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The soldiers have been gathered, the leaders prepped and readied... It is time for Colchis to turn their gaze to the southern horizon and set sail. First to Taengea to stop in for re-supplies of water and perishables, a short stop that will see them healthy until the northern coastline of Egypt, where they will witness just how successful King Achilleas has been in his efforts to remove the great Pharaoh's ability to cross Poseidon's domain... For now, they must bid goodbye to friends, family and loved ones. For if all out war is to be found in the south, some may never return to the homely rocks of Colchis.
JD
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JD
Staff Team
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The soldiers have been gathered, the leaders prepped and readied... It is time for Colchis to turn their gaze to the southern horizon and set sail. First to Taengea to stop in for re-supplies of water and perishables, a short stop that will see them healthy until the northern coastline of Egypt, where they will witness just how successful King Achilleas has been in his efforts to remove the great Pharaoh's ability to cross Poseidon's domain... For now, they must bid goodbye to friends, family and loved ones. For if all out war is to be found in the south, some may never return to the homely rocks of Colchis.
To War Event - Colchis
The soldiers have been gathered, the leaders prepped and readied... It is time for Colchis to turn their gaze to the southern horizon and set sail. First to Taengea to stop in for re-supplies of water and perishables, a short stop that will see them healthy until the northern coastline of Egypt, where they will witness just how successful King Achilleas has been in his efforts to remove the great Pharaoh's ability to cross Poseidon's domain... For now, they must bid goodbye to friends, family and loved ones. For if all out war is to be found in the south, some may never return to the homely rocks of Colchis.
The entire coast was chaos. This many ships, with soldiers to man them and certain slaves to carry the necessary burden of cooking and the like, there was hardly room to breathe, let alone speak. Stephanos stood a little apart from the main thoroughfare, where most of the soldiers leaving were saying goodbye to their families or friends. In his left arm, he cradled Tisiphone, looking down into her little chubby face as she slept. He couldn’t understand how a baby could sleep through the sounds of metal armor clinking, voices raised in laughter, some in sorrow, others simply shouting to be heard. Yet she did, her soft, perfect face resting against his breastplate, as though she didn’t mind the armor at all. A pang pierced him as he looked down at her, realizing that when he came back, gods willing, she would be much bigger and enough time would have passed that she would have no clue who he was.
Time was a fleeting thing and Stephanos had already learned how precious it was - how he couldn’t go back, no matter how much he wanted to. He had never understood how fleeting time was until he had watched his daughter morph from a wrinkled, wailing infant into a small, plump baby. She might be crawling or even walking when he got back. It was hard to say. Hopefully neither, if it turned out Achilleas didn’t need them. If he did, it was possible that the war would rage on for years. Sometimes they were quick, decisive, months long affairs, and other times they could last decades. It depended on the kings and nations involved, and what they were fighting for in the first place.
He hugged Pia to him on his other side, kissing the top of her head and making all sorts of wild promises that yes, he’d be back. No, he wouldn’t die some horrid death. Yes they would get the throne back after this quick little war trip. Yes it was still a priority. Could she possibly hold Tisiphone a moment? His arm was falling asleep. After they’d traded the baby between them, Stephanos worked his left arm, but immediately reached for the baby again, holding her on his right side, necessitating he take a step back from his wife in order to face her. His attention drifted away from her, then, as he looked out at the ships and the men. He’d never left for war while attached to someone before.
In times past, he always left as the son. Now he was leaving as husband and father and the change was an unwelcome one. The stakes felt higher. Olympia would be taken care of by her family if he should fall, but he didn’t want her to have to go back home like that. He dropped his eyes back to Tisiphone, who was awake now and wiggling, slapping her little fat hand against his armor and making a sort of smiling face at the reflection of her hand in his breastplate.
Perhaps he should have been more concerned with his new appointment as Commander over military units he'd never worked with before, but he couldn't bring himself to be nervous. Too much had happened to him already that was so far removed from his control, that Stephanos found himself amazingly calm at the thought of landing in Egypt. He was working hard to ignore that they'd be stopping in Taengea first. That was a bridge he'd cross only once it became necessary.
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The entire coast was chaos. This many ships, with soldiers to man them and certain slaves to carry the necessary burden of cooking and the like, there was hardly room to breathe, let alone speak. Stephanos stood a little apart from the main thoroughfare, where most of the soldiers leaving were saying goodbye to their families or friends. In his left arm, he cradled Tisiphone, looking down into her little chubby face as she slept. He couldn’t understand how a baby could sleep through the sounds of metal armor clinking, voices raised in laughter, some in sorrow, others simply shouting to be heard. Yet she did, her soft, perfect face resting against his breastplate, as though she didn’t mind the armor at all. A pang pierced him as he looked down at her, realizing that when he came back, gods willing, she would be much bigger and enough time would have passed that she would have no clue who he was.
Time was a fleeting thing and Stephanos had already learned how precious it was - how he couldn’t go back, no matter how much he wanted to. He had never understood how fleeting time was until he had watched his daughter morph from a wrinkled, wailing infant into a small, plump baby. She might be crawling or even walking when he got back. It was hard to say. Hopefully neither, if it turned out Achilleas didn’t need them. If he did, it was possible that the war would rage on for years. Sometimes they were quick, decisive, months long affairs, and other times they could last decades. It depended on the kings and nations involved, and what they were fighting for in the first place.
He hugged Pia to him on his other side, kissing the top of her head and making all sorts of wild promises that yes, he’d be back. No, he wouldn’t die some horrid death. Yes they would get the throne back after this quick little war trip. Yes it was still a priority. Could she possibly hold Tisiphone a moment? His arm was falling asleep. After they’d traded the baby between them, Stephanos worked his left arm, but immediately reached for the baby again, holding her on his right side, necessitating he take a step back from his wife in order to face her. His attention drifted away from her, then, as he looked out at the ships and the men. He’d never left for war while attached to someone before.
In times past, he always left as the son. Now he was leaving as husband and father and the change was an unwelcome one. The stakes felt higher. Olympia would be taken care of by her family if he should fall, but he didn’t want her to have to go back home like that. He dropped his eyes back to Tisiphone, who was awake now and wiggling, slapping her little fat hand against his armor and making a sort of smiling face at the reflection of her hand in his breastplate.
Perhaps he should have been more concerned with his new appointment as Commander over military units he'd never worked with before, but he couldn't bring himself to be nervous. Too much had happened to him already that was so far removed from his control, that Stephanos found himself amazingly calm at the thought of landing in Egypt. He was working hard to ignore that they'd be stopping in Taengea first. That was a bridge he'd cross only once it became necessary.
The entire coast was chaos. This many ships, with soldiers to man them and certain slaves to carry the necessary burden of cooking and the like, there was hardly room to breathe, let alone speak. Stephanos stood a little apart from the main thoroughfare, where most of the soldiers leaving were saying goodbye to their families or friends. In his left arm, he cradled Tisiphone, looking down into her little chubby face as she slept. He couldn’t understand how a baby could sleep through the sounds of metal armor clinking, voices raised in laughter, some in sorrow, others simply shouting to be heard. Yet she did, her soft, perfect face resting against his breastplate, as though she didn’t mind the armor at all. A pang pierced him as he looked down at her, realizing that when he came back, gods willing, she would be much bigger and enough time would have passed that she would have no clue who he was.
Time was a fleeting thing and Stephanos had already learned how precious it was - how he couldn’t go back, no matter how much he wanted to. He had never understood how fleeting time was until he had watched his daughter morph from a wrinkled, wailing infant into a small, plump baby. She might be crawling or even walking when he got back. It was hard to say. Hopefully neither, if it turned out Achilleas didn’t need them. If he did, it was possible that the war would rage on for years. Sometimes they were quick, decisive, months long affairs, and other times they could last decades. It depended on the kings and nations involved, and what they were fighting for in the first place.
He hugged Pia to him on his other side, kissing the top of her head and making all sorts of wild promises that yes, he’d be back. No, he wouldn’t die some horrid death. Yes they would get the throne back after this quick little war trip. Yes it was still a priority. Could she possibly hold Tisiphone a moment? His arm was falling asleep. After they’d traded the baby between them, Stephanos worked his left arm, but immediately reached for the baby again, holding her on his right side, necessitating he take a step back from his wife in order to face her. His attention drifted away from her, then, as he looked out at the ships and the men. He’d never left for war while attached to someone before.
In times past, he always left as the son. Now he was leaving as husband and father and the change was an unwelcome one. The stakes felt higher. Olympia would be taken care of by her family if he should fall, but he didn’t want her to have to go back home like that. He dropped his eyes back to Tisiphone, who was awake now and wiggling, slapping her little fat hand against his armor and making a sort of smiling face at the reflection of her hand in his breastplate.
Perhaps he should have been more concerned with his new appointment as Commander over military units he'd never worked with before, but he couldn't bring himself to be nervous. Too much had happened to him already that was so far removed from his control, that Stephanos found himself amazingly calm at the thought of landing in Egypt. He was working hard to ignore that they'd be stopping in Taengea first. That was a bridge he'd cross only once it became necessary.
Tython pressed the helmet of his armor firmly against his side. His entire outfit of armor was gleaming brightly in the thin sunlight of the morning. The man had spent every waking moment of the previous day with his family, and the night had been devoted to his wife. Entirely to her. Whatever she had wanted, he had been willing to give it to her. It felt like he had just returned to his home, to her and to his family. It felt like he had only just been to war, and he had. But now their war was with the south and even a King could not hold up his troops just because he prayed to the gods for more time.
More time to look into the beautiful face of his queen. More time to teach and guide his sons. More time to watch over his daughter as the doting, loving father he was. There was a rock in the pit of his stomach. The type of weight that was almost enough to assert that the likelihood of him returning to his home shores from Egypt was low. He knew the risks. He knew that he was growing older and his body was slowly failing from beneath him. It was a wonder that he had lived as long as he had, but he would not cower now that he was needed for something bigger than Colchis.
This war was not just a skirmish between the Northern Lands and Colchis. It was a war between all of Greece and Egypt. It was a conflict that seemed to happen time and time again through history and Tython realized now that he was tired. Tired of fighting. Tired of leaving loved ones behind. Tired of saying goodbye to the kingdom he had served since his birth. If Tython had any regrets, it was that he had not been successful in his attempt to push peace and mercy over constant war. But when your enemies would not listen to reason and would not hold to any idea of peace, what was a King to do but fight?
The morning had been filled with orders and assessments, but Tython didn't feel the exhaustion of the night before. No, if anything that had been a balm. A moment of calm that had given him more strength than he might have otherwise had if Yanni hadn't been with him. But now everything seemed to be in order. Men were saying their goodbyes to their families, and the roar of so many people in one area was almost deafening. Marching up alone from the main thoroushfare, Tython only had a few things on his mind.
His goodbyes. It was his goodbye to his wife that he felt the strongest sense of dread over. Would this be the last time he would ever see her? Tython thought of the letter he had handed to his steward before retiring the night before. The letter that would be given to his wife if he did not return, with the instruction to burn it if he did. It was the last thing he could do to ensure that she remained strong in his absence. Tython had always said it, and he would keep saying it. Of all of the Kotas family, Queen Yanni was the strongest of them. Battleworn or not, she had fought many battles of her own and watching her husband and children sail off to war was not easy.
Slowly lifting his gaze upward toward the path ahead, Tython noted the presence of Stephanos and his wife, their little daughter almost squished between them. A slight smile tugged at his lips for a single moment before his gaze slid away and landed instead on the woman that was almost constantly in his mind. Tython paused in step at the sight of Yanni just a little up the hill, waiting for him. For a moment, he was rooted to his spot, but then he was moving again, taking slow, measured steps toward his wife. As if he could drag out how long he was able to look upon her, engrain her into his memory as he did each time he left.
Tython was a man built for war, but if given the option, he would have wished to stay here. To sit out a single war campaign to live quietly for the first and only time in his life. Instead, he was saying his goodbyes again. Releasing a heavy breath as he met his wife, standing before her with a stormy gaze full of love and affection, Tython decided that all sense of decorum could go fuck itself.
Slowly letting his helmet sink to the ground beside his feet, the King reached out to pull his wife up into his arms, burying his face against her neck. Having spent his entire life all too aware of his image, he would spread someone's entrails across the coast before he let them keep him from his queen. "Be strong," he whispered under his breath, "Always be strong."
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Tython pressed the helmet of his armor firmly against his side. His entire outfit of armor was gleaming brightly in the thin sunlight of the morning. The man had spent every waking moment of the previous day with his family, and the night had been devoted to his wife. Entirely to her. Whatever she had wanted, he had been willing to give it to her. It felt like he had just returned to his home, to her and to his family. It felt like he had only just been to war, and he had. But now their war was with the south and even a King could not hold up his troops just because he prayed to the gods for more time.
More time to look into the beautiful face of his queen. More time to teach and guide his sons. More time to watch over his daughter as the doting, loving father he was. There was a rock in the pit of his stomach. The type of weight that was almost enough to assert that the likelihood of him returning to his home shores from Egypt was low. He knew the risks. He knew that he was growing older and his body was slowly failing from beneath him. It was a wonder that he had lived as long as he had, but he would not cower now that he was needed for something bigger than Colchis.
This war was not just a skirmish between the Northern Lands and Colchis. It was a war between all of Greece and Egypt. It was a conflict that seemed to happen time and time again through history and Tython realized now that he was tired. Tired of fighting. Tired of leaving loved ones behind. Tired of saying goodbye to the kingdom he had served since his birth. If Tython had any regrets, it was that he had not been successful in his attempt to push peace and mercy over constant war. But when your enemies would not listen to reason and would not hold to any idea of peace, what was a King to do but fight?
The morning had been filled with orders and assessments, but Tython didn't feel the exhaustion of the night before. No, if anything that had been a balm. A moment of calm that had given him more strength than he might have otherwise had if Yanni hadn't been with him. But now everything seemed to be in order. Men were saying their goodbyes to their families, and the roar of so many people in one area was almost deafening. Marching up alone from the main thoroushfare, Tython only had a few things on his mind.
His goodbyes. It was his goodbye to his wife that he felt the strongest sense of dread over. Would this be the last time he would ever see her? Tython thought of the letter he had handed to his steward before retiring the night before. The letter that would be given to his wife if he did not return, with the instruction to burn it if he did. It was the last thing he could do to ensure that she remained strong in his absence. Tython had always said it, and he would keep saying it. Of all of the Kotas family, Queen Yanni was the strongest of them. Battleworn or not, she had fought many battles of her own and watching her husband and children sail off to war was not easy.
Slowly lifting his gaze upward toward the path ahead, Tython noted the presence of Stephanos and his wife, their little daughter almost squished between them. A slight smile tugged at his lips for a single moment before his gaze slid away and landed instead on the woman that was almost constantly in his mind. Tython paused in step at the sight of Yanni just a little up the hill, waiting for him. For a moment, he was rooted to his spot, but then he was moving again, taking slow, measured steps toward his wife. As if he could drag out how long he was able to look upon her, engrain her into his memory as he did each time he left.
Tython was a man built for war, but if given the option, he would have wished to stay here. To sit out a single war campaign to live quietly for the first and only time in his life. Instead, he was saying his goodbyes again. Releasing a heavy breath as he met his wife, standing before her with a stormy gaze full of love and affection, Tython decided that all sense of decorum could go fuck itself.
Slowly letting his helmet sink to the ground beside his feet, the King reached out to pull his wife up into his arms, burying his face against her neck. Having spent his entire life all too aware of his image, he would spread someone's entrails across the coast before he let them keep him from his queen. "Be strong," he whispered under his breath, "Always be strong."
Tython pressed the helmet of his armor firmly against his side. His entire outfit of armor was gleaming brightly in the thin sunlight of the morning. The man had spent every waking moment of the previous day with his family, and the night had been devoted to his wife. Entirely to her. Whatever she had wanted, he had been willing to give it to her. It felt like he had just returned to his home, to her and to his family. It felt like he had only just been to war, and he had. But now their war was with the south and even a King could not hold up his troops just because he prayed to the gods for more time.
More time to look into the beautiful face of his queen. More time to teach and guide his sons. More time to watch over his daughter as the doting, loving father he was. There was a rock in the pit of his stomach. The type of weight that was almost enough to assert that the likelihood of him returning to his home shores from Egypt was low. He knew the risks. He knew that he was growing older and his body was slowly failing from beneath him. It was a wonder that he had lived as long as he had, but he would not cower now that he was needed for something bigger than Colchis.
This war was not just a skirmish between the Northern Lands and Colchis. It was a war between all of Greece and Egypt. It was a conflict that seemed to happen time and time again through history and Tython realized now that he was tired. Tired of fighting. Tired of leaving loved ones behind. Tired of saying goodbye to the kingdom he had served since his birth. If Tython had any regrets, it was that he had not been successful in his attempt to push peace and mercy over constant war. But when your enemies would not listen to reason and would not hold to any idea of peace, what was a King to do but fight?
The morning had been filled with orders and assessments, but Tython didn't feel the exhaustion of the night before. No, if anything that had been a balm. A moment of calm that had given him more strength than he might have otherwise had if Yanni hadn't been with him. But now everything seemed to be in order. Men were saying their goodbyes to their families, and the roar of so many people in one area was almost deafening. Marching up alone from the main thoroushfare, Tython only had a few things on his mind.
His goodbyes. It was his goodbye to his wife that he felt the strongest sense of dread over. Would this be the last time he would ever see her? Tython thought of the letter he had handed to his steward before retiring the night before. The letter that would be given to his wife if he did not return, with the instruction to burn it if he did. It was the last thing he could do to ensure that she remained strong in his absence. Tython had always said it, and he would keep saying it. Of all of the Kotas family, Queen Yanni was the strongest of them. Battleworn or not, she had fought many battles of her own and watching her husband and children sail off to war was not easy.
Slowly lifting his gaze upward toward the path ahead, Tython noted the presence of Stephanos and his wife, their little daughter almost squished between them. A slight smile tugged at his lips for a single moment before his gaze slid away and landed instead on the woman that was almost constantly in his mind. Tython paused in step at the sight of Yanni just a little up the hill, waiting for him. For a moment, he was rooted to his spot, but then he was moving again, taking slow, measured steps toward his wife. As if he could drag out how long he was able to look upon her, engrain her into his memory as he did each time he left.
Tython was a man built for war, but if given the option, he would have wished to stay here. To sit out a single war campaign to live quietly for the first and only time in his life. Instead, he was saying his goodbyes again. Releasing a heavy breath as he met his wife, standing before her with a stormy gaze full of love and affection, Tython decided that all sense of decorum could go fuck itself.
Slowly letting his helmet sink to the ground beside his feet, the King reached out to pull his wife up into his arms, burying his face against her neck. Having spent his entire life all too aware of his image, he would spread someone's entrails across the coast before he let them keep him from his queen. "Be strong," he whispered under his breath, "Always be strong."
Seeing her husband and sons off to war was not a new thing for Yanni, she had spent most of her adult life watching them go off to fight, as men often did. But years of experience didn’t make it any easier on her. She knew that each time they left there was a chance that they would never come back. Even more so with Tython and the encroaching of years upon him. But the man was foolish and brave, and Yanni knew that he would not stop marching off to fight until his last breath was spent out on the fields of battle. A thing that she had known upon marrying him, and yet her heart ached more and more each time she had to see him from her arms.
This time had been particularly difficult for the Queen. She had just gotten him back, after thinking him lost to her forever, and now he was to be gone again, and the odds were not in their favour for his return. She had spent every possible second with her husband leading up to this moment, and when he had to be from her arms to prepare to march, she had let herself shed a few tears. A rare occasion for the normally stone-strong Queen. She had dried them before anyone had the chance to know that she had let her emotions get to her, and had quickly dressed herself for the day. She clothed herself in a dress of the finest materials, Kotas red to represent her pride in her husband and her house. Her brown hair was left down in regal curls, only a bit tied back to keep it from her face.
She wore her four armbands, two on each arm, gifts from her husband upon the birth of each of their sons, and the necklace that he had given her upon the birth of their daughter. She stood waiting for her King and the love of her life, knowing that this may be her last few moments with him, and praying to any God who would listen that they wouldn’t be.
She held her composure as best as she could as she waited, standing tall and proud in the eyes of any who would see her. Ever the strong Queen that Colchis had grown to know and love.
Upon seeing Tython approaching, looking so strong and handsome in his armour, her resolve nearly cracked again, but she held herself together, her eyes locked on her husband. She could recall their younger days, when he stood so tall and strong in such armour, looking everything like the warriors in romance novels that swept maidens off their feet. The years had been kind to both of them, but Yanni could see the small signs that her husband stood not quite the warrior he did years ago. She said nothing, knowing that her words would not to either of them any good, and would fall on deaf ears even if given voice. Tython was going to war, and there was nothing that could be done to change that.
Her eyes were full of a mixture of love for her husband, and fear for what was to come. Twice in her life she had thought him dead, and she wasn’t sure her heart could take a third time.
