered to roll away or stand again to defend what he knew to be true. It was a useless fight the baron would never win, he could see that now. There was no changing how the world would see him in the aftermath of events even he didn’t understand.
All he knew was that Yiannis was wrong.
But there was no way Timaeus could ever prove it to him.
The blow, when it came, was sloppy. Forceful but uncontrolled, and hugely telegraphed besides. Were it not, Yiannis usually mustered enough agility to dodge or at least defect the blow. Even now, he was starting the scramble as he saw Timaeus hurtling forward. A few seconds more, and he would have managed. But he was still rattled by the last cuff against his skull. The world tilted slightly when he tried to stare straight. He could shift his weight just well enough to bear the pain of his knee, or he could compensate for the new skew in his balance. Not both. All the sudden he was lurching disastrously sideways, spinning like his vision. Directly into wide, heavy swing off Timaeus's foot. There was a snapping sound as it plowed into his gut.
Yiannis writhed on the ground, jaws opening to a mouthful of dirt. He didn't care. His lungs were burning. His whole body trying to curl in on itself. A lancing pain came each time he tried to breathe. Another every time he held his breathe. Constant and alternating, until the two were indistinguishable. What were a few more, courtesy of someone's boot? It was harder to ignore when Timaeus seized him by the collar. But no more coherent. A bitter, ferric taste exploded into his mouth. Left it thick on his tongue, when he could sense. That was as often as he could hear. Mostly, though, there was just blackness. Blurs, and screeching, and blackness. No time to adjust to what was happening. No way to understand the reactions of his own body. He was just barely hanging on. The worse of every new pain sure gave him a second's clarity, then pushed him further towards unconsciousness. Something seared at his shoulder.
Then it all stopped. The first thing he felt was the dirt in his hair. Then cheeks so deeply bruised that it stung for tear to creep across them. But that's when he realized the noise of crying was not from his throat. Not nearly ragged enough. Nor did he have the breath. It hurt to push his eyelids open. He did anyway, letting his fingers dance across the environment. Probing for some advantage. Trying to make sense of what happened, even though he didn't know how long had passed. There were just snatches of the exchange between them. Fragments he had caught before a fist fell to shatter his concentration afresh. He neither knew how long he'd been on the ground nor how long he'd been there trying to figure it out. But somehow he'd managed to roll onto his belly. Slowly, painfully, he was dragging himself forward. Pulling by a rock. It took his whole hand to try and wield it. It gave him a weight to anchor against when he pulled himself flush to it, then let his good arm carry it forward again. Ever closer to Timaeus. He could hear the man mewling now.
It was just as clear as the rustling in the background. Someone at last highly ranked enough to dare putting themselves between two nobles. He could hear them calling. But they were too far away. They wouldn't get there before Yiannis did. The young prince grunted, pushing himself that much harder. Timaeus was still weeping. Either ignorant or oblivious. The distinction didn't particularly matter for what was coming. Only inches apart now. Yiannis reared up to his knees on last time, stone swinging wildly. Body looming over Timaeus. And back down on his opponent. Only a mother's scream colored the dread final second.
The stone lay useless on the ground. Yiannis's hand had fallen exactly where he intended: On Timaeus's shoulder.
"Such righteous anger" he gurgled from a blood-filled mouth, "only comes from innocence. I know."
And then a dozen hands were swarming around them both.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
May 18, 2019 10:05:05 GMT
Posted In Heat & Light on May 18, 2019 10:05:05 GMT
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
The blow, when it came, was sloppy. Forceful but uncontrolled, and hugely telegraphed besides. Were it not, Yiannis usually mustered enough agility to dodge or at least defect the blow. Even now, he was starting the scramble as he saw Timaeus hurtling forward. A few seconds more, and he would have managed. But he was still rattled by the last cuff against his skull. The world tilted slightly when he tried to stare straight. He could shift his weight just well enough to bear the pain of his knee, or he could compensate for the new skew in his balance. Not both. All the sudden he was lurching disastrously sideways, spinning like his vision. Directly into wide, heavy swing off Timaeus's foot. There was a snapping sound as it plowed into his gut.
Yiannis writhed on the ground, jaws opening to a mouthful of dirt. He didn't care. His lungs were burning. His whole body trying to curl in on itself. A lancing pain came each time he tried to breathe. Another every time he held his breathe. Constant and alternating, until the two were indistinguishable. What were a few more, courtesy of someone's boot? It was harder to ignore when Timaeus seized him by the collar. But no more coherent. A bitter, ferric taste exploded into his mouth. Left it thick on his tongue, when he could sense. That was as often as he could hear. Mostly, though, there was just blackness. Blurs, and screeching, and blackness. No time to adjust to what was happening. No way to understand the reactions of his own body. He was just barely hanging on. The worse of every new pain sure gave him a second's clarity, then pushed him further towards unconsciousness. Something seared at his shoulder.