When he pulled her in, she allowed her resolve to break for just a moment, a single tear sliding down her cheek as she buried her face in his chest and breathed in his scent. If she was a weaker woman, she would be sobbing, but as it was, she would keep such things to herself, to be released when she was alone. Instead her hands found his strong shoulders and she held on, as if she could keep him there if she simply didn’t let go.
“Come home to me.” She replied when he told her to be strong, though the words were unspoken, they both knew the odds of his return. She pulled her head from his chest to look up at him, sure that he had been aware of the singular tear that had escaped his wife’s stony exterior.
She too had decided to throw care to the wind, not bothering to think of who might be watching them, she leaned up and pressed a kiss to his lips, perhaps one of the last they would share. She tried to savour the moment, to remember every detail about him and how it felt to be in his arms. She was not ready to let go, not when she had just gotten him back again. She couldn’t help but wonder if the Gods sought to punish her some how, bringing her husband back to her only to have him leave again so soon.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Seeing her husband and sons off to war was not a new thing for Yanni, she had spent most of her adult life watching them go off to fight, as men often did. But years of experience didn’t make it any easier on her. She knew that each time they left there was a chance that they would never come back. Even more so with Tython and the encroaching of years upon him. But the man was foolish and brave, and Yanni knew that he would not stop marching off to fight until his last breath was spent out on the fields of battle. A thing that she had known upon marrying him, and yet her heart ached more and more each time she had to see him from her arms.
This time had been particularly difficult for the Queen. She had just gotten him back, after thinking him lost to her forever, and now he was to be gone again, and the odds were not in their favour for his return. She had spent every possible second with her husband leading up to this moment, and when he had to be from her arms to prepare to march, she had let herself shed a few tears. A rare occasion for the normally stone-strong Queen. She had dried them before anyone had the chance to know that she had let her emotions get to her, and had quickly dressed herself for the day. She clothed herself in a dress of the finest materials, Kotas red to represent her pride in her husband and her house. Her brown hair was left down in regal curls, only a bit tied back to keep it from her face.
She wore her four armbands, two on each arm, gifts from her husband upon the birth of each of their sons, and the necklace that he had given her upon the birth of their daughter. She stood waiting for her King and the love of her life, knowing that this may be her last few moments with him, and praying to any God who would listen that they wouldn’t be.
She held her composure as best as she could as she waited, standing tall and proud in the eyes of any who would see her. Ever the strong Queen that Colchis had grown to know and love.
Upon seeing Tython approaching, looking so strong and handsome in his armour, her resolve nearly cracked again, but she held herself together, her eyes locked on her husband. She could recall their younger days, when he stood so tall and strong in such armour, looking everything like the warriors in romance novels that swept maidens off their feet. The years had been kind to both of them, but Yanni could see the small signs that her husband stood not quite the warrior he did years ago. She said nothing, knowing that her words would not to either of them any good, and would fall on deaf ears even if given voice. Tython was going to war, and there was nothing that could be done to change that.
Her eyes were full of a mixture of love for her husband, and fear for what was to come. Twice in her life she had thought him dead, and she wasn’t sure her heart could take a third time.
When he pulled her in, she allowed her resolve to break for just a moment, a single tear sliding down her cheek as she buried her face in his chest and breathed in his scent. If she was a weaker woman, she would be sobbing, but as it was, she would keep such things to herself, to be released when she was alone. Instead her hands found his strong shoulders and she held on, as if she could keep him there if she simply didn’t let go.
“Come home to me.” She replied when he told her to be strong, though the words were unspoken, they both knew the odds of his return. She pulled her head from his chest to look up at him, sure that he had been aware of the singular tear that had escaped his wife’s stony exterior.
She too had decided to throw care to the wind, not bothering to think of who might be watching them, she leaned up and pressed a kiss to his lips, perhaps one of the last they would share. She tried to savour the moment, to remember every detail about him and how it felt to be in his arms. She was not ready to let go, not when she had just gotten him back again. She couldn’t help but wonder if the Gods sought to punish her some how, bringing her husband back to her only to have him leave again so soon.
Seeing her husband and sons off to war was not a new thing for Yanni, she had spent most of her adult life watching them go off to fight, as men often did. But years of experience didn’t make it any easier on her. She knew that each time they left there was a chance that they would never come back. Even more so with Tython and the encroaching of years upon him. But the man was foolish and brave, and Yanni knew that he would not stop marching off to fight until his last breath was spent out on the fields of battle. A thing that she had known upon marrying him, and yet her heart ached more and more each time she had to see him from her arms.
This time had been particularly difficult for the Queen. She had just gotten him back, after thinking him lost to her forever, and now he was to be gone again, and the odds were not in their favour for his return. She had spent every possible second with her husband leading up to this moment, and when he had to be from her arms to prepare to march, she had let herself shed a few tears. A rare occasion for the normally stone-strong Queen. She had dried them before anyone had the chance to know that she had let her emotions get to her, and had quickly dressed herself for the day. She clothed herself in a dress of the finest materials, Kotas red to represent her pride in her husband and her house. Her brown hair was left down in regal curls, only a bit tied back to keep it from her face.
She wore her four armbands, two on each arm, gifts from her husband upon the birth of each of their sons, and the necklace that he had given her upon the birth of their daughter. She stood waiting for her King and the love of her life, knowing that this may be her last few moments with him, and praying to any God who would listen that they wouldn’t be.
She held her composure as best as she could as she waited, standing tall and proud in the eyes of any who would see her. Ever the strong Queen that Colchis had grown to know and love.
Upon seeing Tython approaching, looking so strong and handsome in his armour, her resolve nearly cracked again, but she held herself together, her eyes locked on her husband. She could recall their younger days, when he stood so tall and strong in such armour, looking everything like the warriors in romance novels that swept maidens off their feet. The years had been kind to both of them, but Yanni could see the small signs that her husband stood not quite the warrior he did years ago. She said nothing, knowing that her words would not to either of them any good, and would fall on deaf ears even if given voice. Tython was going to war, and there was nothing that could be done to change that.
Her eyes were full of a mixture of love for her husband, and fear for what was to come. Twice in her life she had thought him dead, and she wasn’t sure her heart could take a third time.
When he pulled her in, she allowed her resolve to break for just a moment, a single tear sliding down her cheek as she buried her face in his chest and breathed in his scent. If she was a weaker woman, she would be sobbing, but as it was, she would keep such things to herself, to be released when she was alone. Instead her hands found his strong shoulders and she held on, as if she could keep him there if she simply didn’t let go.
“Come home to me.” She replied when he told her to be strong, though the words were unspoken, they both knew the odds of his return. She pulled her head from his chest to look up at him, sure that he had been aware of the singular tear that had escaped his wife’s stony exterior.
She too had decided to throw care to the wind, not bothering to think of who might be watching them, she leaned up and pressed a kiss to his lips, perhaps one of the last they would share. She tried to savour the moment, to remember every detail about him and how it felt to be in his arms. She was not ready to let go, not when she had just gotten him back again. She couldn’t help but wonder if the Gods sought to punish her some how, bringing her husband back to her only to have him leave again so soon.
Maleos was nervous, he always was before a battle, and this was much more than a northern skirmish. This was full blown war, war that would see him to foreign lands for Gods knew how long. He was doing one last supply check for his men, his mind preoccupied as he did it. He had confessed his feelings to Leto before leaving for this war, had even kissed her, but it all felt hollow. For here he stood, with no one to see him off to war. He had never really wanted for such things, but now he did, and he tried to keep himself busy and keep his mind on the war. He couldn’t lose focus.
He was dressed in his armour, looking strong and proud in it, a brand new sword at his side after he had decided to finally retire his old one from combat. That sword was now hanging in his office, proud and polished and well used. His long curly hair was tied back and out of his way, his helmet was off for the moment and tied instead to the saddle that his horse wore.
He took a moment to look around, spotting the King and Queen saying their goodbyes, he didn’t let his gaze linger, not wishing to intrude on their moment together. Though the sight made his own heart ache. What he wouldn’t give to be locked in such an embrace with Leto at this moment.
But she was not here. He had said goodbye to his family when he had first left Midas, knowing they would be safe there, and leaving Delias in charge of his finances and the house while he was gone. So Maleos was alone, off to fight once again. He took a deep breath and steeled his nerves. He didn’t need to think of the what ifs, or lament over Leto not being his. Her life would continue on without him while he was gone, and he would continue forward as he always had.
He double checked the saddle of his horse, making sure it was on and everything was strapped tightly to it before patting the beasts neck, turning to face his unit as they said their goodbyes to various loved ones who had made the trip out to see them before they started grabbing their equipment and preparing for the march onto the ships that would take them to their next destination. He knew that some of these men would not come back, their families and loved ones would be left without him. And it was possible that he would be one of the men who would not return. His track record with winning fights was perfect, but he knew that there would eventually be a last fight, and a last breath on his behalf.
He just hoped that this would not be his last. Though if it was, he would die proud of where he had gotten, and how far he had come with no money nor noble blood to elevate him.
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Maleos was nervous, he always was before a battle, and this was much more than a northern skirmish. This was full blown war, war that would see him to foreign lands for Gods knew how long. He was doing one last supply check for his men, his mind preoccupied as he did it. He had confessed his feelings to Leto before leaving for this war, had even kissed her, but it all felt hollow. For here he stood, with no one to see him off to war. He had never really wanted for such things, but now he did, and he tried to keep himself busy and keep his mind on the war. He couldn’t lose focus.
He was dressed in his armour, looking strong and proud in it, a brand new sword at his side after he had decided to finally retire his old one from combat. That sword was now hanging in his office, proud and polished and well used. His long curly hair was tied back and out of his way, his helmet was off for the moment and tied instead to the saddle that his horse wore.
He took a moment to look around, spotting the King and Queen saying their goodbyes, he didn’t let his gaze linger, not wishing to intrude on their moment together. Though the sight made his own heart ache. What he wouldn’t give to be locked in such an embrace with Leto at this moment.
But she was not here. He had said goodbye to his family when he had first left Midas, knowing they would be safe there, and leaving Delias in charge of his finances and the house while he was gone. So Maleos was alone, off to fight once again. He took a deep breath and steeled his nerves. He didn’t need to think of the what ifs, or lament over Leto not being his. Her life would continue on without him while he was gone, and he would continue forward as he always had.
He double checked the saddle of his horse, making sure it was on and everything was strapped tightly to it before patting the beasts neck, turning to face his unit as they said their goodbyes to various loved ones who had made the trip out to see them before they started grabbing their equipment and preparing for the march onto the ships that would take them to their next destination. He knew that some of these men would not come back, their families and loved ones would be left without him. And it was possible that he would be one of the men who would not return. His track record with winning fights was perfect, but he knew that there would eventually be a last fight, and a last breath on his behalf.
He just hoped that this would not be his last. Though if it was, he would die proud of where he had gotten, and how far he had come with no money nor noble blood to elevate him.
Maleos was nervous, he always was before a battle, and this was much more than a northern skirmish. This was full blown war, war that would see him to foreign lands for Gods knew how long. He was doing one last supply check for his men, his mind preoccupied as he did it. He had confessed his feelings to Leto before leaving for this war, had even kissed her, but it all felt hollow. For here he stood, with no one to see him off to war. He had never really wanted for such things, but now he did, and he tried to keep himself busy and keep his mind on the war. He couldn’t lose focus.
He was dressed in his armour, looking strong and proud in it, a brand new sword at his side after he had decided to finally retire his old one from combat. That sword was now hanging in his office, proud and polished and well used. His long curly hair was tied back and out of his way, his helmet was off for the moment and tied instead to the saddle that his horse wore.
He took a moment to look around, spotting the King and Queen saying their goodbyes, he didn’t let his gaze linger, not wishing to intrude on their moment together. Though the sight made his own heart ache. What he wouldn’t give to be locked in such an embrace with Leto at this moment.
But she was not here. He had said goodbye to his family when he had first left Midas, knowing they would be safe there, and leaving Delias in charge of his finances and the house while he was gone. So Maleos was alone, off to fight once again. He took a deep breath and steeled his nerves. He didn’t need to think of the what ifs, or lament over Leto not being his. Her life would continue on without him while he was gone, and he would continue forward as he always had.
He double checked the saddle of his horse, making sure it was on and everything was strapped tightly to it before patting the beasts neck, turning to face his unit as they said their goodbyes to various loved ones who had made the trip out to see them before they started grabbing their equipment and preparing for the march onto the ships that would take them to their next destination. He knew that some of these men would not come back, their families and loved ones would be left without him. And it was possible that he would be one of the men who would not return. His track record with winning fights was perfect, but he knew that there would eventually be a last fight, and a last breath on his behalf.
He just hoped that this would not be his last. Though if it was, he would die proud of where he had gotten, and how far he had come with no money nor noble blood to elevate him.
Having never been a man of war despite growing up with a swordsmith as a father, it was funny how Magnus's career still closely intertwined with the military. Unlike the ones prepared to head in to the heart of the war however, Magnus was dressed simply in his navy blue chiton and red belt chinched at the waist, leather slippers only other thing he wore as he stood upon the shores of the Isle of Kos, watching as teary farewells were bidded. Was it necessary for him to be there? Not at all. But Magnus was the Master Informer, and while he had been through a final meeting to ensure all he had to do while the King and Crown Prince was away, he still wanted to be on site when a large scale occasion was happening.
Having assigned people to watch over the Hall of Gods, as well as checking in with his network of informants every evening for any information possible on that secret passage they had discovered in the bathhouse, Magnus had carved out the time in between meetings to come. Afterall, with his lover (or not? They never did end things on a good note, and with no address or person to contact, Magnus was left quite hanging as he awaited for her to return) gone for an unmentioned period of time, Magnus now found himself with time to spare as he arrived on the rocky inlet.
His eyes naturally fell to the young supposed-but-banished King of Taengea, who seemed out of place in the rough enviroment, especially with the wife and young infant by his side, amidst the chaos that was the preparation for war. Emotions ran high, and tears and wails could be heard in all directions. More then once, his parents have stated how thankful they were that Magnus ended up in a career that was more planning then fighting, but yet Nifakis and Eudora was still uneasy when Magnus had mentioned he needed to at least see the ships off for the day.
His gaze slipped to the King and Queen, but unlike other days where Magnus would automatically greet his royals, for the day, Magnus hung back. Afterall, it is now widely known on how the King had been returned from the dead, that he had no wish to intrude on what seemed to be a privat emoment, the Master Informer merely remained on the sidelines of the tearful goodbye's as they went on.
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Having never been a man of war despite growing up with a swordsmith as a father, it was funny how Magnus's career still closely intertwined with the military. Unlike the ones prepared to head in to the heart of the war however, Magnus was dressed simply in his navy blue chiton and red belt chinched at the waist, leather slippers only other thing he wore as he stood upon the shores of the Isle of Kos, watching as teary farewells were bidded. Was it necessary for him to be there? Not at all. But Magnus was the Master Informer, and while he had been through a final meeting to ensure all he had to do while the King and Crown Prince was away, he still wanted to be on site when a large scale occasion was happening.
Having assigned people to watch over the Hall of Gods, as well as checking in with his network of informants every evening for any information possible on that secret passage they had discovered in the bathhouse, Magnus had carved out the time in between meetings to come. Afterall, with his lover (or not? They never did end things on a good note, and with no address or person to contact, Magnus was left quite hanging as he awaited for her to return) gone for an unmentioned period of time, Magnus now found himself with time to spare as he arrived on the rocky inlet.
His eyes naturally fell to the young supposed-but-banished King of Taengea, who seemed out of place in the rough enviroment, especially with the wife and young infant by his side, amidst the chaos that was the preparation for war. Emotions ran high, and tears and wails could be heard in all directions. More then once, his parents have stated how thankful they were that Magnus ended up in a career that was more planning then fighting, but yet Nifakis and Eudora was still uneasy when Magnus had mentioned he needed to at least see the ships off for the day.
His gaze slipped to the King and Queen, but unlike other days where Magnus would automatically greet his royals, for the day, Magnus hung back. Afterall, it is now widely known on how the King had been returned from the dead, that he had no wish to intrude on what seemed to be a privat emoment, the Master Informer merely remained on the sidelines of the tearful goodbye's as they went on.
Having never been a man of war despite growing up with a swordsmith as a father, it was funny how Magnus's career still closely intertwined with the military. Unlike the ones prepared to head in to the heart of the war however, Magnus was dressed simply in his navy blue chiton and red belt chinched at the waist, leather slippers only other thing he wore as he stood upon the shores of the Isle of Kos, watching as teary farewells were bidded. Was it necessary for him to be there? Not at all. But Magnus was the Master Informer, and while he had been through a final meeting to ensure all he had to do while the King and Crown Prince was away, he still wanted to be on site when a large scale occasion was happening.
Having assigned people to watch over the Hall of Gods, as well as checking in with his network of informants every evening for any information possible on that secret passage they had discovered in the bathhouse, Magnus had carved out the time in between meetings to come. Afterall, with his lover (or not? They never did end things on a good note, and with no address or person to contact, Magnus was left quite hanging as he awaited for her to return) gone for an unmentioned period of time, Magnus now found himself with time to spare as he arrived on the rocky inlet.
His eyes naturally fell to the young supposed-but-banished King of Taengea, who seemed out of place in the rough enviroment, especially with the wife and young infant by his side, amidst the chaos that was the preparation for war. Emotions ran high, and tears and wails could be heard in all directions. More then once, his parents have stated how thankful they were that Magnus ended up in a career that was more planning then fighting, but yet Nifakis and Eudora was still uneasy when Magnus had mentioned he needed to at least see the ships off for the day.
His gaze slipped to the King and Queen, but unlike other days where Magnus would automatically greet his royals, for the day, Magnus hung back. Afterall, it is now widely known on how the King had been returned from the dead, that he had no wish to intrude on what seemed to be a privat emoment, the Master Informer merely remained on the sidelines of the tearful goodbye's as they went on.
No stranger to war or battle, Damocles kept his composure and stony demeanor intact as he transmitted the orders for his men to make the necessary emotional preparations to leave for war. A perpetually bored scowl scratched his face, casually leaving the man to ponder by himself as he looked lazily at the teary-eyed wives, husbands and children of soldiers provide some insignificant parting words for them to comfort each other in the coming days, weeks, months and possibly years. He had already supervised the last official check-ups on his unit some time ago, standing by himself without much to do but pay lip-service to the overly-dramatic melodramatic performances that were playing before him.
Honestly, what errant nonsense! If a man could not keep himself in stable condition before making for war, he ought to stay behind his mother or wife’s skirts and leave the actual business of bloody conflict to others. He supposed he should have felt a twinge of sympathy for the lower-classes, those poor devils that would inevitably be the ones most affected by this pointless, idiotic conflict, but if he was candid, he remained unimpressed and thoroughly uninterested with the entire thing. Already, all the necessary precautions had been made to guarantee that the largest proportion of lower-ranked commoners were to suffer and meet a swift end by a blade’s cruel, receded fall. He might have pitied their fate and mourned their destiny in his spare time, but right here, right now, he couldn’t care less about the sobbing, crying, sniveling masses that groaned and weltered in aggravating choruses of shame and remorse. How annoying!
In other thoughts, he further concluded that even if he spared a second thought for the peasantry, he wouldn’t do the same for the nobility. In his never-revealed, nor ever addressed, private opinion, those debauched bastards deserved to be systematically put to death by the dozens. To him, the aristocracy had never done anything aside from slaving the poor and laborious to their greed, pride and arrogance. Why should he care if some wayward Lord, or idiotic Prince was slain in the field of battle? Good riddance was all he could conjured up to himself. If any good did come out of war it was that, at least, five nobles would never see the rocky shores of Colchis again. Mayhaps, if the Fates had been kind and made such proported calculation rise higher to estimate, he could find some modicum of amusement. Alas, that would only be left to the Gods and their agency…regrettably.
He guessed that he could have allowed his head to recall back the memory of Anastasia, that girl he had long-ago nurtured to strength and power, but such pointless feelings were just that, pointless. He had already penned his emotions to proper form, sending a singular letter to that girl some days ago, so really, he had no one to really worry about at this coming hour, but himself or his brother, who, in any instance, was still with him by his side in his own regular temper. In his own way, he knew that the other man was processing these final hours in his own peculiar way, spending time with his own personal friends, most of which he regarded in poor condition regardlessly. He didn’t have anyone to wave farewell to, and he had no real reason to doubt his own return to this land at all. He was an experienced veteran, a proven hero of the previous war and an expert soldier in his own way. The probabilities of him meeting Hades’s domain during the blasted war were low enough for him to not even mind a single thought about. He would not lose sleep over this whole ordeal. He thus remained by himself, looking lazy by the shore, clad in his signature black armor waiting for nothing more than to get this entire thing done and over with already. Perhaps, he could make the time move faster if he gathered some alcohol for this endeavor? At least that way he wouldn’t have to listen to the incessant cries of common and highborns weeping ludicrously in such disgraceful manners.
“Someone take me out of my misery already…” he complained to himself in a low, hushed, barely audible grunt that betrayed his lack of empathy for the gathered masses.
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No stranger to war or battle, Damocles kept his composure and stony demeanor intact as he transmitted the orders for his men to make the necessary emotional preparations to leave for war. A perpetually bored scowl scratched his face, casually leaving the man to ponder by himself as he looked lazily at the teary-eyed wives, husbands and children of soldiers provide some insignificant parting words for them to comfort each other in the coming days, weeks, months and possibly years. He had already supervised the last official check-ups on his unit some time ago, standing by himself without much to do but pay lip-service to the overly-dramatic melodramatic performances that were playing before him.
Honestly, what errant nonsense! If a man could not keep himself in stable condition before making for war, he ought to stay behind his mother or wife’s skirts and leave the actual business of bloody conflict to others. He supposed he should have felt a twinge of sympathy for the lower-classes, those poor devils that would inevitably be the ones most affected by this pointless, idiotic conflict, but if he was candid, he remained unimpressed and thoroughly uninterested with the entire thing. Already, all the necessary precautions had been made to guarantee that the largest proportion of lower-ranked commoners were to suffer and meet a swift end by a blade’s cruel, receded fall. He might have pitied their fate and mourned their destiny in his spare time, but right here, right now, he couldn’t care less about the sobbing, crying, sniveling masses that groaned and weltered in aggravating choruses of shame and remorse. How annoying!
In other thoughts, he further concluded that even if he spared a second thought for the peasantry, he wouldn’t do the same for the nobility. In his never-revealed, nor ever addressed, private opinion, those debauched bastards deserved to be systematically put to death by the dozens. To him, the aristocracy had never done anything aside from slaving the poor and laborious to their greed, pride and arrogance. Why should he care if some wayward Lord, or idiotic Prince was slain in the field of battle? Good riddance was all he could conjured up to himself. If any good did come out of war it was that, at least, five nobles would never see the rocky shores of Colchis again. Mayhaps, if the Fates had been kind and made such proported calculation rise higher to estimate, he could find some modicum of amusement. Alas, that would only be left to the Gods and their agency…regrettably.
He guessed that he could have allowed his head to recall back the memory of Anastasia, that girl he had long-ago nurtured to strength and power, but such pointless feelings were just that, pointless. He had already penned his emotions to proper form, sending a singular letter to that girl some days ago, so really, he had no one to really worry about at this coming hour, but himself or his brother, who, in any instance, was still with him by his side in his own regular temper. In his own way, he knew that the other man was processing these final hours in his own peculiar way, spending time with his own personal friends, most of which he regarded in poor condition regardlessly. He didn’t have anyone to wave farewell to, and he had no real reason to doubt his own return to this land at all. He was an experienced veteran, a proven hero of the previous war and an expert soldier in his own way. The probabilities of him meeting Hades’s domain during the blasted war were low enough for him to not even mind a single thought about. He would not lose sleep over this whole ordeal. He thus remained by himself, looking lazy by the shore, clad in his signature black armor waiting for nothing more than to get this entire thing done and over with already. Perhaps, he could make the time move faster if he gathered some alcohol for this endeavor? At least that way he wouldn’t have to listen to the incessant cries of common and highborns weeping ludicrously in such disgraceful manners.
“Someone take me out of my misery already…” he complained to himself in a low, hushed, barely audible grunt that betrayed his lack of empathy for the gathered masses.
No stranger to war or battle, Damocles kept his composure and stony demeanor intact as he transmitted the orders for his men to make the necessary emotional preparations to leave for war. A perpetually bored scowl scratched his face, casually leaving the man to ponder by himself as he looked lazily at the teary-eyed wives, husbands and children of soldiers provide some insignificant parting words for them to comfort each other in the coming days, weeks, months and possibly years. He had already supervised the last official check-ups on his unit some time ago, standing by himself without much to do but pay lip-service to the overly-dramatic melodramatic performances that were playing before him.
Honestly, what errant nonsense! If a man could not keep himself in stable condition before making for war, he ought to stay behind his mother or wife’s skirts and leave the actual business of bloody conflict to others. He supposed he should have felt a twinge of sympathy for the lower-classes, those poor devils that would inevitably be the ones most affected by this pointless, idiotic conflict, but if he was candid, he remained unimpressed and thoroughly uninterested with the entire thing. Already, all the necessary precautions had been made to guarantee that the largest proportion of lower-ranked commoners were to suffer and meet a swift end by a blade’s cruel, receded fall. He might have pitied their fate and mourned their destiny in his spare time, but right here, right now, he couldn’t care less about the sobbing, crying, sniveling masses that groaned and weltered in aggravating choruses of shame and remorse. How annoying!
In other thoughts, he further concluded that even if he spared a second thought for the peasantry, he wouldn’t do the same for the nobility. In his never-revealed, nor ever addressed, private opinion, those debauched bastards deserved to be systematically put to death by the dozens. To him, the aristocracy had never done anything aside from slaving the poor and laborious to their greed, pride and arrogance. Why should he care if some wayward Lord, or idiotic Prince was slain in the field of battle? Good riddance was all he could conjured up to himself. If any good did come out of war it was that, at least, five nobles would never see the rocky shores of Colchis again. Mayhaps, if the Fates had been kind and made such proported calculation rise higher to estimate, he could find some modicum of amusement. Alas, that would only be left to the Gods and their agency…regrettably.
He guessed that he could have allowed his head to recall back the memory of Anastasia, that girl he had long-ago nurtured to strength and power, but such pointless feelings were just that, pointless. He had already penned his emotions to proper form, sending a singular letter to that girl some days ago, so really, he had no one to really worry about at this coming hour, but himself or his brother, who, in any instance, was still with him by his side in his own regular temper. In his own way, he knew that the other man was processing these final hours in his own peculiar way, spending time with his own personal friends, most of which he regarded in poor condition regardlessly. He didn’t have anyone to wave farewell to, and he had no real reason to doubt his own return to this land at all. He was an experienced veteran, a proven hero of the previous war and an expert soldier in his own way. The probabilities of him meeting Hades’s domain during the blasted war were low enough for him to not even mind a single thought about. He would not lose sleep over this whole ordeal. He thus remained by himself, looking lazy by the shore, clad in his signature black armor waiting for nothing more than to get this entire thing done and over with already. Perhaps, he could make the time move faster if he gathered some alcohol for this endeavor? At least that way he wouldn’t have to listen to the incessant cries of common and highborns weeping ludicrously in such disgraceful manners.
“Someone take me out of my misery already…” he complained to himself in a low, hushed, barely audible grunt that betrayed his lack of empathy for the gathered masses.
Mihail was beyond livid, and even that much was an understatement. The whole absurd concept of being forced to war was upsetting, but the fact that the seemingly weak threat had gradually become less so and was now his actual reality had sealed his rage. He had thought, perhaps, that Nethis might have seen the idiocy behind his Father's decision by now and, after all that nonsense with his armour, and making sure he had the right weapons and all manner of other silly little things that only mattered to the boring men into whose beds Mihail liked to slip, she would have heaved him out of the nightmare. But, no. He was still here, he would have to fight, and there was nothing he could do about it.
As such, he had announced that he did not intend for any of his siblings to see him off if they did not care about him. If any of them chose to do so of their own accord, he claimed he did not mind (although a part of him buried under all his frustration dearly wished they would). The only person Mihail had chosen to invite to see him off was that handsome man Ploutarchos, because, although they had only known each other a few weeks, he had decided that he loved him: a statement which was thoroughly untrue and existed solely out of spite for the way he was being pushed away from the family for which he genuinely cared. It was, in a way, similar to his constant trips to Nethisa only, rather than being only a short distance from home and in a wholly familiar land, he was be travelling further than he had ever been to a place where he could not return whenever the mood struck him.
"You will wait for me, yes?" he queried, in a tone which implied the other might forget. Perhaps he would remember he still cared for that dull and ageing wife of his or, without Mihail close by, he would forget what a delightful time they had shared. He reached out, pressing a hand gently on the other's chest - from that angle, he could see the way the red dye staining his fingertips had already begun to fade - and tilting his head one side. His voice seemed wholly sincere, but he was almost faking the cuteness, frustrated as he was by the situation at hand. "I do not want to return and find that you have abandoned me for another."
"I would never," was the assurance, though Mihail doubted it, if partially because he did not look as pretty as he had when the pair had first met. The linen tunic he currently was plain black and designed clearly for practicality over the style he favoured, and though he had tried his best to cinch it at the waist, it still felt strange and uncomfortable, and barely of the same level of quality to which he was more used. He looked more of a man than he had when they had met, with a light spattering of stubble starting to spread across his cheeks once more, and his hair - though he had avoided the cropping - was pulled back so that rather than fall in cute little curls at chin length, it had been tugged into a short ponytail. He was frightened some horrid deformity would befall him while away, but attempted to avoid the thought.
For a moment, they were quiet, and Mihail stared into the other's dark eyes. "Give me something? Prove it so that I know I can return to you."
The slighter taller man frowned as if in thought, then removed a ring he wore on the fourth finger of his right hand, holding it out. It was gold, flattened, and oval, with the image of an archer pressed into it. "I think this will bring you good luck, and should serve you as evidence enough."
Mihail slid it onto the same finger, then leaned up to place a gentle kiss on the other's rough cheek. "You are sweet. I think I believe you enough." Adjusting the way the new jewellery looked on his finger, he stepped back, glancing at the rest of the men and families accumulating around then. He had yet to see his own, which irritated him more, and his brow furrowed, although when Ploutarchos enquired as to what was the matter, he brushed away the question, and instead answered: "You should go. I need to meet with my fellow soldiers. I will see you when I return."
They parted ways with a mock theatricality of sorts, and Mihail waited for the other to vanish entirely amongst the present crowds before he turned away again. There were few here he knew well enough to wish to approach them, and even fewer who were alone. His eyes scanned the groups of soldiers until they fell upon a familiar enough face with which he felt sufficiently superior that he did not care if he was sighted looking as shameful as he did, and he approached Damocles with a slight frown, as if confused to have come across him.
"Do you not have friends or family?" the Thanasi asked the older man, the question coming across more petulant than he had intended it. It was evident that now, with little to cover it up, he was annoyed that his sisters were not yet there and wrapping him in their safe embrace to tell him everything would be alright. He was putting on a harder persona for the time being, but his current temperament meant he could not so easily replicate the colder mask he often wore. "Or are they only afraid to come and say goodbye for fear that in a single embrace, you might crush them to death?"
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Mihail was beyond livid, and even that much was an understatement. The whole absurd concept of being forced to war was upsetting, but the fact that the seemingly weak threat had gradually become less so and was now his actual reality had sealed his rage. He had thought, perhaps, that Nethis might have seen the idiocy behind his Father's decision by now and, after all that nonsense with his armour, and making sure he had the right weapons and all manner of other silly little things that only mattered to the boring men into whose beds Mihail liked to slip, she would have heaved him out of the nightmare. But, no. He was still here, he would have to fight, and there was nothing he could do about it.
As such, he had announced that he did not intend for any of his siblings to see him off if they did not care about him. If any of them chose to do so of their own accord, he claimed he did not mind (although a part of him buried under all his frustration dearly wished they would). The only person Mihail had chosen to invite to see him off was that handsome man Ploutarchos, because, although they had only known each other a few weeks, he had decided that he loved him: a statement which was thoroughly untrue and existed solely out of spite for the way he was being pushed away from the family for which he genuinely cared. It was, in a way, similar to his constant trips to Nethisa only, rather than being only a short distance from home and in a wholly familiar land, he was be travelling further than he had ever been to a place where he could not return whenever the mood struck him.
"You will wait for me, yes?" he queried, in a tone which implied the other might forget. Perhaps he would remember he still cared for that dull and ageing wife of his or, without Mihail close by, he would forget what a delightful time they had shared. He reached out, pressing a hand gently on the other's chest - from that angle, he could see the way the red dye staining his fingertips had already begun to fade - and tilting his head one side. His voice seemed wholly sincere, but he was almost faking the cuteness, frustrated as he was by the situation at hand. "I do not want to return and find that you have abandoned me for another."
"I would never," was the assurance, though Mihail doubted it, if partially because he did not look as pretty as he had when the pair had first met. The linen tunic he currently was plain black and designed clearly for practicality over the style he favoured, and though he had tried his best to cinch it at the waist, it still felt strange and uncomfortable, and barely of the same level of quality to which he was more used. He looked more of a man than he had when they had met, with a light spattering of stubble starting to spread across his cheeks once more, and his hair - though he had avoided the cropping - was pulled back so that rather than fall in cute little curls at chin length, it had been tugged into a short ponytail. He was frightened some horrid deformity would befall him while away, but attempted to avoid the thought.
For a moment, they were quiet, and Mihail stared into the other's dark eyes. "Give me something? Prove it so that I know I can return to you."
The slighter taller man frowned as if in thought, then removed a ring he wore on the fourth finger of his right hand, holding it out. It was gold, flattened, and oval, with the image of an archer pressed into it. "I think this will bring you good luck, and should serve you as evidence enough."
Mihail slid it onto the same finger, then leaned up to place a gentle kiss on the other's rough cheek. "You are sweet. I think I believe you enough." Adjusting the way the new jewellery looked on his finger, he stepped back, glancing at the rest of the men and families accumulating around then. He had yet to see his own, which irritated him more, and his brow furrowed, although when Ploutarchos enquired as to what was the matter, he brushed away the question, and instead answered: "You should go. I need to meet with my fellow soldiers. I will see you when I return."
They parted ways with a mock theatricality of sorts, and Mihail waited for the other to vanish entirely amongst the present crowds before he turned away again. There were few here he knew well enough to wish to approach them, and even fewer who were alone. His eyes scanned the groups of soldiers until they fell upon a familiar enough face with which he felt sufficiently superior that he did not care if he was sighted looking as shameful as he did, and he approached Damocles with a slight frown, as if confused to have come across him.
"Do you not have friends or family?" the Thanasi asked the older man, the question coming across more petulant than he had intended it. It was evident that now, with little to cover it up, he was annoyed that his sisters were not yet there and wrapping him in their safe embrace to tell him everything would be alright. He was putting on a harder persona for the time being, but his current temperament meant he could not so easily replicate the colder mask he often wore. "Or are they only afraid to come and say goodbye for fear that in a single embrace, you might crush them to death?"
Mihail was beyond livid, and even that much was an understatement. The whole absurd concept of being forced to war was upsetting, but the fact that the seemingly weak threat had gradually become less so and was now his actual reality had sealed his rage. He had thought, perhaps, that Nethis might have seen the idiocy behind his Father's decision by now and, after all that nonsense with his armour, and making sure he had the right weapons and all manner of other silly little things that only mattered to the boring men into whose beds Mihail liked to slip, she would have heaved him out of the nightmare. But, no. He was still here, he would have to fight, and there was nothing he could do about it.
As such, he had announced that he did not intend for any of his siblings to see him off if they did not care about him. If any of them chose to do so of their own accord, he claimed he did not mind (although a part of him buried under all his frustration dearly wished they would). The only person Mihail had chosen to invite to see him off was that handsome man Ploutarchos, because, although they had only known each other a few weeks, he had decided that he loved him: a statement which was thoroughly untrue and existed solely out of spite for the way he was being pushed away from the family for which he genuinely cared. It was, in a way, similar to his constant trips to Nethisa only, rather than being only a short distance from home and in a wholly familiar land, he was be travelling further than he had ever been to a place where he could not return whenever the mood struck him.
"You will wait for me, yes?" he queried, in a tone which implied the other might forget. Perhaps he would remember he still cared for that dull and ageing wife of his or, without Mihail close by, he would forget what a delightful time they had shared. He reached out, pressing a hand gently on the other's chest - from that angle, he could see the way the red dye staining his fingertips had already begun to fade - and tilting his head one side. His voice seemed wholly sincere, but he was almost faking the cuteness, frustrated as he was by the situation at hand. "I do not want to return and find that you have abandoned me for another."
"I would never," was the assurance, though Mihail doubted it, if partially because he did not look as pretty as he had when the pair had first met. The linen tunic he currently was plain black and designed clearly for practicality over the style he favoured, and though he had tried his best to cinch it at the waist, it still felt strange and uncomfortable, and barely of the same level of quality to which he was more used. He looked more of a man than he had when they had met, with a light spattering of stubble starting to spread across his cheeks once more, and his hair - though he had avoided the cropping - was pulled back so that rather than fall in cute little curls at chin length, it had been tugged into a short ponytail. He was frightened some horrid deformity would befall him while away, but attempted to avoid the thought.
For a moment, they were quiet, and Mihail stared into the other's dark eyes. "Give me something? Prove it so that I know I can return to you."
The slighter taller man frowned as if in thought, then removed a ring he wore on the fourth finger of his right hand, holding it out. It was gold, flattened, and oval, with the image of an archer pressed into it. "I think this will bring you good luck, and should serve you as evidence enough."
Mihail slid it onto the same finger, then leaned up to place a gentle kiss on the other's rough cheek. "You are sweet. I think I believe you enough." Adjusting the way the new jewellery looked on his finger, he stepped back, glancing at the rest of the men and families accumulating around then. He had yet to see his own, which irritated him more, and his brow furrowed, although when Ploutarchos enquired as to what was the matter, he brushed away the question, and instead answered: "You should go. I need to meet with my fellow soldiers. I will see you when I return."
They parted ways with a mock theatricality of sorts, and Mihail waited for the other to vanish entirely amongst the present crowds before he turned away again. There were few here he knew well enough to wish to approach them, and even fewer who were alone. His eyes scanned the groups of soldiers until they fell upon a familiar enough face with which he felt sufficiently superior that he did not care if he was sighted looking as shameful as he did, and he approached Damocles with a slight frown, as if confused to have come across him.
"Do you not have friends or family?" the Thanasi asked the older man, the question coming across more petulant than he had intended it. It was evident that now, with little to cover it up, he was annoyed that his sisters were not yet there and wrapping him in their safe embrace to tell him everything would be alright. He was putting on a harder persona for the time being, but his current temperament meant he could not so easily replicate the colder mask he often wore. "Or are they only afraid to come and say goodbye for fear that in a single embrace, you might crush them to death?"
This was the part that Timaeus had been dreading the most.
As the other men who were gathered on the beaches held their children or kissed their wives one final time, Timaeus found himself in his mother’s tight embrace. The Valaloritis family stood off to the side on the beach, close to the carriage that had brought Periella and the few cousins that Timaeus had asked to see him off. However, for the Baron, it wasn’t like anyone else was even there as he said his goodbyes to the woman who raised him.
Neither of them wanted to admit that this could be the last time that the mother and son duo would see each other -- in more ways than one. Timaeus may be the one that was off to war, but Periella was fighting a battle of her own. It was no secret that the woman’s memory was rapidly fading. It was hard for the Valaoritis matriarch to remember the little things; such as the names of slaves who had served the Valaoritis their whole lives or what month it was. Even though his mother downplayed the symptoms, it was bad enough that Timaeus worried for her when she was in Midas. After all, it would be so easy for someone in her condition to get lost in a crowded city… It pained Tim to see his mother this way. She had always been the strongest woman that he knew and now she was being reduced to a shell of her former self. Oh, how Timaeus longed for the sure and capable person she had been before her mind began to attack itself.
The truly heartbreaking reality of this though? All the physicians that Nico and Tim, in turn, had hired said that things would only get worse as the years wore on.
And it was.
That much was made clear when Timaeus heard his mother whisper something in his ear, ‘You look so much like your father Nico’ As that last word registered in Tim’s mind, his grip loosened and his eyes flew open in shock. Did she really just call him by his dead brother’s name? Timaeus could feel his pulse quickening as he considered what this could mean for Periella’s hope, his face going slackjawed as he silently prayed that she was only confused and not regressing to some past memory where Nico was alive and her politically minded son was somehow heading off to war. That had to be what was happening, right?
Periella didn’t seem to notice though as she continued to hold her boy close as she at least knew that this was quite possibly the last chance she had to do so. After all, she had been to far-too-many farewells for both her own bloodline and the Valaoritis one for those memories to fade. Timaeus settled back into the embrace, holding her just as tightly so that he too might have a memory to cling to during the months he would be gone. He could feel her trembling beneath his grip as the lightest of sobs began to wrack her chest. She was clearly scared. Scared that she was going to lose her children to the fortunes of war and she held to Timaeus so tightly that he was sure that she didn’t want to let him go… but she would be ultimately powerless to stop him or his brother from going. Not when the elder boy wanted to go and the younger was being forced to. She quietly voiced these fears to her boy as she asked quietly, her words bordering on pleading, ‘You will return to me, won’t you?’