Then it all stopped. The first thing he felt was the dirt in his hair. Then cheeks so deeply bruised that it stung for tear to creep across them. But that's when he realized the noise of crying was not from his throat. Not nearly ragged enough. Nor did he have the breath. It hurt to push his eyelids open. He did anyway, letting his fingers dance across the environment. Probing for some advantage. Trying to make sense of what happened, even though he didn't know how long had passed. There were just snatches of the exchange between them. Fragments he had caught before a fist fell to shatter his concentration afresh. He neither knew how long he'd been on the ground nor how long he'd been there trying to figure it out. But somehow he'd managed to roll onto his belly. Slowly, painfully, he was dragging himself forward. Pulling by a rock. It took his whole hand to try and wield it. It gave him a weight to anchor against when he pulled himself flush to it, then let his good arm carry it forward again. Ever closer to Timaeus. He could hear the man mewling now.
It was just as clear as the rustling in the background. Someone at last highly ranked enough to dare putting themselves between two nobles. He could hear them calling. But they were too far away. They wouldn't get there before Yiannis did. The young prince grunted, pushing himself that much harder. Timaeus was still weeping. Either ignorant or oblivious. The distinction didn't particularly matter for what was coming. Only inches apart now. Yiannis reared up to his knees on last time, stone swinging wildly. Body looming over Timaeus. And back down on his opponent. Only a mother's scream colored the dread final second.
The stone lay useless on the ground. Yiannis's hand had fallen exactly where he intended: On Timaeus's shoulder.
"Such righteous anger" he gurgled from a blood-filled mouth, "only comes from innocence. I know."
And then a dozen hands were swarming around them both.
The blow, when it came, was sloppy. Forceful but uncontrolled, and hugely telegraphed besides. Were it not, Yiannis usually mustered enough agility to dodge or at least defect the blow. Even now, he was starting the scramble as he saw Timaeus hurtling forward. A few seconds more, and he would have managed. But he was still rattled by the last cuff against his skull. The world tilted slightly when he tried to stare straight. He could shift his weight just well enough to bear the pain of his knee, or he could compensate for the new skew in his balance. Not both. All the sudden he was lurching disastrously sideways, spinning like his vision. Directly into wide, heavy swing off Timaeus's foot. There was a snapping sound as it plowed into his gut.
Yiannis writhed on the ground, jaws opening to a mouthful of dirt. He didn't care. His lungs were burning. His whole body trying to curl in on itself. A lancing pain came each time he tried to breathe. Another every time he held his breathe. Constant and alternating, until the two were indistinguishable. What were a few more, courtesy of someone's boot? It was harder to ignore when Timaeus seized him by the collar. But no more coherent. A bitter, ferric taste exploded into his mouth. Left it thick on his tongue, when he could sense. That was as often as he could hear. Mostly, though, there was just blackness. Blurs, and screeching, and blackness. No time to adjust to what was happening. No way to understand the reactions of his own body. He was just barely hanging on. The worse of every new pain sure gave him a second's clarity, then pushed him further towards unconsciousness. Something seared at his shoulder.
Then it all stopped. The first thing he felt was the dirt in his hair. Then cheeks so deeply bruised that it stung for tear to creep across them. But that's when he realized the noise of crying was not from his throat. Not nearly ragged enough. Nor did he have the breath. It hurt to push his eyelids open. He did anyway, letting his fingers dance across the environment. Probing for some advantage. Trying to make sense of what happened, even though he didn't know how long had passed. There were just snatches of the exchange between them. Fragments he had caught before a fist fell to shatter his concentration afresh. He neither knew how long he'd been on the ground nor how long he'd been there trying to figure it out. But somehow he'd managed to roll onto his belly. Slowly, painfully, he was dragging himself forward. Pulling by a rock. It took his whole hand to try and wield it. It gave him a weight to anchor against when he pulled himself flush to it, then let his good arm carry it forward again. Ever closer to Timaeus. He could hear the man mewling now.
It was just as clear as the rustling in the background. Someone at last highly ranked enough to dare putting themselves between two nobles. He could hear them calling. But they were too far away. They wouldn't get there before Yiannis did. The young prince grunted, pushing himself that much harder. Timaeus was still weeping. Either ignorant or oblivious. The distinction didn't particularly matter for what was coming. Only inches apart now. Yiannis reared up to his knees on last time, stone swinging wildly. Body looming over Timaeus. And back down on his opponent. Only a mother's scream colored the dread final second.
The stone lay useless on the ground. Yiannis's hand had fallen exactly where he intended: On Timaeus's shoulder.
"Such righteous anger" he gurgled from a blood-filled mouth, "only comes from innocence. I know."
And then a dozen hands were swarming around them both.