It was then that the tears threatened to fall from Timaeus’s eyes. He managed to stay strong in his response though, “ Yes, of course. We both will.” He said in reference to his younger brother, who would no doubt arrive with Vangelis -- or at least Timaeus assumed so. He truthfully didn’t know. Ever since the boy had gone into the Kotas prince’s care, Timaeus had been given little information about his heir’s well-being. Just enough to ensure the lord that he was still alive and in one piece, but not much beyond that. Though, he supposed that was by design given how spectacularly Timaeus had failed in making Silanos into someone who was worthy of his noble blood. Even now in the fighting, Timaeus would be separated from his brother as the Baron was meant to be an envoy to the Taengeans and Sil… well, Sil would be wherever Vang put him. By gods, he hoped that Vangelis did not put him among the foot soldiers. He didn’t care what kind of regiment the Stone Prince put the boy under, he wouldn’t be ready to hold his own if the line broke.
However, he could make the silent promise to his mother to do all he could to protect Silanos. It would have to be from afar, of course, but if the opportunity presented itself; Timaeus would ensure that at least one of her boys returned to her safe and sound.
The sound of other familiar voices nearby caused Timaeus to let go of his mother and straighten his back as his maternal cousins approached. He turned away from the Eubocrisian men for a moment as he wiped his eyes. He wouldn’t do him any good to let some of the men see this moment of weakness on the part of the Valaoritis man. Nevermind the fact that these soldiers didn’t understand that the family had yet to conquer the grief of their most recent losses and how Timaeus’s tears were out of fear that he might be gone so long that his own mother might not be able to recognize him when he returned. They didn’t know any of their struggles and for good reason.
As Timaeus turned back to these relatives, Timaeus couldn’t help, but think how much he disliked this side of his family… or at least the cousins who completely ignored their aunt and tried to clamor for Timaeus’s attention. The men could not be any more obvious in their intentions of trying to seek Timaeus’s favor. It was always something with his mother’s family. Gold, promotions, power. It had gotten to the point where Timaeus didn’t want anything to do with them and they were especially unwelcome today. At least during these last few precious moments, Timaeus would have with Periella. He had half the mind to tell them to go find Maleos and prepare to board the ships, but he didn’t have the heart too when he saw how his mother lit up when they greeted her. Her happiness on this day was far too important to him, so he steeled himself to grin and bear the presence of these greedy cousins.
However, before they turned their attention to Tim, the Baron noticed another family up further on the beaches. Dressed in finery, Timaeus recognized them as members of the nobility as well and were present to say goodbye to the men here as well. His heart thudded in his chest when his eyes landed on one of the figures in particular. It was hard to miss her! It was almost like she was a beacon calling to him with her blonde hair loose in waves around her shoulders and her teal chiton fluttering around her legs lightly as the wind blew. His mouth nearly dropped into a small ‘o’ as he regarded the girl who had managed to make his pulse grow into a frenzy whenever she was near. He might have been very biased, but he thought she looked so lovely that she could have been a nymph who had wandered here from the forests of the north or maybe even a Nereid who had risen up from the sea. The girl looked just as lovely as the birds that made up her kingdom’s symbol and by gods, she was beautiful. She absolutely stunning and it was so cruel that he had to leave such beauty behind as he sailed off to war.
This goddess on the beach was none other than Nana of Leventi. She was the girl who had thoroughly knocked Tim off of his feet the first time that he had met her at the royal feast and over the course of a few short weeks had led him through a whirlwind of an adventure that would culminate in this… at least for the time being.
Who’s to say what the future held for the two of them?
He had known that she would be here. The two of them had previously promised that they would say their goodbyes on the beach, stealing away every possible moment they would have together before they would be forced to part. It was from that prior arrangement that Timaeus had been able to arrange a surprise hidden in a small cavern just further up the beach for Nana after the ships had left. He would have loved to see her face when she found the gift he was leaving her, but it was far too risky for right now. However, he trusted that the fiesty girl who had ignored him for a week when she discovered that he was not a prince would be more than capable of slipping away to retrieve it.
That was later, though. This was now.
Looking back to his mother and ensuring that she was happily distracted by her nephews, Timaeus decided to slip away for a moment, swearing that he would return to her side for one last goodbye before he boarded. Trekking quickly up the beach, he almost ran to close the distance between him and Nana, slowing to a sensible halt when he was close enough to her that the rest of her family may take notice of his presence there. “ Lady Nana.” He said as he dropped into a respectful bow with the goofiest grin on his face, showing for all to see just how thoroughly this Taengean beauty had ensnared the Colchian Baron.
He knew that a few people were more than likely watching them at this point, just because of where they were, but Timaeus couldn’t care all that much when he knew that this was likely the last time that he would see Nana for at least several months. Emboldened by the threat of this separation, Timaeus stepped forward and reached for her hand, bringing it up to his lips in a respectful kiss. “ How blessed are we that we get to see such a lovely visage as yours before we set sail?” A quick side glance at her family though caused the boy to remember himself and quickly drop her hand as he awkwardly tried to cover the fact that he was fully head over heels for the girl.
As he reached up to awkwardly scratch at his head, a small lump under his light armor could be seen. The second gift that he had prepared for the girl that day and just like the first one, this mystery package was meant to keep her company during the rough days ahead. However, he didn’t realize that the girl could possibly spot it as he awkwardly bowed to the other members of her family there, addressing them each in turn. Luckily, by now they knew about this Colchian Baron who had been enamored with Nana since the feast so they shouldn’t have been too perturbed that he was approaching Nana.
However, given how close the two had gotten, Timaeus had his reasons for wanting a more personal goodbye… something that surely her family would not stop given the circumstances, but just in case… When they all were distracted for a moment, Timaeus leaned over and whispered to the girl, “ Shall we go somewhere a little bit quieter? I brought some gifts I would like to give you.” There was a mischievous glint in his eyes as he said this, motioning to the carriages lining on the beach where two people could behind them for a few moments, knowing full well that she would love what Tim had prepared. However, it was just a matter of slipping away and not getting caught in the process...
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Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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This was the part that Timaeus had been dreading the most.
As the other men who were gathered on the beaches held their children or kissed their wives one final time, Timaeus found himself in his mother’s tight embrace. The Valaloritis family stood off to the side on the beach, close to the carriage that had brought Periella and the few cousins that Timaeus had asked to see him off. However, for the Baron, it wasn’t like anyone else was even there as he said his goodbyes to the woman who raised him.
Neither of them wanted to admit that this could be the last time that the mother and son duo would see each other -- in more ways than one. Timaeus may be the one that was off to war, but Periella was fighting a battle of her own. It was no secret that the woman’s memory was rapidly fading. It was hard for the Valaoritis matriarch to remember the little things; such as the names of slaves who had served the Valaoritis their whole lives or what month it was. Even though his mother downplayed the symptoms, it was bad enough that Timaeus worried for her when she was in Midas. After all, it would be so easy for someone in her condition to get lost in a crowded city… It pained Tim to see his mother this way. She had always been the strongest woman that he knew and now she was being reduced to a shell of her former self. Oh, how Timaeus longed for the sure and capable person she had been before her mind began to attack itself.
The truly heartbreaking reality of this though? All the physicians that Nico and Tim, in turn, had hired said that things would only get worse as the years wore on.
And it was.
That much was made clear when Timaeus heard his mother whisper something in his ear, ‘You look so much like your father Nico’ As that last word registered in Tim’s mind, his grip loosened and his eyes flew open in shock. Did she really just call him by his dead brother’s name? Timaeus could feel his pulse quickening as he considered what this could mean for Periella’s hope, his face going slackjawed as he silently prayed that she was only confused and not regressing to some past memory where Nico was alive and her politically minded son was somehow heading off to war. That had to be what was happening, right?
Periella didn’t seem to notice though as she continued to hold her boy close as she at least knew that this was quite possibly the last chance she had to do so. After all, she had been to far-too-many farewells for both her own bloodline and the Valaoritis one for those memories to fade. Timaeus settled back into the embrace, holding her just as tightly so that he too might have a memory to cling to during the months he would be gone. He could feel her trembling beneath his grip as the lightest of sobs began to wrack her chest. She was clearly scared. Scared that she was going to lose her children to the fortunes of war and she held to Timaeus so tightly that he was sure that she didn’t want to let him go… but she would be ultimately powerless to stop him or his brother from going. Not when the elder boy wanted to go and the younger was being forced to. She quietly voiced these fears to her boy as she asked quietly, her words bordering on pleading, ‘You will return to me, won’t you?’
It was then that the tears threatened to fall from Timaeus’s eyes. He managed to stay strong in his response though, “ Yes, of course. We both will.” He said in reference to his younger brother, who would no doubt arrive with Vangelis -- or at least Timaeus assumed so. He truthfully didn’t know. Ever since the boy had gone into the Kotas prince’s care, Timaeus had been given little information about his heir’s well-being. Just enough to ensure the lord that he was still alive and in one piece, but not much beyond that. Though, he supposed that was by design given how spectacularly Timaeus had failed in making Silanos into someone who was worthy of his noble blood. Even now in the fighting, Timaeus would be separated from his brother as the Baron was meant to be an envoy to the Taengeans and Sil… well, Sil would be wherever Vang put him. By gods, he hoped that Vangelis did not put him among the foot soldiers. He didn’t care what kind of regiment the Stone Prince put the boy under, he wouldn’t be ready to hold his own if the line broke.
However, he could make the silent promise to his mother to do all he could to protect Silanos. It would have to be from afar, of course, but if the opportunity presented itself; Timaeus would ensure that at least one of her boys returned to her safe and sound.
The sound of other familiar voices nearby caused Timaeus to let go of his mother and straighten his back as his maternal cousins approached. He turned away from the Eubocrisian men for a moment as he wiped his eyes. He wouldn’t do him any good to let some of the men see this moment of weakness on the part of the Valaoritis man. Nevermind the fact that these soldiers didn’t understand that the family had yet to conquer the grief of their most recent losses and how Timaeus’s tears were out of fear that he might be gone so long that his own mother might not be able to recognize him when he returned. They didn’t know any of their struggles and for good reason.
As Timaeus turned back to these relatives, Timaeus couldn’t help, but think how much he disliked this side of his family… or at least the cousins who completely ignored their aunt and tried to clamor for Timaeus’s attention. The men could not be any more obvious in their intentions of trying to seek Timaeus’s favor. It was always something with his mother’s family. Gold, promotions, power. It had gotten to the point where Timaeus didn’t want anything to do with them and they were especially unwelcome today. At least during these last few precious moments, Timaeus would have with Periella. He had half the mind to tell them to go find Maleos and prepare to board the ships, but he didn’t have the heart too when he saw how his mother lit up when they greeted her. Her happiness on this day was far too important to him, so he steeled himself to grin and bear the presence of these greedy cousins.
However, before they turned their attention to Tim, the Baron noticed another family up further on the beaches. Dressed in finery, Timaeus recognized them as members of the nobility as well and were present to say goodbye to the men here as well. His heart thudded in his chest when his eyes landed on one of the figures in particular. It was hard to miss her! It was almost like she was a beacon calling to him with her blonde hair loose in waves around her shoulders and her teal chiton fluttering around her legs lightly as the wind blew. His mouth nearly dropped into a small ‘o’ as he regarded the girl who had managed to make his pulse grow into a frenzy whenever she was near. He might have been very biased, but he thought she looked so lovely that she could have been a nymph who had wandered here from the forests of the north or maybe even a Nereid who had risen up from the sea. The girl looked just as lovely as the birds that made up her kingdom’s symbol and by gods, she was beautiful. She absolutely stunning and it was so cruel that he had to leave such beauty behind as he sailed off to war.
This goddess on the beach was none other than Nana of Leventi. She was the girl who had thoroughly knocked Tim off of his feet the first time that he had met her at the royal feast and over the course of a few short weeks had led him through a whirlwind of an adventure that would culminate in this… at least for the time being.
Who’s to say what the future held for the two of them?
He had known that she would be here. The two of them had previously promised that they would say their goodbyes on the beach, stealing away every possible moment they would have together before they would be forced to part. It was from that prior arrangement that Timaeus had been able to arrange a surprise hidden in a small cavern just further up the beach for Nana after the ships had left. He would have loved to see her face when she found the gift he was leaving her, but it was far too risky for right now. However, he trusted that the fiesty girl who had ignored him for a week when she discovered that he was not a prince would be more than capable of slipping away to retrieve it.
That was later, though. This was now.
Looking back to his mother and ensuring that she was happily distracted by her nephews, Timaeus decided to slip away for a moment, swearing that he would return to her side for one last goodbye before he boarded. Trekking quickly up the beach, he almost ran to close the distance between him and Nana, slowing to a sensible halt when he was close enough to her that the rest of her family may take notice of his presence there. “ Lady Nana.” He said as he dropped into a respectful bow with the goofiest grin on his face, showing for all to see just how thoroughly this Taengean beauty had ensnared the Colchian Baron.
He knew that a few people were more than likely watching them at this point, just because of where they were, but Timaeus couldn’t care all that much when he knew that this was likely the last time that he would see Nana for at least several months. Emboldened by the threat of this separation, Timaeus stepped forward and reached for her hand, bringing it up to his lips in a respectful kiss. “ How blessed are we that we get to see such a lovely visage as yours before we set sail?” A quick side glance at her family though caused the boy to remember himself and quickly drop her hand as he awkwardly tried to cover the fact that he was fully head over heels for the girl.
As he reached up to awkwardly scratch at his head, a small lump under his light armor could be seen. The second gift that he had prepared for the girl that day and just like the first one, this mystery package was meant to keep her company during the rough days ahead. However, he didn’t realize that the girl could possibly spot it as he awkwardly bowed to the other members of her family there, addressing them each in turn. Luckily, by now they knew about this Colchian Baron who had been enamored with Nana since the feast so they shouldn’t have been too perturbed that he was approaching Nana.
However, given how close the two had gotten, Timaeus had his reasons for wanting a more personal goodbye… something that surely her family would not stop given the circumstances, but just in case… When they all were distracted for a moment, Timaeus leaned over and whispered to the girl, “ Shall we go somewhere a little bit quieter? I brought some gifts I would like to give you.” There was a mischievous glint in his eyes as he said this, motioning to the carriages lining on the beach where two people could behind them for a few moments, knowing full well that she would love what Tim had prepared. However, it was just a matter of slipping away and not getting caught in the process...
This was the part that Timaeus had been dreading the most.
As the other men who were gathered on the beaches held their children or kissed their wives one final time, Timaeus found himself in his mother’s tight embrace. The Valaloritis family stood off to the side on the beach, close to the carriage that had brought Periella and the few cousins that Timaeus had asked to see him off. However, for the Baron, it wasn’t like anyone else was even there as he said his goodbyes to the woman who raised him.
Neither of them wanted to admit that this could be the last time that the mother and son duo would see each other -- in more ways than one. Timaeus may be the one that was off to war, but Periella was fighting a battle of her own. It was no secret that the woman’s memory was rapidly fading. It was hard for the Valaoritis matriarch to remember the little things; such as the names of slaves who had served the Valaoritis their whole lives or what month it was. Even though his mother downplayed the symptoms, it was bad enough that Timaeus worried for her when she was in Midas. After all, it would be so easy for someone in her condition to get lost in a crowded city… It pained Tim to see his mother this way. She had always been the strongest woman that he knew and now she was being reduced to a shell of her former self. Oh, how Timaeus longed for the sure and capable person she had been before her mind began to attack itself.
The truly heartbreaking reality of this though? All the physicians that Nico and Tim, in turn, had hired said that things would only get worse as the years wore on.
And it was.
That much was made clear when Timaeus heard his mother whisper something in his ear, ‘You look so much like your father Nico’ As that last word registered in Tim’s mind, his grip loosened and his eyes flew open in shock. Did she really just call him by his dead brother’s name? Timaeus could feel his pulse quickening as he considered what this could mean for Periella’s hope, his face going slackjawed as he silently prayed that she was only confused and not regressing to some past memory where Nico was alive and her politically minded son was somehow heading off to war. That had to be what was happening, right?
Periella didn’t seem to notice though as she continued to hold her boy close as she at least knew that this was quite possibly the last chance she had to do so. After all, she had been to far-too-many farewells for both her own bloodline and the Valaoritis one for those memories to fade. Timaeus settled back into the embrace, holding her just as tightly so that he too might have a memory to cling to during the months he would be gone. He could feel her trembling beneath his grip as the lightest of sobs began to wrack her chest. She was clearly scared. Scared that she was going to lose her children to the fortunes of war and she held to Timaeus so tightly that he was sure that she didn’t want to let him go… but she would be ultimately powerless to stop him or his brother from going. Not when the elder boy wanted to go and the younger was being forced to. She quietly voiced these fears to her boy as she asked quietly, her words bordering on pleading, ‘You will return to me, won’t you?’
It was then that the tears threatened to fall from Timaeus’s eyes. He managed to stay strong in his response though, “ Yes, of course. We both will.” He said in reference to his younger brother, who would no doubt arrive with Vangelis -- or at least Timaeus assumed so. He truthfully didn’t know. Ever since the boy had gone into the Kotas prince’s care, Timaeus had been given little information about his heir’s well-being. Just enough to ensure the lord that he was still alive and in one piece, but not much beyond that. Though, he supposed that was by design given how spectacularly Timaeus had failed in making Silanos into someone who was worthy of his noble blood. Even now in the fighting, Timaeus would be separated from his brother as the Baron was meant to be an envoy to the Taengeans and Sil… well, Sil would be wherever Vang put him. By gods, he hoped that Vangelis did not put him among the foot soldiers. He didn’t care what kind of regiment the Stone Prince put the boy under, he wouldn’t be ready to hold his own if the line broke.
However, he could make the silent promise to his mother to do all he could to protect Silanos. It would have to be from afar, of course, but if the opportunity presented itself; Timaeus would ensure that at least one of her boys returned to her safe and sound.
The sound of other familiar voices nearby caused Timaeus to let go of his mother and straighten his back as his maternal cousins approached. He turned away from the Eubocrisian men for a moment as he wiped his eyes. He wouldn’t do him any good to let some of the men see this moment of weakness on the part of the Valaoritis man. Nevermind the fact that these soldiers didn’t understand that the family had yet to conquer the grief of their most recent losses and how Timaeus’s tears were out of fear that he might be gone so long that his own mother might not be able to recognize him when he returned. They didn’t know any of their struggles and for good reason.
As Timaeus turned back to these relatives, Timaeus couldn’t help, but think how much he disliked this side of his family… or at least the cousins who completely ignored their aunt and tried to clamor for Timaeus’s attention. The men could not be any more obvious in their intentions of trying to seek Timaeus’s favor. It was always something with his mother’s family. Gold, promotions, power. It had gotten to the point where Timaeus didn’t want anything to do with them and they were especially unwelcome today. At least during these last few precious moments, Timaeus would have with Periella. He had half the mind to tell them to go find Maleos and prepare to board the ships, but he didn’t have the heart too when he saw how his mother lit up when they greeted her. Her happiness on this day was far too important to him, so he steeled himself to grin and bear the presence of these greedy cousins.
However, before they turned their attention to Tim, the Baron noticed another family up further on the beaches. Dressed in finery, Timaeus recognized them as members of the nobility as well and were present to say goodbye to the men here as well. His heart thudded in his chest when his eyes landed on one of the figures in particular. It was hard to miss her! It was almost like she was a beacon calling to him with her blonde hair loose in waves around her shoulders and her teal chiton fluttering around her legs lightly as the wind blew. His mouth nearly dropped into a small ‘o’ as he regarded the girl who had managed to make his pulse grow into a frenzy whenever she was near. He might have been very biased, but he thought she looked so lovely that she could have been a nymph who had wandered here from the forests of the north or maybe even a Nereid who had risen up from the sea. The girl looked just as lovely as the birds that made up her kingdom’s symbol and by gods, she was beautiful. She absolutely stunning and it was so cruel that he had to leave such beauty behind as he sailed off to war.
This goddess on the beach was none other than Nana of Leventi. She was the girl who had thoroughly knocked Tim off of his feet the first time that he had met her at the royal feast and over the course of a few short weeks had led him through a whirlwind of an adventure that would culminate in this… at least for the time being.
Who’s to say what the future held for the two of them?
He had known that she would be here. The two of them had previously promised that they would say their goodbyes on the beach, stealing away every possible moment they would have together before they would be forced to part. It was from that prior arrangement that Timaeus had been able to arrange a surprise hidden in a small cavern just further up the beach for Nana after the ships had left. He would have loved to see her face when she found the gift he was leaving her, but it was far too risky for right now. However, he trusted that the fiesty girl who had ignored him for a week when she discovered that he was not a prince would be more than capable of slipping away to retrieve it.
That was later, though. This was now.
Looking back to his mother and ensuring that she was happily distracted by her nephews, Timaeus decided to slip away for a moment, swearing that he would return to her side for one last goodbye before he boarded. Trekking quickly up the beach, he almost ran to close the distance between him and Nana, slowing to a sensible halt when he was close enough to her that the rest of her family may take notice of his presence there. “ Lady Nana.” He said as he dropped into a respectful bow with the goofiest grin on his face, showing for all to see just how thoroughly this Taengean beauty had ensnared the Colchian Baron.
He knew that a few people were more than likely watching them at this point, just because of where they were, but Timaeus couldn’t care all that much when he knew that this was likely the last time that he would see Nana for at least several months. Emboldened by the threat of this separation, Timaeus stepped forward and reached for her hand, bringing it up to his lips in a respectful kiss. “ How blessed are we that we get to see such a lovely visage as yours before we set sail?” A quick side glance at her family though caused the boy to remember himself and quickly drop her hand as he awkwardly tried to cover the fact that he was fully head over heels for the girl.
As he reached up to awkwardly scratch at his head, a small lump under his light armor could be seen. The second gift that he had prepared for the girl that day and just like the first one, this mystery package was meant to keep her company during the rough days ahead. However, he didn’t realize that the girl could possibly spot it as he awkwardly bowed to the other members of her family there, addressing them each in turn. Luckily, by now they knew about this Colchian Baron who had been enamored with Nana since the feast so they shouldn’t have been too perturbed that he was approaching Nana.
However, given how close the two had gotten, Timaeus had his reasons for wanting a more personal goodbye… something that surely her family would not stop given the circumstances, but just in case… When they all were distracted for a moment, Timaeus leaned over and whispered to the girl, “ Shall we go somewhere a little bit quieter? I brought some gifts I would like to give you.” There was a mischievous glint in his eyes as he said this, motioning to the carriages lining on the beach where two people could behind them for a few moments, knowing full well that she would love what Tim had prepared. However, it was just a matter of slipping away and not getting caught in the process...
None of this felt real, because how could it possibly be? They had survived a daring flight from their home kingdom to safety, and two months into her life finally settled with their daughter. Surely now they should be allowed to rest and simply be as a family. This, the thought of seeing him off to war, the noise of soldiers and havoc around them and tearful farewells were just a nightmare that she would wake from. He would be wrapped around her, still there, always by her side as promised.
His murmured assurances were doing little to help ease her fears, and she allowed him to hold Tisiphone against the metal breastplate, the sleeping baby directly in contrast to his warlike appearance. She took the child silently at his request, letting him shift around to be comfortable before returning their daughter to his grip and smiling as the now awake babe began to pat and coo at her own reflection in her father's breastplate.
"I don't want you to go." Her voice was quiet, audible only to him as he tucked her against his side once more. Reaching back she unwound her veil from where it had gotten caught in his grip, part of her attempt at looking like a queen seeing off her king again even with their demotion in status. She'd borrowed the red chiton from the Princess Evras, attempting to show the Mikaelidas colors, and the draping of the similar veil was held in place with the pins connected to the braided crown of her hair, the only crown she had now to wear.
When he came back, because there could be no if, he would have missed so much of their daughter growing up. Perhaps even the first steps she would take or words she would speak. Her husband was leaving and soon after that her mother and sisters would depart, even Selene would be going away. She would be truly alone at the mercy of the Kotas family until she got any kind of reassurance that it would be safe for herself and her daughter to return home to Taengea.
"You will come back, victorious as always. Your men will be lucky to have you leading them." Olympia smiled in an attempt at hope, looking up at him with a nod of confidence. There was still an anger at Vangelis for making this happen, for ensuring that she now had to live without her husband and sister all to suit his own needs and desires. There was nothing she could do or say against him, and it would do no good now to antagonize Stephanos before he left.
"Write to me, and I shall try to make it feel as if you are not missing a moment of her growing up."
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None of this felt real, because how could it possibly be? They had survived a daring flight from their home kingdom to safety, and two months into her life finally settled with their daughter. Surely now they should be allowed to rest and simply be as a family. This, the thought of seeing him off to war, the noise of soldiers and havoc around them and tearful farewells were just a nightmare that she would wake from. He would be wrapped around her, still there, always by her side as promised.
His murmured assurances were doing little to help ease her fears, and she allowed him to hold Tisiphone against the metal breastplate, the sleeping baby directly in contrast to his warlike appearance. She took the child silently at his request, letting him shift around to be comfortable before returning their daughter to his grip and smiling as the now awake babe began to pat and coo at her own reflection in her father's breastplate.
"I don't want you to go." Her voice was quiet, audible only to him as he tucked her against his side once more. Reaching back she unwound her veil from where it had gotten caught in his grip, part of her attempt at looking like a queen seeing off her king again even with their demotion in status. She'd borrowed the red chiton from the Princess Evras, attempting to show the Mikaelidas colors, and the draping of the similar veil was held in place with the pins connected to the braided crown of her hair, the only crown she had now to wear.
When he came back, because there could be no if, he would have missed so much of their daughter growing up. Perhaps even the first steps she would take or words she would speak. Her husband was leaving and soon after that her mother and sisters would depart, even Selene would be going away. She would be truly alone at the mercy of the Kotas family until she got any kind of reassurance that it would be safe for herself and her daughter to return home to Taengea.
"You will come back, victorious as always. Your men will be lucky to have you leading them." Olympia smiled in an attempt at hope, looking up at him with a nod of confidence. There was still an anger at Vangelis for making this happen, for ensuring that she now had to live without her husband and sister all to suit his own needs and desires. There was nothing she could do or say against him, and it would do no good now to antagonize Stephanos before he left.
"Write to me, and I shall try to make it feel as if you are not missing a moment of her growing up."
None of this felt real, because how could it possibly be? They had survived a daring flight from their home kingdom to safety, and two months into her life finally settled with their daughter. Surely now they should be allowed to rest and simply be as a family. This, the thought of seeing him off to war, the noise of soldiers and havoc around them and tearful farewells were just a nightmare that she would wake from. He would be wrapped around her, still there, always by her side as promised.
His murmured assurances were doing little to help ease her fears, and she allowed him to hold Tisiphone against the metal breastplate, the sleeping baby directly in contrast to his warlike appearance. She took the child silently at his request, letting him shift around to be comfortable before returning their daughter to his grip and smiling as the now awake babe began to pat and coo at her own reflection in her father's breastplate.
"I don't want you to go." Her voice was quiet, audible only to him as he tucked her against his side once more. Reaching back she unwound her veil from where it had gotten caught in his grip, part of her attempt at looking like a queen seeing off her king again even with their demotion in status. She'd borrowed the red chiton from the Princess Evras, attempting to show the Mikaelidas colors, and the draping of the similar veil was held in place with the pins connected to the braided crown of her hair, the only crown she had now to wear.
When he came back, because there could be no if, he would have missed so much of their daughter growing up. Perhaps even the first steps she would take or words she would speak. Her husband was leaving and soon after that her mother and sisters would depart, even Selene would be going away. She would be truly alone at the mercy of the Kotas family until she got any kind of reassurance that it would be safe for herself and her daughter to return home to Taengea.
"You will come back, victorious as always. Your men will be lucky to have you leading them." Olympia smiled in an attempt at hope, looking up at him with a nod of confidence. There was still an anger at Vangelis for making this happen, for ensuring that she now had to live without her husband and sister all to suit his own needs and desires. There was nothing she could do or say against him, and it would do no good now to antagonize Stephanos before he left.
"Write to me, and I shall try to make it feel as if you are not missing a moment of her growing up."
Before the dour atmosphere of the depressingly unenthusiastic setting before him caused him to grow mad with thoughts of self-harm, Damocles shifted his stony, cold stare to a similar voice that called to him in particular. With a half-hearted attempt at moving from his comfortable position, the black armored man turned to his side to pay attention to whomever had invoked him his presence. Dry amusement flushed on his strongly marked face, causing him to grin wolfishly at the person that summoned him.
Evidently, he was quick to recognize the sound of the masculine, yet slightly musical voice that called to him. It was a familiar voice, one that had beckoned him to action on the past through multiple trials and tribulations of mischief and subdued malice. The presence was clearly a male, albeit a somewhat androgynous. His appearance was a contrasting mess of black and white denominations. His eyes, hair and full, dramatic eyelashes were black, expressive and overly dramatic, conveying a sense of superiority that most would dismiss as abundantly excessive. And yet, his features and complexion were light and soft, ushering an ethereal divergence from his ebony traits. This combination of dark and light betrayed his bloodline, making it quite obvious that this youth was of the Thanasi brood. More specifically, this boy was none other than Mihail of Thanasi, the lastborn of Lord Dionysios.
And yet, he was superficially different than his usual form, downcast, and positively unamused, probably a byproduct of the the circumstances surrounding him. Adding credence to this perceived assumption was that crestfallen frown that ornamented the youth’s pallid visage. He was still stuck in his natural, if not unnerving elegance, but judging from the coldness of his features, Damocles assumed that not all was alright with the lordling. As if more evidence was needed to prove his thesis, the silver-man eyed heard closely to the petulant words of that Thanasi gossip-monger, detecting a twinge of frustration in his otherwise traditionally snobbish voice. If his observations were true, than the Captain could place good stock in his instincts and wager that Mihail’s presence meant that he was not here to say farewell to the warriors of Colchis, but was instead to leave amongst them as one of their own. Oh what a delightfully amusing prospect!
“Neither, Lord Thanasi.” He responded, revealing the sonorously smoky tone of his low, rumbling voice. ”Those closest to me are either managing some last-instance business that I needed to delegate, or have already tendered their farewells to me last night in private.” Corrected the enormous man as he rose from his place and stretched, showcasing his considerable size and striking appearance. “I am not much for prolonged, public displays of affection. In my experience it is worthless for my soldiers to worry about coming back or not. If they put their total and absolute trust in me, I do everything in my power to make sure they return safely to the arms of their beloved. Of course, for such response to come to fruition, they must, in turn, devote their undivided fealty and loyalty to me. Only then can the covenant between them, as my soldiers, and I, as their leader, be truly forged.” Explained the silver-eyed man as he provided some insight into his managerial style and philosophical inclinations.
Just then, as Damocles finished pontificating about his personal beliefs, three, heavily-armored, musclebound men of ranging appearances came forth to address the Captain of the Damned. Two of these three carried between them a large, wooden chest, while the third one, appeared to supervise them, carrying himself with a bit of an air of authority as he walked towards the silver-eyed man, whom he smiled to with excitement. He was blond, impressively tall and tanned, with a visible smirk fastened to his squarely-jawed face. All-in-all. He looked a bit too happy to be heading to war.
“Ah! Lysandros!” recognized Damocles as he walked towards the equally tall man before embracing him in a warm, brotherly hug. “How is your sister? I hope she fares well.” Pondered the darker one of the two men before acknowledging the other two as they dropped their crate down on the ground. “She is well! A bit sad, given the circumstances, but she’ll get over it. My sister is a tough one!” greeted the golden-haired who apparently went by the name of Lysandros. “Ah! These words unburden my heart then. I am glad she is fine. You are right, she’s a strong one…unlike her husband.” Teased the olive-skinned captain before the one man guffawed in response, indicating the presence of an inside joke between the two militants.
“Come my old friend, allow me to introduce you to someone important.” Redirected the Herculean man with the dark hair and light eyes as he turned their attention back to the Thanasi youth. “This is Mihail of House Thanasi. He is a good and interesting friend of mine.” Simply introduced the Captain of the Damned before Lysandros spoke up. “Mhmm, yes…very interesting indeed.” Purred the lighter-haired man as his hazel eyes sized-up the Thanasi youth with a clearly flirtatious tone to his otherwise cheerful voice. “You are royal-blooded correct? It is an honor, and pleasure, to make your acquaintance, Your Highness.” Incorrectly addressed the other man as he placed certain emphasis on the word pleasure. “Stop you! Don’t harass him.” Playfully interceded Damocles before he turned to introduce his friend to the other. “This is Lysandros of Magnemea. He’s my oldest friend, chief lieutenant and second-in-command.” Revealed the silver-eyed captain as his fair-haired counterpart nudged him teasingly. “Apparently I am also his slave…” Joked Lysandros as the other Magnemean snickered. “Not slave, servant!”
Once their amusement toned down, attention was focused back on the mysterious, if not grim, crate that had been lain before them. “Did you procure it?” inquired the superior officer to his junior. “Barely. It is not easy to create such an amount in little time.” Commented Lysandros as he stared at the crate with visible seriousness to his once jovial visage. “Is there a small sample I could borrow?” asked the dark-haired Magnemean to his lieutenant. “You say as if you will return it. But yes, I am sure there is a vial or two inside.” And with that, Damocles opened the box, digging his hand inside before taking out a small, minuscule container that he dangled between his fingers.
Afterwards, the silver-eyed youth turned towards Mihail, walking solemnly before he pressed his silver gaze in a surprisingly intense and stern stare. “Take this and dip all your arrow tips with it. It will ensure your victory with every one of your projectiles that lands. Be aware however that this thing will make you beg for Hades’ sweet release if you so much as let one drop enter your body. Only I can manufacture the antidote. Understood?” conditioned the towering man as he gazed at the Thanasi. “It can be swallowed and it won’t do anything. So for it to cause its effects you’ll need to make sure it pierces another’s skin. Otherwise, this will be our little secret, Mihail.”
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Before the dour atmosphere of the depressingly unenthusiastic setting before him caused him to grow mad with thoughts of self-harm, Damocles shifted his stony, cold stare to a similar voice that called to him in particular. With a half-hearted attempt at moving from his comfortable position, the black armored man turned to his side to pay attention to whomever had invoked him his presence. Dry amusement flushed on his strongly marked face, causing him to grin wolfishly at the person that summoned him.
Evidently, he was quick to recognize the sound of the masculine, yet slightly musical voice that called to him. It was a familiar voice, one that had beckoned him to action on the past through multiple trials and tribulations of mischief and subdued malice. The presence was clearly a male, albeit a somewhat androgynous. His appearance was a contrasting mess of black and white denominations. His eyes, hair and full, dramatic eyelashes were black, expressive and overly dramatic, conveying a sense of superiority that most would dismiss as abundantly excessive. And yet, his features and complexion were light and soft, ushering an ethereal divergence from his ebony traits. This combination of dark and light betrayed his bloodline, making it quite obvious that this youth was of the Thanasi brood. More specifically, this boy was none other than Mihail of Thanasi, the lastborn of Lord Dionysios.
And yet, he was superficially different than his usual form, downcast, and positively unamused, probably a byproduct of the the circumstances surrounding him. Adding credence to this perceived assumption was that crestfallen frown that ornamented the youth’s pallid visage. He was still stuck in his natural, if not unnerving elegance, but judging from the coldness of his features, Damocles assumed that not all was alright with the lordling. As if more evidence was needed to prove his thesis, the silver-man eyed heard closely to the petulant words of that Thanasi gossip-monger, detecting a twinge of frustration in his otherwise traditionally snobbish voice. If his observations were true, than the Captain could place good stock in his instincts and wager that Mihail’s presence meant that he was not here to say farewell to the warriors of Colchis, but was instead to leave amongst them as one of their own. Oh what a delightfully amusing prospect!
“Neither, Lord Thanasi.” He responded, revealing the sonorously smoky tone of his low, rumbling voice. ”Those closest to me are either managing some last-instance business that I needed to delegate, or have already tendered their farewells to me last night in private.” Corrected the enormous man as he rose from his place and stretched, showcasing his considerable size and striking appearance. “I am not much for prolonged, public displays of affection. In my experience it is worthless for my soldiers to worry about coming back or not. If they put their total and absolute trust in me, I do everything in my power to make sure they return safely to the arms of their beloved. Of course, for such response to come to fruition, they must, in turn, devote their undivided fealty and loyalty to me. Only then can the covenant between them, as my soldiers, and I, as their leader, be truly forged.” Explained the silver-eyed man as he provided some insight into his managerial style and philosophical inclinations.
Just then, as Damocles finished pontificating about his personal beliefs, three, heavily-armored, musclebound men of ranging appearances came forth to address the Captain of the Damned. Two of these three carried between them a large, wooden chest, while the third one, appeared to supervise them, carrying himself with a bit of an air of authority as he walked towards the silver-eyed man, whom he smiled to with excitement. He was blond, impressively tall and tanned, with a visible smirk fastened to his squarely-jawed face. All-in-all. He looked a bit too happy to be heading to war.
“Ah! Lysandros!” recognized Damocles as he walked towards the equally tall man before embracing him in a warm, brotherly hug. “How is your sister? I hope she fares well.” Pondered the darker one of the two men before acknowledging the other two as they dropped their crate down on the ground. “She is well! A bit sad, given the circumstances, but she’ll get over it. My sister is a tough one!” greeted the golden-haired who apparently went by the name of Lysandros. “Ah! These words unburden my heart then. I am glad she is fine. You are right, she’s a strong one…unlike her husband.” Teased the olive-skinned captain before the one man guffawed in response, indicating the presence of an inside joke between the two militants.
“Come my old friend, allow me to introduce you to someone important.” Redirected the Herculean man with the dark hair and light eyes as he turned their attention back to the Thanasi youth. “This is Mihail of House Thanasi. He is a good and interesting friend of mine.” Simply introduced the Captain of the Damned before Lysandros spoke up. “Mhmm, yes…very interesting indeed.” Purred the lighter-haired man as his hazel eyes sized-up the Thanasi youth with a clearly flirtatious tone to his otherwise cheerful voice. “You are royal-blooded correct? It is an honor, and pleasure, to make your acquaintance, Your Highness.” Incorrectly addressed the other man as he placed certain emphasis on the word pleasure. “Stop you! Don’t harass him.” Playfully interceded Damocles before he turned to introduce his friend to the other. “This is Lysandros of Magnemea. He’s my oldest friend, chief lieutenant and second-in-command.” Revealed the silver-eyed captain as his fair-haired counterpart nudged him teasingly. “Apparently I am also his slave…” Joked Lysandros as the other Magnemean snickered. “Not slave, servant!”
Once their amusement toned down, attention was focused back on the mysterious, if not grim, crate that had been lain before them. “Did you procure it?” inquired the superior officer to his junior. “Barely. It is not easy to create such an amount in little time.” Commented Lysandros as he stared at the crate with visible seriousness to his once jovial visage. “Is there a small sample I could borrow?” asked the dark-haired Magnemean to his lieutenant. “You say as if you will return it. But yes, I am sure there is a vial or two inside.” And with that, Damocles opened the box, digging his hand inside before taking out a small, minuscule container that he dangled between his fingers.
Afterwards, the silver-eyed youth turned towards Mihail, walking solemnly before he pressed his silver gaze in a surprisingly intense and stern stare. “Take this and dip all your arrow tips with it. It will ensure your victory with every one of your projectiles that lands. Be aware however that this thing will make you beg for Hades’ sweet release if you so much as let one drop enter your body. Only I can manufacture the antidote. Understood?” conditioned the towering man as he gazed at the Thanasi. “It can be swallowed and it won’t do anything. So for it to cause its effects you’ll need to make sure it pierces another’s skin. Otherwise, this will be our little secret, Mihail.”
Before the dour atmosphere of the depressingly unenthusiastic setting before him caused him to grow mad with thoughts of self-harm, Damocles shifted his stony, cold stare to a similar voice that called to him in particular. With a half-hearted attempt at moving from his comfortable position, the black armored man turned to his side to pay attention to whomever had invoked him his presence. Dry amusement flushed on his strongly marked face, causing him to grin wolfishly at the person that summoned him.
Evidently, he was quick to recognize the sound of the masculine, yet slightly musical voice that called to him. It was a familiar voice, one that had beckoned him to action on the past through multiple trials and tribulations of mischief and subdued malice. The presence was clearly a male, albeit a somewhat androgynous. His appearance was a contrasting mess of black and white denominations. His eyes, hair and full, dramatic eyelashes were black, expressive and overly dramatic, conveying a sense of superiority that most would dismiss as abundantly excessive. And yet, his features and complexion were light and soft, ushering an ethereal divergence from his ebony traits. This combination of dark and light betrayed his bloodline, making it quite obvious that this youth was of the Thanasi brood. More specifically, this boy was none other than Mihail of Thanasi, the lastborn of Lord Dionysios.
And yet, he was superficially different than his usual form, downcast, and positively unamused, probably a byproduct of the the circumstances surrounding him. Adding credence to this perceived assumption was that crestfallen frown that ornamented the youth’s pallid visage. He was still stuck in his natural, if not unnerving elegance, but judging from the coldness of his features, Damocles assumed that not all was alright with the lordling. As if more evidence was needed to prove his thesis, the silver-man eyed heard closely to the petulant words of that Thanasi gossip-monger, detecting a twinge of frustration in his otherwise traditionally snobbish voice. If his observations were true, than the Captain could place good stock in his instincts and wager that Mihail’s presence meant that he was not here to say farewell to the warriors of Colchis, but was instead to leave amongst them as one of their own. Oh what a delightfully amusing prospect!
“Neither, Lord Thanasi.” He responded, revealing the sonorously smoky tone of his low, rumbling voice. ”Those closest to me are either managing some last-instance business that I needed to delegate, or have already tendered their farewells to me last night in private.” Corrected the enormous man as he rose from his place and stretched, showcasing his considerable size and striking appearance. “I am not much for prolonged, public displays of affection. In my experience it is worthless for my soldiers to worry about coming back or not. If they put their total and absolute trust in me, I do everything in my power to make sure they return safely to the arms of their beloved. Of course, for such response to come to fruition, they must, in turn, devote their undivided fealty and loyalty to me. Only then can the covenant between them, as my soldiers, and I, as their leader, be truly forged.” Explained the silver-eyed man as he provided some insight into his managerial style and philosophical inclinations.
Just then, as Damocles finished pontificating about his personal beliefs, three, heavily-armored, musclebound men of ranging appearances came forth to address the Captain of the Damned. Two of these three carried between them a large, wooden chest, while the third one, appeared to supervise them, carrying himself with a bit of an air of authority as he walked towards the silver-eyed man, whom he smiled to with excitement. He was blond, impressively tall and tanned, with a visible smirk fastened to his squarely-jawed face. All-in-all. He looked a bit too happy to be heading to war.
“Ah! Lysandros!” recognized Damocles as he walked towards the equally tall man before embracing him in a warm, brotherly hug. “How is your sister? I hope she fares well.” Pondered the darker one of the two men before acknowledging the other two as they dropped their crate down on the ground. “She is well! A bit sad, given the circumstances, but she’ll get over it. My sister is a tough one!” greeted the golden-haired who apparently went by the name of Lysandros. “Ah! These words unburden my heart then. I am glad she is fine. You are right, she’s a strong one…unlike her husband.” Teased the olive-skinned captain before the one man guffawed in response, indicating the presence of an inside joke between the two militants.
“Come my old friend, allow me to introduce you to someone important.” Redirected the Herculean man with the dark hair and light eyes as he turned their attention back to the Thanasi youth. “This is Mihail of House Thanasi. He is a good and interesting friend of mine.” Simply introduced the Captain of the Damned before Lysandros spoke up. “Mhmm, yes…very interesting indeed.” Purred the lighter-haired man as his hazel eyes sized-up the Thanasi youth with a clearly flirtatious tone to his otherwise cheerful voice. “You are royal-blooded correct? It is an honor, and pleasure, to make your acquaintance, Your Highness.” Incorrectly addressed the other man as he placed certain emphasis on the word pleasure. “Stop you! Don’t harass him.” Playfully interceded Damocles before he turned to introduce his friend to the other. “This is Lysandros of Magnemea. He’s my oldest friend, chief lieutenant and second-in-command.” Revealed the silver-eyed captain as his fair-haired counterpart nudged him teasingly. “Apparently I am also his slave…” Joked Lysandros as the other Magnemean snickered. “Not slave, servant!”
Once their amusement toned down, attention was focused back on the mysterious, if not grim, crate that had been lain before them. “Did you procure it?” inquired the superior officer to his junior. “Barely. It is not easy to create such an amount in little time.” Commented Lysandros as he stared at the crate with visible seriousness to his once jovial visage. “Is there a small sample I could borrow?” asked the dark-haired Magnemean to his lieutenant. “You say as if you will return it. But yes, I am sure there is a vial or two inside.” And with that, Damocles opened the box, digging his hand inside before taking out a small, minuscule container that he dangled between his fingers.
Afterwards, the silver-eyed youth turned towards Mihail, walking solemnly before he pressed his silver gaze in a surprisingly intense and stern stare. “Take this and dip all your arrow tips with it. It will ensure your victory with every one of your projectiles that lands. Be aware however that this thing will make you beg for Hades’ sweet release if you so much as let one drop enter your body. Only I can manufacture the antidote. Understood?” conditioned the towering man as he gazed at the Thanasi. “It can be swallowed and it won’t do anything. So for it to cause its effects you’ll need to make sure it pierces another’s skin. Otherwise, this will be our little secret, Mihail.”
Dear Nethis,
I'm writing to say that I'm finally going off to war. There is a Colchian saying that you're not a man unless you exeperience your first battle. Admittedly prior to my deployment to Egypt I've only experienced one battle. I was in the Mountains with my unit getting ready to build a bridge for merchants to cross, however we were ambushed by Barbarians. I can still remember the Barbarian's primal screams and being covered in my comrade's blood. Sometimes I scream at night, It's shameful I know. How can a man be a man if he couldn't fight in battle without being shaken?
Egypt will be a different test for me. No longer will I be fighinting on my soil but rather we will sail to a land that I've been to before. I've heard many things from the merchants about Egypt. It is a barren wasteland full of people who claim to know magic. From the time we've known each other, you've had an interest in the magical arts. I admit so do I, I never believed you to be a witch. It was just hearsy by jealous houses trying to vy for power. As a soldier, I don't try dwell too much on politcs but I'm well aware of the machinations that goes amongst the families.
I've said my goodbyes to my family, but I never got a chance to say goodbye to you Nethis. Everytime I'm afraid, I find myself thinking of you, your beauty and grace. I've heard you have a soft spot for Cats and I've been informed that the most exotic of Cats reside in Egypt. Apparatenly they revere them for some reason. I just want to say thank you for helping me solve that mystery back at the merchant stores. You and I definitely had a lot of adventures since then. I'll always keep you in my thoughts Nethis and I hope that this letter will get to you.
Maximus of Laconia
Maximus immediately sealed the letter and gave it to a messenger before he boarded with his unit. "Top priority!" he said tossing the boy a gold coin before heading on to the boat.
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Dear Nethis,
I'm writing to say that I'm finally going off to war. There is a Colchian saying that you're not a man unless you exeperience your first battle. Admittedly prior to my deployment to Egypt I've only experienced one battle. I was in the Mountains with my unit getting ready to build a bridge for merchants to cross, however we were ambushed by Barbarians. I can still remember the Barbarian's primal screams and being covered in my comrade's blood. Sometimes I scream at night, It's shameful I know. How can a man be a man if he couldn't fight in battle without being shaken?
Egypt will be a different test for me. No longer will I be fighinting on my soil but rather we will sail to a land that I've been to before. I've heard many things from the merchants about Egypt. It is a barren wasteland full of people who claim to know magic. From the time we've known each other, you've had an interest in the magical arts. I admit so do I, I never believed you to be a witch. It was just hearsy by jealous houses trying to vy for power. As a soldier, I don't try dwell too much on politcs but I'm well aware of the machinations that goes amongst the families.
I've said my goodbyes to my family, but I never got a chance to say goodbye to you Nethis. Everytime I'm afraid, I find myself thinking of you, your beauty and grace. I've heard you have a soft spot for Cats and I've been informed that the most exotic of Cats reside in Egypt. Apparatenly they revere them for some reason. I just want to say thank you for helping me solve that mystery back at the merchant stores. You and I definitely had a lot of adventures since then. I'll always keep you in my thoughts Nethis and I hope that this letter will get to you.
Maximus of Laconia
Maximus immediately sealed the letter and gave it to a messenger before he boarded with his unit. "Top priority!" he said tossing the boy a gold coin before heading on to the boat.
Dear Nethis,
I'm writing to say that I'm finally going off to war. There is a Colchian saying that you're not a man unless you exeperience your first battle. Admittedly prior to my deployment to Egypt I've only experienced one battle. I was in the Mountains with my unit getting ready to build a bridge for merchants to cross, however we were ambushed by Barbarians. I can still remember the Barbarian's primal screams and being covered in my comrade's blood. Sometimes I scream at night, It's shameful I know. How can a man be a man if he couldn't fight in battle without being shaken?
Egypt will be a different test for me. No longer will I be fighinting on my soil but rather we will sail to a land that I've been to before. I've heard many things from the merchants about Egypt. It is a barren wasteland full of people who claim to know magic. From the time we've known each other, you've had an interest in the magical arts. I admit so do I, I never believed you to be a witch. It was just hearsy by jealous houses trying to vy for power. As a soldier, I don't try dwell too much on politcs but I'm well aware of the machinations that goes amongst the families.
I've said my goodbyes to my family, but I never got a chance to say goodbye to you Nethis. Everytime I'm afraid, I find myself thinking of you, your beauty and grace. I've heard you have a soft spot for Cats and I've been informed that the most exotic of Cats reside in Egypt. Apparatenly they revere them for some reason. I just want to say thank you for helping me solve that mystery back at the merchant stores. You and I definitely had a lot of adventures since then. I'll always keep you in my thoughts Nethis and I hope that this letter will get to you.
Maximus of Laconia
Maximus immediately sealed the letter and gave it to a messenger before he boarded with his unit. "Top priority!" he said tossing the boy a gold coin before heading on to the boat.
For all the dramatics of the situation, from the announcement of this reality to the implementation of it, Nethis had never once considered doing anything but seeing Mihail off at the very end. He complained, he made his typical dramatics about the whole thing, but despite the sentimentality of the heart she continuously ignored and tried time and again to permanently rid herself of, she understood the necessity of this.
She disagreed wholly with components, disagreed in the choice of Mihail over Dysius, disagreed in the reasoning that war might make a man of Mihail, but she understood one thing too; with circumstances pitched so precariously for the family, they could hardly afford to not send a son. With her own unprovable indiscretion regarding Vangelis and poison (and thank the Gods there were so many rumors as to who she had or had not poisoned that it was hard to pin such things down at this point) and worse yet, Father’s blatant non-sensical attempt at murder, it was time to at least play nice and demonstrate some ability to rise above ambition for a common greater good.
The irony of thinking a war where men would inevitably lose their lives such a thing was not lost on her, but she understood the nuances of necessity.
After all, was that not what brought her here? She’d call it sentiment, but saying goodbye was a necessity, one played out everywhere; the shore buzzed, a variety of send-offs and organizational moments playing simultaneously. Her gaze merely played over all of it, alighting here and there without much interest; she sought after Mihail, and that goal made her care much less about what anyone or everyone else was doing, an impressive rarity for whatever it was worth.
It was only after long moments of searching that she located her little brother and she didn’t hesitate to set off in that direction. However, Nethis didn’t get very far before a boy interrupted her path, offered a greeting and held out a letter to her, naming the sender. Maximus. Were he not standing directly in front of her, she would have disregarded the boy entirely, but seeing as she had no other choice, she gave this a bare moment’s consideration, deciding—motivated mostly by irritation at interruption and inconvenience rather than any pleasure at receipt—to wave the boy off.
"I came in a carriage. Leave it with the groom."
She had no idea what Maximus wanted and frankly cared very little. She assumed, considering context, that he was somewhere on the beach, but she had no desire to seek him out. Family first. Always.
It was not a lengthy interruption, but it was long enough that Mihail went from alone to company in the form of another. As she drew closer, the company multiplied, a box appeared and a container was produced.
All this gave her a moment’s pause, and she hesitated to draw closer, instead watching this moment unfold. She had her suspicions as to what was being gifted to her little brother, but she resolved to hold her tongue on the notion for the time being and let things play out as they would. Did she truly think him adept enough to possess what she guessed was poison? No. But she would say nothing about that in front of anyone else.
Still, before approaching, her gaze settled on the men standing near Mihail longer than they lingered on her little brother himself. This was half for interest’s sake and half for necessity; unfamiliar figures offering gifts deserved some consideration, the fact that they were obviously military men—a contrast highlighted profoundly while standing next to her little brother—meant she wasted a moment on assessing power dynamics between them and trying to decide who ranked where and by proxy, a form of address. Seeing nothing immediately useful in that endeavor, she simply changed course and decided to not quite ignore Mihail’s, but side-step the issue of directly addressing them for the moment.
"Little brother," Nethis greeted, gaze squarely on Mihail, before she glanced quickly to Damocles and the others near him. "Am I interrupting?"
The question was more aimed to Mihail, but that was simply a matter of convenience; she would accept an answer from whomever, but if it came from anyone but him she fully expected it to be a no. After all, she didn’t particularly favor the idea of being told otherwise by strangers and barely expected Mihail to turn her away despite his dramatics.
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For all the dramatics of the situation, from the announcement of this reality to the implementation of it, Nethis had never once considered doing anything but seeing Mihail off at the very end. He complained, he made his typical dramatics about the whole thing, but despite the sentimentality of the heart she continuously ignored and tried time and again to permanently rid herself of, she understood the necessity of this.
She disagreed wholly with components, disagreed in the choice of Mihail over Dysius, disagreed in the reasoning that war might make a man of Mihail, but she understood one thing too; with circumstances pitched so precariously for the family, they could hardly afford to not send a son. With her own unprovable indiscretion regarding Vangelis and poison (and thank the Gods there were so many rumors as to who she had or had not poisoned that it was hard to pin such things down at this point) and worse yet, Father’s blatant non-sensical attempt at murder, it was time to at least play nice and demonstrate some ability to rise above ambition for a common greater good.
The irony of thinking a war where men would inevitably lose their lives such a thing was not lost on her, but she understood the nuances of necessity.
After all, was that not what brought her here? She’d call it sentiment, but saying goodbye was a necessity, one played out everywhere; the shore buzzed, a variety of send-offs and organizational moments playing simultaneously. Her gaze merely played over all of it, alighting here and there without much interest; she sought after Mihail, and that goal made her care much less about what anyone or everyone else was doing, an impressive rarity for whatever it was worth.
It was only after long moments of searching that she located her little brother and she didn’t hesitate to set off in that direction. However, Nethis didn’t get very far before a boy interrupted her path, offered a greeting and held out a letter to her, naming the sender. Maximus. Were he not standing directly in front of her, she would have disregarded the boy entirely, but seeing as she had no other choice, she gave this a bare moment’s consideration, deciding—motivated mostly by irritation at interruption and inconvenience rather than any pleasure at receipt—to wave the boy off.
"I came in a carriage. Leave it with the groom."
She had no idea what Maximus wanted and frankly cared very little. She assumed, considering context, that he was somewhere on the beach, but she had no desire to seek him out. Family first. Always.
It was not a lengthy interruption, but it was long enough that Mihail went from alone to company in the form of another. As she drew closer, the company multiplied, a box appeared and a container was produced.
All this gave her a moment’s pause, and she hesitated to draw closer, instead watching this moment unfold. She had her suspicions as to what was being gifted to her little brother, but she resolved to hold her tongue on the notion for the time being and let things play out as they would. Did she truly think him adept enough to possess what she guessed was poison? No. But she would say nothing about that in front of anyone else.
Still, before approaching, her gaze settled on the men standing near Mihail longer than they lingered on her little brother himself. This was half for interest’s sake and half for necessity; unfamiliar figures offering gifts deserved some consideration, the fact that they were obviously military men—a contrast highlighted profoundly while standing next to her little brother—meant she wasted a moment on assessing power dynamics between them and trying to decide who ranked where and by proxy, a form of address. Seeing nothing immediately useful in that endeavor, she simply changed course and decided to not quite ignore Mihail’s, but side-step the issue of directly addressing them for the moment.
"Little brother," Nethis greeted, gaze squarely on Mihail, before she glanced quickly to Damocles and the others near him. "Am I interrupting?"
The question was more aimed to Mihail, but that was simply a matter of convenience; she would accept an answer from whomever, but if it came from anyone but him she fully expected it to be a no. After all, she didn’t particularly favor the idea of being told otherwise by strangers and barely expected Mihail to turn her away despite his dramatics.
For all the dramatics of the situation, from the announcement of this reality to the implementation of it, Nethis had never once considered doing anything but seeing Mihail off at the very end. He complained, he made his typical dramatics about the whole thing, but despite the sentimentality of the heart she continuously ignored and tried time and again to permanently rid herself of, she understood the necessity of this.
She disagreed wholly with components, disagreed in the choice of Mihail over Dysius, disagreed in the reasoning that war might make a man of Mihail, but she understood one thing too; with circumstances pitched so precariously for the family, they could hardly afford to not send a son. With her own unprovable indiscretion regarding Vangelis and poison (and thank the Gods there were so many rumors as to who she had or had not poisoned that it was hard to pin such things down at this point) and worse yet, Father’s blatant non-sensical attempt at murder, it was time to at least play nice and demonstrate some ability to rise above ambition for a common greater good.
The irony of thinking a war where men would inevitably lose their lives such a thing was not lost on her, but she understood the nuances of necessity.
After all, was that not what brought her here? She’d call it sentiment, but saying goodbye was a necessity, one played out everywhere; the shore buzzed, a variety of send-offs and organizational moments playing simultaneously. Her gaze merely played over all of it, alighting here and there without much interest; she sought after Mihail, and that goal made her care much less about what anyone or everyone else was doing, an impressive rarity for whatever it was worth.
It was only after long moments of searching that she located her little brother and she didn’t hesitate to set off in that direction. However, Nethis didn’t get very far before a boy interrupted her path, offered a greeting and held out a letter to her, naming the sender. Maximus. Were he not standing directly in front of her, she would have disregarded the boy entirely, but seeing as she had no other choice, she gave this a bare moment’s consideration, deciding—motivated mostly by irritation at interruption and inconvenience rather than any pleasure at receipt—to wave the boy off.
"I came in a carriage. Leave it with the groom."
She had no idea what Maximus wanted and frankly cared very little. She assumed, considering context, that he was somewhere on the beach, but she had no desire to seek him out. Family first. Always.
It was not a lengthy interruption, but it was long enough that Mihail went from alone to company in the form of another. As she drew closer, the company multiplied, a box appeared and a container was produced.
All this gave her a moment’s pause, and she hesitated to draw closer, instead watching this moment unfold. She had her suspicions as to what was being gifted to her little brother, but she resolved to hold her tongue on the notion for the time being and let things play out as they would. Did she truly think him adept enough to possess what she guessed was poison? No. But she would say nothing about that in front of anyone else.
Still, before approaching, her gaze settled on the men standing near Mihail longer than they lingered on her little brother himself. This was half for interest’s sake and half for necessity; unfamiliar figures offering gifts deserved some consideration, the fact that they were obviously military men—a contrast highlighted profoundly while standing next to her little brother—meant she wasted a moment on assessing power dynamics between them and trying to decide who ranked where and by proxy, a form of address. Seeing nothing immediately useful in that endeavor, she simply changed course and decided to not quite ignore Mihail’s, but side-step the issue of directly addressing them for the moment.
"Little brother," Nethis greeted, gaze squarely on Mihail, before she glanced quickly to Damocles and the others near him. "Am I interrupting?"
The question was more aimed to Mihail, but that was simply a matter of convenience; she would accept an answer from whomever, but if it came from anyone but him she fully expected it to be a no. After all, she didn’t particularly favor the idea of being told otherwise by strangers and barely expected Mihail to turn her away despite his dramatics.
She never understood how people would describe themselves as numb, especially after traumatic situations outside of their control. Yes, there was a sadness over change, but it didn’t stop you from completely feeling, did it? Not even Zacharias’s death brought that sort of feeling. While it had made her sad, she still had emotions about the situation. Frustration. Anger. Pity. But there was no way she could have used the word ‘numb’ to say how she was handling the situation.
But that was before all of this. Perhaps she had never been so readily invested in her fate that she would be unable to know it. With one simple instance, it was all she could use. Maybe she had felt everything in such rapid success that she was just done trying to make sense of it all. Or she had come to a point where she could box her emotions away to completely ignore what she was truly feeling.
Either way, by the time she had finally stopped riding and brought the horse back into the stables, she had been unable to tell anyone what she had happened or how she was handling it. All she had been able to do was tell Jo to pack their things for immediate occupation of the Leventi manor, then make her way to the house her family was in. She hadn’t even been able to tell her mother everything. No, she simply told her mother that the wedding was off and vanished into one of the empty rooms. And she did not leave it for almost 2 days.
It was hard to pretend like the war still wasn’t happening, not with all the preparations being made around her. So as she heard her mother and sister waking up that morning, she, too, found herself rising out of bed for the first time since she’d been given the news. As Jo prepared her bath, Selene found herself unable to just leave things the way they had been. She couldn’t let him leave without some sort of word from herself. So with parchment and ink, she was carefully articulating her feelings to him on paper. Perhaps it was selfish of her to write what she was saying. But if this life was the one he was to lead, she felt that he deserved to know some truths. And each truth was easy to put on paper as the words flowed. By the time she had finished her letter, she seemed to be feeling things again. And they were all of the painful variety.
Still, she would dress in a purple chiton so dark it was almost black, simple in its cut but intricate in the detailed horses along the hem, golden threads of raging stallions ready to ride off into a victorious battle. And while Jo had wished to tie her hair back, Selene refused to let her do so, wanting the long blond curls to protect her, adding a cream himation and veil of the same color to her ensemble. While she could have made use of any of the horses in her family stable, there was little desire for her to ride.
The journey to the temples, where she had yet to attend since the ill-fated meeting with Vangelis, was met with dozens upon dozens of people making the same journey. There was a small joy in being able to lose herself among the other worshippers as she entered, quietly making her way to the statues of Ares to offer the half pomegranate she had brought. She should have quietly ventured towards the statue of her own patron, but the thought of having to face the Goddess of love made her heart ache. Perhaps, in the comfort of her own Taegnean temple, she would be able to venerate herself to her Goddess. But, in this moment, there was a quiet bitterness in her heart that she couldn’t show.
Love meant nothing, it seemed. If love had been enough, then she and Vangelis would still be engaged. Instead, she held a farewell letter in her pocket along with the other half of the fruit, struggling with the notion of having to leave things as they had been.
With the hour still being early, Selene made her way back to the Kotas manor-- specifically the stables. Her hope was to find Phobos saddled and ready without his rider so that she could place the letter and offering into the bags for Vangelis to find. She did not know if she could face him, and it seemed like the best idea at the time. And, like she had hoped, he was dressed and prepared to ride off into battle. She didn’t realize how much the sight of a warhorse she had come to care for, had all but assisted in the breaking of, would affect her. The tightness in her chest at the realization that this would be the last time she saw him took her breath away.
Brushing away the tears on her cheeks, she put a smile on her face as she approached. ”Now, Phobos,” She started in, offering a hand for him to smell before she pressed it into his neck with a greeting. ”I am most certain that your master has already spoken at great lengths to you about what is to come. I certainly am no expert on war, so I will defer to him on that matter.” Her voice felt thick as she spoke, but she pressed on. ”But I do feel the need to share a more personal issue with you, and I will have your promise before I leave you this morning.”
The horse tossed his head, giving her a bit of a dramatic look, which made her laugh a little through her sadness. ”I know that you should not concern yourself with such frivolous emotions that most women bear, but since I do not know the feelings of men, I shall bore you with them anyway.” She slipped the pomegranate into the saddle bag as she spoke. ”I shall miss you, and our conversations. You seem to listen to what I have to say better than even my own Ophelia. Perhaps that is because she is so used to hearing my drone that she simply drowns me out. Or maybe she does not truly care for me as I think she does and preferred to ignore me. But you have become a close companion to me, and I shall miss that with you. Whom will I talk to in the morning?”
Had he missed her the past two days? Had he waited for her to enter through the doors, only to be disappointed when she hadn’t? It shouldn’t have mattered. After all, he was just a horse. And while she considered herself an expert in the mannerisms of horses, there was little evidence that this warhorse truly showed her any preference. She should have stopped her coddling, as he was going off to war. He was not some pony or pet, and yet, she couldn’t help herself as she brought his nose to her cheek.
”Now, I come here to both have a quiet goodbye with you and to ask a favor of you. I am very well aware you owe me little, but I shall call upon our friendship one last time. She was certain that anyone who would hear her now would think her a fool, but there was little she cared about at this moment. ”Phobos, you must do everything in your power to protect him.” Her voice dipped impossibly low, ”He’s going to be a father when he returns” She told the horse quietly, as if he would know what that meant. Her voice was stronger when she next spoke, ”So you must get him home at any cost. It will not be for me,” She wanted to tell him more about that, but could hear the noise picking up outside.
”No, but it will be for his people, and for you. And while it may not be for me, Phobos, you still must do this. I care too much for you both to lose one of you with such a bright future on the horizon.” Her arms came around his neck, in an embrace that was meant for both man and beast. She was reluctant to let go, knowing that this would be the last time she most likely ever spoke to the massive horse again. ”You carry a man I care about with more of my heart than I’ve ever given. You carry the future King, who takes hope with him wherever he goes. Do not forget how important you are. And trust your instincts.” She pressed a kiss to his muscular cheek, allowing herself to break down for a moment before she pulled back.
She stepped back, using her himation to pat her cheeks dry. There was no need for her to say anything else. Selene left through the gates towards the city, unaware that anyone else had been in there listening to the conversation.
Crowds were starting to gather, and Selene welcomed them. After all, she could blend in with them so he did not see her. It wasn’t until she put her hand back in her pocket that she realized she forgot to put the letter for him in his saddle bag. Cursing herself silently, she started to weigh her options. Perhaps she could give it to Stephanos, who could pass it along on ship. She began to search the crowd a bit more ardently, trying to find a way for him to get her letter.
He had to know. She owed it to both of them to bring this to the correct resolution to this. They both deserved an ending different than the way they parted.
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She never understood how people would describe themselves as numb, especially after traumatic situations outside of their control. Yes, there was a sadness over change, but it didn’t stop you from completely feeling, did it? Not even Zacharias’s death brought that sort of feeling. While it had made her sad, she still had emotions about the situation. Frustration. Anger. Pity. But there was no way she could have used the word ‘numb’ to say how she was handling the situation.
But that was before all of this. Perhaps she had never been so readily invested in her fate that she would be unable to know it. With one simple instance, it was all she could use. Maybe she had felt everything in such rapid success that she was just done trying to make sense of it all. Or she had come to a point where she could box her emotions away to completely ignore what she was truly feeling.
Either way, by the time she had finally stopped riding and brought the horse back into the stables, she had been unable to tell anyone what she had happened or how she was handling it. All she had been able to do was tell Jo to pack their things for immediate occupation of the Leventi manor, then make her way to the house her family was in. She hadn’t even been able to tell her mother everything. No, she simply told her mother that the wedding was off and vanished into one of the empty rooms. And she did not leave it for almost 2 days.
It was hard to pretend like the war still wasn’t happening, not with all the preparations being made around her. So as she heard her mother and sister waking up that morning, she, too, found herself rising out of bed for the first time since she’d been given the news. As Jo prepared her bath, Selene found herself unable to just leave things the way they had been. She couldn’t let him leave without some sort of word from herself. So with parchment and ink, she was carefully articulating her feelings to him on paper. Perhaps it was selfish of her to write what she was saying. But if this life was the one he was to lead, she felt that he deserved to know some truths. And each truth was easy to put on paper as the words flowed. By the time she had finished her letter, she seemed to be feeling things again. And they were all of the painful variety.
Still, she would dress in a purple chiton so dark it was almost black, simple in its cut but intricate in the detailed horses along the hem, golden threads of raging stallions ready to ride off into a victorious battle. And while Jo had wished to tie her hair back, Selene refused to let her do so, wanting the long blond curls to protect her, adding a cream himation and veil of the same color to her ensemble. While she could have made use of any of the horses in her family stable, there was little desire for her to ride.
The journey to the temples, where she had yet to attend since the ill-fated meeting with Vangelis, was met with dozens upon dozens of people making the same journey. There was a small joy in being able to lose herself among the other worshippers as she entered, quietly making her way to the statues of Ares to offer the half pomegranate she had brought. She should have quietly ventured towards the statue of her own patron, but the thought of having to face the Goddess of love made her heart ache. Perhaps, in the comfort of her own Taegnean temple, she would be able to venerate herself to her Goddess. But, in this moment, there was a quiet bitterness in her heart that she couldn’t show.
Love meant nothing, it seemed. If love had been enough, then she and Vangelis would still be engaged. Instead, she held a farewell letter in her pocket along with the other half of the fruit, struggling with the notion of having to leave things as they had been.
With the hour still being early, Selene made her way back to the Kotas manor-- specifically the stables. Her hope was to find Phobos saddled and ready without his rider so that she could place the letter and offering into the bags for Vangelis to find. She did not know if she could face him, and it seemed like the best idea at the time. And, like she had hoped, he was dressed and prepared to ride off into battle. She didn’t realize how much the sight of a warhorse she had come to care for, had all but assisted in the breaking of, would affect her. The tightness in her chest at the realization that this would be the last time she saw him took her breath away.
Brushing away the tears on her cheeks, she put a smile on her face as she approached. ”Now, Phobos,” She started in, offering a hand for him to smell before she pressed it into his neck with a greeting. ”I am most certain that your master has already spoken at great lengths to you about what is to come. I certainly am no expert on war, so I will defer to him on that matter.” Her voice felt thick as she spoke, but she pressed on. ”But I do feel the need to share a more personal issue with you, and I will have your promise before I leave you this morning.”
The horse tossed his head, giving her a bit of a dramatic look, which made her laugh a little through her sadness. ”I know that you should not concern yourself with such frivolous emotions that most women bear, but since I do not know the feelings of men, I shall bore you with them anyway.” She slipped the pomegranate into the saddle bag as she spoke. ”I shall miss you, and our conversations. You seem to listen to what I have to say better than even my own Ophelia. Perhaps that is because she is so used to hearing my drone that she simply drowns me out. Or maybe she does not truly care for me as I think she does and preferred to ignore me. But you have become a close companion to me, and I shall miss that with you. Whom will I talk to in the morning?”
Had he missed her the past two days? Had he waited for her to enter through the doors, only to be disappointed when she hadn’t? It shouldn’t have mattered. After all, he was just a horse. And while she considered herself an expert in the mannerisms of horses, there was little evidence that this warhorse truly showed her any preference. She should have stopped her coddling, as he was going off to war. He was not some pony or pet, and yet, she couldn’t help herself as she brought his nose to her cheek.
”Now, I come here to both have a quiet goodbye with you and to ask a favor of you. I am very well aware you owe me little, but I shall call upon our friendship one last time. She was certain that anyone who would hear her now would think her a fool, but there was little she cared about at this moment. ”Phobos, you must do everything in your power to protect him.” Her voice dipped impossibly low, ”He’s going to be a father when he returns” She told the horse quietly, as if he would know what that meant. Her voice was stronger when she next spoke, ”So you must get him home at any cost. It will not be for me,” She wanted to tell him more about that, but could hear the noise picking up outside.
”No, but it will be for his people, and for you. And while it may not be for me, Phobos, you still must do this. I care too much for you both to lose one of you with such a bright future on the horizon.” Her arms came around his neck, in an embrace that was meant for both man and beast. She was reluctant to let go, knowing that this would be the last time she most likely ever spoke to the massive horse again. ”You carry a man I care about with more of my heart than I’ve ever given. You carry the future King, who takes hope with him wherever he goes. Do not forget how important you are. And trust your instincts.” She pressed a kiss to his muscular cheek, allowing herself to break down for a moment before she pulled back.
She stepped back, using her himation to pat her cheeks dry. There was no need for her to say anything else. Selene left through the gates towards the city, unaware that anyone else had been in there listening to the conversation.
Crowds were starting to gather, and Selene welcomed them. After all, she could blend in with them so he did not see her. It wasn’t until she put her hand back in her pocket that she realized she forgot to put the letter for him in his saddle bag. Cursing herself silently, she started to weigh her options. Perhaps she could give it to Stephanos, who could pass it along on ship. She began to search the crowd a bit more ardently, trying to find a way for him to get her letter.
He had to know. She owed it to both of them to bring this to the correct resolution to this. They both deserved an ending different than the way they parted.
She never understood how people would describe themselves as numb, especially after traumatic situations outside of their control. Yes, there was a sadness over change, but it didn’t stop you from completely feeling, did it? Not even Zacharias’s death brought that sort of feeling. While it had made her sad, she still had emotions about the situation. Frustration. Anger. Pity. But there was no way she could have used the word ‘numb’ to say how she was handling the situation.
But that was before all of this. Perhaps she had never been so readily invested in her fate that she would be unable to know it. With one simple instance, it was all she could use. Maybe she had felt everything in such rapid success that she was just done trying to make sense of it all. Or she had come to a point where she could box her emotions away to completely ignore what she was truly feeling.
Either way, by the time she had finally stopped riding and brought the horse back into the stables, she had been unable to tell anyone what she had happened or how she was handling it. All she had been able to do was tell Jo to pack their things for immediate occupation of the Leventi manor, then make her way to the house her family was in. She hadn’t even been able to tell her mother everything. No, she simply told her mother that the wedding was off and vanished into one of the empty rooms. And she did not leave it for almost 2 days.
It was hard to pretend like the war still wasn’t happening, not with all the preparations being made around her. So as she heard her mother and sister waking up that morning, she, too, found herself rising out of bed for the first time since she’d been given the news. As Jo prepared her bath, Selene found herself unable to just leave things the way they had been. She couldn’t let him leave without some sort of word from herself. So with parchment and ink, she was carefully articulating her feelings to him on paper. Perhaps it was selfish of her to write what she was saying. But if this life was the one he was to lead, she felt that he deserved to know some truths. And each truth was easy to put on paper as the words flowed. By the time she had finished her letter, she seemed to be feeling things again. And they were all of the painful variety.
Still, she would dress in a purple chiton so dark it was almost black, simple in its cut but intricate in the detailed horses along the hem, golden threads of raging stallions ready to ride off into a victorious battle. And while Jo had wished to tie her hair back, Selene refused to let her do so, wanting the long blond curls to protect her, adding a cream himation and veil of the same color to her ensemble. While she could have made use of any of the horses in her family stable, there was little desire for her to ride.
The journey to the temples, where she had yet to attend since the ill-fated meeting with Vangelis, was met with dozens upon dozens of people making the same journey. There was a small joy in being able to lose herself among the other worshippers as she entered, quietly making her way to the statues of Ares to offer the half pomegranate she had brought. She should have quietly ventured towards the statue of her own patron, but the thought of having to face the Goddess of love made her heart ache. Perhaps, in the comfort of her own Taegnean temple, she would be able to venerate herself to her Goddess. But, in this moment, there was a quiet bitterness in her heart that she couldn’t show.
Love meant nothing, it seemed. If love had been enough, then she and Vangelis would still be engaged. Instead, she held a farewell letter in her pocket along with the other half of the fruit, struggling with the notion of having to leave things as they had been.
With the hour still being early, Selene made her way back to the Kotas manor-- specifically the stables. Her hope was to find Phobos saddled and ready without his rider so that she could place the letter and offering into the bags for Vangelis to find. She did not know if she could face him, and it seemed like the best idea at the time. And, like she had hoped, he was dressed and prepared to ride off into battle. She didn’t realize how much the sight of a warhorse she had come to care for, had all but assisted in the breaking of, would affect her. The tightness in her chest at the realization that this would be the last time she saw him took her breath away.
Brushing away the tears on her cheeks, she put a smile on her face as she approached. ”Now, Phobos,” She started in, offering a hand for him to smell before she pressed it into his neck with a greeting. ”I am most certain that your master has already spoken at great lengths to you about what is to come. I certainly am no expert on war, so I will defer to him on that matter.” Her voice felt thick as she spoke, but she pressed on. ”But I do feel the need to share a more personal issue with you, and I will have your promise before I leave you this morning.”
The horse tossed his head, giving her a bit of a dramatic look, which made her laugh a little through her sadness. ”I know that you should not concern yourself with such frivolous emotions that most women bear, but since I do not know the feelings of men, I shall bore you with them anyway.” She slipped the pomegranate into the saddle bag as she spoke. ”I shall miss you, and our conversations. You seem to listen to what I have to say better than even my own Ophelia. Perhaps that is because she is so used to hearing my drone that she simply drowns me out. Or maybe she does not truly care for me as I think she does and preferred to ignore me. But you have become a close companion to me, and I shall miss that with you. Whom will I talk to in the morning?”
Had he missed her the past two days? Had he waited for her to enter through the doors, only to be disappointed when she hadn’t? It shouldn’t have mattered. After all, he was just a horse. And while she considered herself an expert in the mannerisms of horses, there was little evidence that this warhorse truly showed her any preference. She should have stopped her coddling, as he was going off to war. He was not some pony or pet, and yet, she couldn’t help herself as she brought his nose to her cheek.
”Now, I come here to both have a quiet goodbye with you and to ask a favor of you. I am very well aware you owe me little, but I shall call upon our friendship one last time. She was certain that anyone who would hear her now would think her a fool, but there was little she cared about at this moment. ”Phobos, you must do everything in your power to protect him.” Her voice dipped impossibly low, ”He’s going to be a father when he returns” She told the horse quietly, as if he would know what that meant. Her voice was stronger when she next spoke, ”So you must get him home at any cost. It will not be for me,” She wanted to tell him more about that, but could hear the noise picking up outside.
”No, but it will be for his people, and for you. And while it may not be for me, Phobos, you still must do this. I care too much for you both to lose one of you with such a bright future on the horizon.” Her arms came around his neck, in an embrace that was meant for both man and beast. She was reluctant to let go, knowing that this would be the last time she most likely ever spoke to the massive horse again. ”You carry a man I care about with more of my heart than I’ve ever given. You carry the future King, who takes hope with him wherever he goes. Do not forget how important you are. And trust your instincts.” She pressed a kiss to his muscular cheek, allowing herself to break down for a moment before she pulled back.
She stepped back, using her himation to pat her cheeks dry. There was no need for her to say anything else. Selene left through the gates towards the city, unaware that anyone else had been in there listening to the conversation.
Crowds were starting to gather, and Selene welcomed them. After all, she could blend in with them so he did not see her. It wasn’t until she put her hand back in her pocket that she realized she forgot to put the letter for him in his saddle bag. Cursing herself silently, she started to weigh her options. Perhaps she could give it to Stephanos, who could pass it along on ship. She began to search the crowd a bit more ardently, trying to find a way for him to get her letter.
He had to know. She owed it to both of them to bring this to the correct resolution to this. They both deserved an ending different than the way they parted.
Vangelis had been living a strange semblance of his life for the last two days. Not only did it feel as if the path he had set for his future not three sunrises ago had been turned on its head and entirely decimated - partially via circumstance and partially via his own decisions that he hadn't felt were truly up for discussion or choice - but his handling of such stress and tension felt as if it had divided him into two beings.
In one moment, he was the Vangelis of new, handling the new Thanasi houseguest that he had brought to his parents' archontiko. This Vangelis was focused with the war ahead of him, the marriage that awaited him on his return, and the news that he was to become a father. None of which were small issues to be dealt with by any stretch of the imagination. As such, he was, in these moments, unable to think upon anything else. All other worries, concerns and the feelings of others were forced to the furthest reaches of his mind, compartmentalised into a box that he shut and locked unsure whether to label it 'insignificant' or 'too painful'.
In other moments, he was the Vangelis of old, living his everyday duties with a shadow dogging his steps. A shadow of regret that set a sharpness panging in his chest and made it harder to breathe. It also seemed to carry with it a curious perfume that he remembered was favoured by one he cared for...
In moments such as these, Vangelis rejected the mindset as quickly as he could. Not because reminders of Selene and the life he had set his mind upon building with her were painful so much, but more because of the lethargy and disheartening effect they seemed to have on him. As the crown prince of a kingdom about to go to war with the most powerful nation in the Mesopotamian world, Vangelis could not afford to be so distracted that he lost minutes at a time staring into space when he should have been working on supply orders and the arrangement of troops.
It was easier to be the Vangelis of new. Easier to push aside all thoughts of what his life had been supposed to be and focus on what it now was. Without regret and without lamentation of previous plans.
It was like in war... he tried to convince himself. If a carefully structured tactical assault failed because of an extraneous ambush or attack you had not been expected, you didn't doggedly hold on to your original idea, determined that your pride would win the day beyond all other measures. You adjusted. You adapted. And you accepted the necessity of the new plan for the sake of victory of your own ego.
In this scenario, it was just his personal desire instead of his ego.
And that was how Vangelis chose to look at his life now.
Whether he did so because it was easier, whether because it hurt his heart less or because he was genuinely the Stone Prince without consideration or thought for the others around him, was open to the discussion of others (and he felt sure that when the knowledge spread that's exactly what it would be). But, to Vangelis, the mathematics of the events leading to this day were simple.
He would not have an illegitimate child born of his blood and not his name. And Thea was pregnant.
There were no other calculations to be taken into consideration. Which meant there were no regrets for him to permit to linger and distract him from his duty.
And yet he still awoke each morning with a moment of frustration and disinclination to leave his chambers.
The morning he was due to ship out, Vangelis felt genuinely sick. As if he were already aboard the vessel bound for Taengea and then Egypt and he were nauseated by the roll of the waves that had never bothered him before, his stomach in knots and his concerns set to high. It had been decades since the idea of leaving his home for a dangerous military campaign had set such discomfort in the pit of his stomach, so he could only assume it to be the reaction of what he left behind him.
A royal mess. For want of another term.
And Vangelis was not a man who liked to leave such turmoil in his wake.
Determined to focus on the tasks and responsibilities laid before him that day, rather than mulch and vegetate over his worries, Vangelis got out of bed and set about his daily ablutions with a determined efficiency set to distract himself away from his thoughts with only the concerns of the bristles on his chin and the harsh scrubbing of his face.
After a full bathe and wash - for he knew not when he'd get another one of those with all the sailing ahead of him - Vangelis dressed in a full breasted, cream white tunic. The fabric hit just above his knees and was folded across his chest, creating and open V at his throat. Tucking his necklace inside the folds, Vangelis knotted a simple strand of braided leather around his waist to hold the tunic in place. Then came a set of dual pauldrons, the straps that secured them following the same lines of his tunic, criss-crossing over his chest. The pieces combined with his height and the breadth of his own shoulders to give the visage of someone almost god-like in his dimensions. Which of course, was part of their purpose.
Choosing a half cuirass that was fastened around his waist to support his abdomen but allow his chest easier movement, he then fastened on his sandals and the grieves that attached around them. Leather bracers were next, marked in the gold and bronze of his armour, and his weapons were last.
Daggers were attached to his ankles, waist and inside his forearms. His dual swords were fastened at his hip and his back, and the ceremonial spear of war was waiting for him to collect, leant against the wall beside the door.
Every single piece of the outfit was entirely superfluous.
He was hardly about to fight Egyptians his first day on the high seas between Colchis and Taengea. The armour would be of no use whatsoever for another few weeks - almost a whole month - before he reached the shores of Egypt. And even when they were there and ready to fight he would have likely regressed to his easier loose pants and large shirt. It was less ornate, less obvious and easier to move in.
Yet, when leaving for war, the people of Colchis expected to see their leaders leaving for war, It was a show of strength and force that assured the Colchians that their commanders were ready, prepared for the battles that they would soon face. It gave them strength and hope in a time when they feared the worst for their loved ones.
And while it irked Vangelis to be trussed up for social events and festivals for random causes, hope and strength were good enough reasons for him to do so when headed to war.
It was an easy way to get his own armour and cargo onto the ship at least.
Leaving his chambers in the full and glinting armour of a warlord, Vangelis had to double back for a moment in order to pick up his golden circlet - the band an inch thick that sat around his temples to mark him as crown prince, even when journeying abroad. He wouldn't be wearing it when fighting for it was the equivalent of wearing a sign that said 'Assassinate Me' but it was part of the procession for the morning.
Having fetched it, he was later than he intended reaching the stables where he had wanted to see to Phobos prior to the journey down to the docks where his family would have already culminated, ready to see off the Kotas men that were leaving their shores. And, as he came to the stables, a female voice stopped his feet where they stood, his sandals causing the softest of brushes over the courtyard stone and the butt of his spear's shaft resting in a gap in the stone.
Listening, Vangelis recognised the voice instantly but made no move to step inside the stables. Instead, he hovered outside, his back to the wall of the building and his head bent as if he were a child sent to stand in punishment away from the grown-ups and their discussions.
The 'grown ups' in this case were the woman he had recently let down in every possible way it was to let down and woman (more or less) and his own horse, with whom she appeared to be having a heart-felt and in-depth conversation with.
Vangelis felt his lips curl into a smile at the very idea of it, but his guilt had it leaving his features almost immediately.
'Phobos, you must do everything in your power to protect him... you must get him home at any cost. It will not be for me... but it will be for his people.'
Vangelis felt that guilt eat away at him a little more, as he let his head fall back against the wall with a silent touch. He was half tempted to throw it back a little harder and enact punishment on himself for causing this situation in the first place but he didn't want to alert Selene to his presence.
He had hurt her enough. No sense in appearing in a moment of privacy she had created for herself and embarrass her further.
Not that he could stop himself from listening regardless...
'You carry a man I care about with more of my heart than I’ve ever given.'
For a moment, Vangelis felt his throat tighten and a thick knot hit his gut. His couldn't breathe and he felt his lips draw back from his teeth a little in a grimace. He closed his eyes and bit his tongue and waited for Selene to finish her piece and leave quietly out the other entrance to the stables.
It was a good few minutes before Vangelis moved.
Inhaling long and slow and then setting himself just as calming an exhale, Vangelis turned away from the wall and entered the dark and shadowy recess of the stables. There, he found Phobos completely tacked up and ready to go. Which was almost a shame because he could have done with the distraction such a task might have given him.
Instead, he was forced to set his mind to blank, his expression to stone, and mount Phobos quickly and quietly, before kicking him forwards.
Once orders had been made to the stable hands and the stewards of the estate had come to wish him farewell, Vangelis set himself the path of headed down the winding streets of the city and towards the docklands below.
The journey was slow going, for everyone in Midas, it seemed, had come out to wish the royal family good wishes of victory and fortune as they passed. Given that he could see none of his brothers, nor his father up ahead of him, he knew where they might now be. With his slow to start morning, he knew that his father would already be present at the docks – would have likely been there since sunrise, which meant that his mother would be there also, standing beside her husband with faith and love. Zanon and Evras might likely be beside them already, offering a united front of those who would remain in Colchis, defending their home. In truth, he expected himself to be the last to arrive, but that sat well with Vangelis. For, as he approached the docks and to a roar from his people, dismounted to walk the last hundred yards to the wooden slatting around the shipyard, he could selfishly only think one thing…
The sooner he got on board one of those vessels, and escaped it all, the better.
This character is currently a work in progress.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Vangelis had been living a strange semblance of his life for the last two days. Not only did it feel as if the path he had set for his future not three sunrises ago had been turned on its head and entirely decimated - partially via circumstance and partially via his own decisions that he hadn't felt were truly up for discussion or choice - but his handling of such stress and tension felt as if it had divided him into two beings.
In one moment, he was the Vangelis of new, handling the new Thanasi houseguest that he had brought to his parents' archontiko. This Vangelis was focused with the war ahead of him, the marriage that awaited him on his return, and the news that he was to become a father. None of which were small issues to be dealt with by any stretch of the imagination. As such, he was, in these moments, unable to think upon anything else. All other worries, concerns and the feelings of others were forced to the furthest reaches of his mind, compartmentalised into a box that he shut and locked unsure whether to label it 'insignificant' or 'too painful'.
In other moments, he was the Vangelis of old, living his everyday duties with a shadow dogging his steps. A shadow of regret that set a sharpness panging in his chest and made it harder to breathe. It also seemed to carry with it a curious perfume that he remembered was favoured by one he cared for...
In moments such as these, Vangelis rejected the mindset as quickly as he could. Not because reminders of Selene and the life he had set his mind upon building with her were painful so much, but more because of the lethargy and disheartening effect they seemed to have on him. As the crown prince of a kingdom about to go to war with the most powerful nation in the Mesopotamian world, Vangelis could not afford to be so distracted that he lost minutes at a time staring into space when he should have been working on supply orders and the arrangement of troops.
It was easier to be the Vangelis of new. Easier to push aside all thoughts of what his life had been supposed to be and focus on what it now was. Without regret and without lamentation of previous plans.
It was like in war... he tried to convince himself. If a carefully structured tactical assault failed because of an extraneous ambush or attack you had not been expected, you didn't doggedly hold on to your original idea, determined that your pride would win the day beyond all other measures. You adjusted. You adapted. And you accepted the necessity of the new plan for the sake of victory of your own ego.
In this scenario, it was just his personal desire instead of his ego.
And that was how Vangelis chose to look at his life now.
Whether he did so because it was easier, whether because it hurt his heart less or because he was genuinely the Stone Prince without consideration or thought for the others around him, was open to the discussion of others (and he felt sure that when the knowledge spread that's exactly what it would be). But, to Vangelis, the mathematics of the events leading to this day were simple.
He would not have an illegitimate child born of his blood and not his name. And Thea was pregnant.
There were no other calculations to be taken into consideration. Which meant there were no regrets for him to permit to linger and distract him from his duty.
And yet he still awoke each morning with a moment of frustration and disinclination to leave his chambers.
The morning he was due to ship out, Vangelis felt genuinely sick. As if he were already aboard the vessel bound for Taengea and then Egypt and he were nauseated by the roll of the waves that had never bothered him before, his stomach in knots and his concerns set to high. It had been decades since the idea of leaving his home for a dangerous military campaign had set such discomfort in the pit of his stomach, so he could only assume it to be the reaction of what he left behind him.
A royal mess. For want of another term.
And Vangelis was not a man who liked to leave such turmoil in his wake.
Determined to focus on the tasks and responsibilities laid before him that day, rather than mulch and vegetate over his worries, Vangelis got out of bed and set about his daily ablutions with a determined efficiency set to distract himself away from his thoughts with only the concerns of the bristles on his chin and the harsh scrubbing of his face.
After a full bathe and wash - for he knew not when he'd get another one of those with all the sailing ahead of him - Vangelis dressed in a full breasted, cream white tunic. The fabric hit just above his knees and was folded across his chest, creating and open V at his throat. Tucking his necklace inside the folds, Vangelis knotted a simple strand of braided leather around his waist to hold the tunic in place. Then came a set of dual pauldrons, the straps that secured them following the same lines of his tunic, criss-crossing over his chest. The pieces combined with his height and the breadth of his own shoulders to give the visage of someone almost god-like in his dimensions. Which of course, was part of their purpose.
Choosing a half cuirass that was fastened around his waist to support his abdomen but allow his chest easier movement, he then fastened on his sandals and the grieves that attached around them. Leather bracers were next, marked in the gold and bronze of his armour, and his weapons were last.
Daggers were attached to his ankles, waist and inside his forearms. His dual swords were fastened at his hip and his back, and the ceremonial spear of war was waiting for him to collect, leant against the wall beside the door.
Every single piece of the outfit was entirely superfluous.
He was hardly about to fight Egyptians his first day on the high seas between Colchis and Taengea. The armour would be of no use whatsoever for another few weeks - almost a whole month - before he reached the shores of Egypt. And even when they were there and ready to fight he would have likely regressed to his easier loose pants and large shirt. It was less ornate, less obvious and easier to move in.
Yet, when leaving for war, the people of Colchis expected to see their leaders leaving for war, It was a show of strength and force that assured the Colchians that their commanders were ready, prepared for the battles that they would soon face. It gave them strength and hope in a time when they feared the worst for their loved ones.
And while it irked Vangelis to be trussed up for social events and festivals for random causes, hope and strength were good enough reasons for him to do so when headed to war.
It was an easy way to get his own armour and cargo onto the ship at least.
Leaving his chambers in the full and glinting armour of a warlord, Vangelis had to double back for a moment in order to pick up his golden circlet - the band an inch thick that sat around his temples to mark him as crown prince, even when journeying abroad. He wouldn't be wearing it when fighting for it was the equivalent of wearing a sign that said 'Assassinate Me' but it was part of the procession for the morning.
Having fetched it, he was later than he intended reaching the stables where he had wanted to see to Phobos prior to the journey down to the docks where his family would have already culminated, ready to see off the Kotas men that were leaving their shores. And, as he came to the stables, a female voice stopped his feet where they stood, his sandals causing the softest of brushes over the courtyard stone and the butt of his spear's shaft resting in a gap in the stone.
Listening, Vangelis recognised the voice instantly but made no move to step inside the stables. Instead, he hovered outside, his back to the wall of the building and his head bent as if he were a child sent to stand in punishment away from the grown-ups and their discussions.
The 'grown ups' in this case were the woman he had recently let down in every possible way it was to let down and woman (more or less) and his own horse, with whom she appeared to be having a heart-felt and in-depth conversation with.
Vangelis felt his lips curl into a smile at the very idea of it, but his guilt had it leaving his features almost immediately.
'Phobos, you must do everything in your power to protect him... you must get him home at any cost. It will not be for me... but it will be for his people.'
Vangelis felt that guilt eat away at him a little more, as he let his head fall back against the wall with a silent touch. He was half tempted to throw it back a little harder and enact punishment on himself for causing this situation in the first place but he didn't want to alert Selene to his presence.
He had hurt her enough. No sense in appearing in a moment of privacy she had created for herself and embarrass her further.
Not that he could stop himself from listening regardless...
'You carry a man I care about with more of my heart than I’ve ever given.'
For a moment, Vangelis felt his throat tighten and a thick knot hit his gut. His couldn't breathe and he felt his lips draw back from his teeth a little in a grimace. He closed his eyes and bit his tongue and waited for Selene to finish her piece and leave quietly out the other entrance to the stables.
It was a good few minutes before Vangelis moved.
Inhaling long and slow and then setting himself just as calming an exhale, Vangelis turned away from the wall and entered the dark and shadowy recess of the stables. There, he found Phobos completely tacked up and ready to go. Which was almost a shame because he could have done with the distraction such a task might have given him.
Instead, he was forced to set his mind to blank, his expression to stone, and mount Phobos quickly and quietly, before kicking him forwards.
Once orders had been made to the stable hands and the stewards of the estate had come to wish him farewell, Vangelis set himself the path of headed down the winding streets of the city and towards the docklands below.
The journey was slow going, for everyone in Midas, it seemed, had come out to wish the royal family good wishes of victory and fortune as they passed. Given that he could see none of his brothers, nor his father up ahead of him, he knew where they might now be. With his slow to start morning, he knew that his father would already be present at the docks – would have likely been there since sunrise, which meant that his mother would be there also, standing beside her husband with faith and love. Zanon and Evras might likely be beside them already, offering a united front of those who would remain in Colchis, defending their home. In truth, he expected himself to be the last to arrive, but that sat well with Vangelis. For, as he approached the docks and to a roar from his people, dismounted to walk the last hundred yards to the wooden slatting around the shipyard, he could selfishly only think one thing…
The sooner he got on board one of those vessels, and escaped it all, the better.
Vangelis had been living a strange semblance of his life for the last two days. Not only did it feel as if the path he had set for his future not three sunrises ago had been turned on its head and entirely decimated - partially via circumstance and partially via his own decisions that he hadn't felt were truly up for discussion or choice - but his handling of such stress and tension felt as if it had divided him into two beings.
In one moment, he was the Vangelis of new, handling the new Thanasi houseguest that he had brought to his parents' archontiko. This Vangelis was focused with the war ahead of him, the marriage that awaited him on his return, and the news that he was to become a father. None of which were small issues to be dealt with by any stretch of the imagination. As such, he was, in these moments, unable to think upon anything else. All other worries, concerns and the feelings of others were forced to the furthest reaches of his mind, compartmentalised into a box that he shut and locked unsure whether to label it 'insignificant' or 'too painful'.
In other moments, he was the Vangelis of old, living his everyday duties with a shadow dogging his steps. A shadow of regret that set a sharpness panging in his chest and made it harder to breathe. It also seemed to carry with it a curious perfume that he remembered was favoured by one he cared for...
In moments such as these, Vangelis rejected the mindset as quickly as he could. Not because reminders of Selene and the life he had set his mind upon building with her were painful so much, but more because of the lethargy and disheartening effect they seemed to have on him. As the crown prince of a kingdom about to go to war with the most powerful nation in the Mesopotamian world, Vangelis could not afford to be so distracted that he lost minutes at a time staring into space when he should have been working on supply orders and the arrangement of troops.
It was easier to be the Vangelis of new. Easier to push aside all thoughts of what his life had been supposed to be and focus on what it now was. Without regret and without lamentation of previous plans.
It was like in war... he tried to convince himself. If a carefully structured tactical assault failed because of an extraneous ambush or attack you had not been expected, you didn't doggedly hold on to your original idea, determined that your pride would win the day beyond all other measures. You adjusted. You adapted. And you accepted the necessity of the new plan for the sake of victory of your own ego.
In this scenario, it was just his personal desire instead of his ego.
And that was how Vangelis chose to look at his life now.
Whether he did so because it was easier, whether because it hurt his heart less or because he was genuinely the Stone Prince without consideration or thought for the others around him, was open to the discussion of others (and he felt sure that when the knowledge spread that's exactly what it would be). But, to Vangelis, the mathematics of the events leading to this day were simple.
He would not have an illegitimate child born of his blood and not his name. And Thea was pregnant.
There were no other calculations to be taken into consideration. Which meant there were no regrets for him to permit to linger and distract him from his duty.
And yet he still awoke each morning with a moment of frustration and disinclination to leave his chambers.
The morning he was due to ship out, Vangelis felt genuinely sick. As if he were already aboard the vessel bound for Taengea and then Egypt and he were nauseated by the roll of the waves that had never bothered him before, his stomach in knots and his concerns set to high. It had been decades since the idea of leaving his home for a dangerous military campaign had set such discomfort in the pit of his stomach, so he could only assume it to be the reaction of what he left behind him.
A royal mess. For want of another term.
And Vangelis was not a man who liked to leave such turmoil in his wake.
Determined to focus on the tasks and responsibilities laid before him that day, rather than mulch and vegetate over his worries, Vangelis got out of bed and set about his daily ablutions with a determined efficiency set to distract himself away from his thoughts with only the concerns of the bristles on his chin and the harsh scrubbing of his face.
After a full bathe and wash - for he knew not when he'd get another one of those with all the sailing ahead of him - Vangelis dressed in a full breasted, cream white tunic. The fabric hit just above his knees and was folded across his chest, creating and open V at his throat. Tucking his necklace inside the folds, Vangelis knotted a simple strand of braided leather around his waist to hold the tunic in place. Then came a set of dual pauldrons, the straps that secured them following the same lines of his tunic, criss-crossing over his chest. The pieces combined with his height and the breadth of his own shoulders to give the visage of someone almost god-like in his dimensions. Which of course, was part of their purpose.
Choosing a half cuirass that was fastened around his waist to support his abdomen but allow his chest easier movement, he then fastened on his sandals and the grieves that attached around them. Leather bracers were next, marked in the gold and bronze of his armour, and his weapons were last.
Daggers were attached to his ankles, waist and inside his forearms. His dual swords were fastened at his hip and his back, and the ceremonial spear of war was waiting for him to collect, leant against the wall beside the door.
Every single piece of the outfit was entirely superfluous.
He was hardly about to fight Egyptians his first day on the high seas between Colchis and Taengea. The armour would be of no use whatsoever for another few weeks - almost a whole month - before he reached the shores of Egypt. And even when they were there and ready to fight he would have likely regressed to his easier loose pants and large shirt. It was less ornate, less obvious and easier to move in.
Yet, when leaving for war, the people of Colchis expected to see their leaders leaving for war, It was a show of strength and force that assured the Colchians that their commanders were ready, prepared for the battles that they would soon face. It gave them strength and hope in a time when they feared the worst for their loved ones.
And while it irked Vangelis to be trussed up for social events and festivals for random causes, hope and strength were good enough reasons for him to do so when headed to war.
It was an easy way to get his own armour and cargo onto the ship at least.
Leaving his chambers in the full and glinting armour of a warlord, Vangelis had to double back for a moment in order to pick up his golden circlet - the band an inch thick that sat around his temples to mark him as crown prince, even when journeying abroad. He wouldn't be wearing it when fighting for it was the equivalent of wearing a sign that said 'Assassinate Me' but it was part of the procession for the morning.
Having fetched it, he was later than he intended reaching the stables where he had wanted to see to Phobos prior to the journey down to the docks where his family would have already culminated, ready to see off the Kotas men that were leaving their shores. And, as he came to the stables, a female voice stopped his feet where they stood, his sandals causing the softest of brushes over the courtyard stone and the butt of his spear's shaft resting in a gap in the stone.
Listening, Vangelis recognised the voice instantly but made no move to step inside the stables. Instead, he hovered outside, his back to the wall of the building and his head bent as if he were a child sent to stand in punishment away from the grown-ups and their discussions.
The 'grown ups' in this case were the woman he had recently let down in every possible way it was to let down and woman (more or less) and his own horse, with whom she appeared to be having a heart-felt and in-depth conversation with.
Vangelis felt his lips curl into a smile at the very idea of it, but his guilt had it leaving his features almost immediately.
'Phobos, you must do everything in your power to protect him... you must get him home at any cost. It will not be for me... but it will be for his people.'
Vangelis felt that guilt eat away at him a little more, as he let his head fall back against the wall with a silent touch. He was half tempted to throw it back a little harder and enact punishment on himself for causing this situation in the first place but he didn't want to alert Selene to his presence.
He had hurt her enough. No sense in appearing in a moment of privacy she had created for herself and embarrass her further.
Not that he could stop himself from listening regardless...
'You carry a man I care about with more of my heart than I’ve ever given.'
For a moment, Vangelis felt his throat tighten and a thick knot hit his gut. His couldn't breathe and he felt his lips draw back from his teeth a little in a grimace. He closed his eyes and bit his tongue and waited for Selene to finish her piece and leave quietly out the other entrance to the stables.
It was a good few minutes before Vangelis moved.
Inhaling long and slow and then setting himself just as calming an exhale, Vangelis turned away from the wall and entered the dark and shadowy recess of the stables. There, he found Phobos completely tacked up and ready to go. Which was almost a shame because he could have done with the distraction such a task might have given him.
Instead, he was forced to set his mind to blank, his expression to stone, and mount Phobos quickly and quietly, before kicking him forwards.
Once orders had been made to the stable hands and the stewards of the estate had come to wish him farewell, Vangelis set himself the path of headed down the winding streets of the city and towards the docklands below.
The journey was slow going, for everyone in Midas, it seemed, had come out to wish the royal family good wishes of victory and fortune as they passed. Given that he could see none of his brothers, nor his father up ahead of him, he knew where they might now be. With his slow to start morning, he knew that his father would already be present at the docks – would have likely been there since sunrise, which meant that his mother would be there also, standing beside her husband with faith and love. Zanon and Evras might likely be beside them already, offering a united front of those who would remain in Colchis, defending their home. In truth, he expected himself to be the last to arrive, but that sat well with Vangelis. For, as he approached the docks and to a roar from his people, dismounted to walk the last hundred yards to the wooden slatting around the shipyard, he could selfishly only think one thing…
The sooner he got on board one of those vessels, and escaped it all, the better.