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It felt invigorating, like coming home, as Nike strapped on her leather bracers and her full armor. For once, she left her longsword at home, and a small smile embraced her lips as the woman proudly sling her claymore upon her back. A weapon she bought from a merchant from Lands Afar, it had taken the woman many months of training before she could wield the heavy, large weapon confidently with both hands. The heavier weight would be a good help to her on the battlefield, where her small stature could be easily overpowered had she not fought and trained with skill and mind, instead of pure brawn.
Her tall, black leathered boots were strapped and buckled down, before her two daggers were tucked in on either side, one embedded with a Taengean emerald, whilst the other a matching weapon with a Colchian ruby - both representing her heritage and her duty. The final touch was a belt full of throwing knives, before she ran a hand through her newly cropped hair, and headed off to the Isle of Kos - to war.
While others would call the scene on the isle absolute chaos, to Nike there was nothing more like home. It was how she had been raised for as long as she remembered, far better then the nights she had spent in terror wondering if she would have enough to feed herself as she prowled the docks of Colchis like a waife, newly arrived from Taengea. Perhaps to a certain extent, she would have to thank her father - if not for him and his drunkard behavior, Nike would've never found such a life for herself, and she couldn't imagine anything else.
Unlike many others, Nike had no one to say goodbye to. She had no family, whatever friends she had were going with her to the war - so unlike others, she stood by the side, a spectator to the tearful goodbyes being said, the kind she would never understand. How would it feel to be so closely entwined to someone, their departure made one feel profound sadness? To the woman, quite terrifying. To have lives so intertwined sounded inconceivable to her as she observed the extended farewells.
Her own men had long since been tasked to start packing up, the woman a hard taskmaster who would stand for no dilly dallying. Briefly, her eyes flickered over to Captain Maleos who looked far more anxious then she's seen him before. Nike knew that this would be likely Maleos's first time handling a unit with such great responsibility, and the Commander tried to catch his eye and give the man a reassuring nod - everyone would be anxious before their first war, Nike could remember hers. But anxiety would do no good to one on the battlefield.
Her eyes wandered again, seeing the visage of her crown prince and general entering the ranks of the men preparing to leave the shores - yet where was his supposed betrothed? Briefly, Nike allowed herself to wonder, but when duties presented themselves, she quickly pushed it to one side with a mental note to ask upon her best friend on what in Hades's name had happened, and instead did a quick sweep to make sure all under her was accounted for, scowling when she spotted one astray young lamb.
"Lord Valaoritis! Your tasks are not going to do themselves - we set sail in minutes." Nike yelled loud enough so the young lord she addressed would not mishear and, indeed, many other soldiers now turned to Silanos with an assessing scowl at how he dallied at his farewells when there were many tasks to be done.
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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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It felt invigorating, like coming home, as Nike strapped on her leather bracers and her full armor. For once, she left her longsword at home, and a small smile embraced her lips as the woman proudly sling her claymore upon her back. A weapon she bought from a merchant from Lands Afar, it had taken the woman many months of training before she could wield the heavy, large weapon confidently with both hands. The heavier weight would be a good help to her on the battlefield, where her small stature could be easily overpowered had she not fought and trained with skill and mind, instead of pure brawn.
Her tall, black leathered boots were strapped and buckled down, before her two daggers were tucked in on either side, one embedded with a Taengean emerald, whilst the other a matching weapon with a Colchian ruby - both representing her heritage and her duty. The final touch was a belt full of throwing knives, before she ran a hand through her newly cropped hair, and headed off to the Isle of Kos - to war.
While others would call the scene on the isle absolute chaos, to Nike there was nothing more like home. It was how she had been raised for as long as she remembered, far better then the nights she had spent in terror wondering if she would have enough to feed herself as she prowled the docks of Colchis like a waife, newly arrived from Taengea. Perhaps to a certain extent, she would have to thank her father - if not for him and his drunkard behavior, Nike would've never found such a life for herself, and she couldn't imagine anything else.
Unlike many others, Nike had no one to say goodbye to. She had no family, whatever friends she had were going with her to the war - so unlike others, she stood by the side, a spectator to the tearful goodbyes being said, the kind she would never understand. How would it feel to be so closely entwined to someone, their departure made one feel profound sadness? To the woman, quite terrifying. To have lives so intertwined sounded inconceivable to her as she observed the extended farewells.
Her own men had long since been tasked to start packing up, the woman a hard taskmaster who would stand for no dilly dallying. Briefly, her eyes flickered over to Captain Maleos who looked far more anxious then she's seen him before. Nike knew that this would be likely Maleos's first time handling a unit with such great responsibility, and the Commander tried to catch his eye and give the man a reassuring nod - everyone would be anxious before their first war, Nike could remember hers. But anxiety would do no good to one on the battlefield.
Her eyes wandered again, seeing the visage of her crown prince and general entering the ranks of the men preparing to leave the shores - yet where was his supposed betrothed? Briefly, Nike allowed herself to wonder, but when duties presented themselves, she quickly pushed it to one side with a mental note to ask upon her best friend on what in Hades's name had happened, and instead did a quick sweep to make sure all under her was accounted for, scowling when she spotted one astray young lamb.
"Lord Valaoritis! Your tasks are not going to do themselves - we set sail in minutes." Nike yelled loud enough so the young lord she addressed would not mishear and, indeed, many other soldiers now turned to Silanos with an assessing scowl at how he dallied at his farewells when there were many tasks to be done.
It felt invigorating, like coming home, as Nike strapped on her leather bracers and her full armor. For once, she left her longsword at home, and a small smile embraced her lips as the woman proudly sling her claymore upon her back. A weapon she bought from a merchant from Lands Afar, it had taken the woman many months of training before she could wield the heavy, large weapon confidently with both hands. The heavier weight would be a good help to her on the battlefield, where her small stature could be easily overpowered had she not fought and trained with skill and mind, instead of pure brawn.
Her tall, black leathered boots were strapped and buckled down, before her two daggers were tucked in on either side, one embedded with a Taengean emerald, whilst the other a matching weapon with a Colchian ruby - both representing her heritage and her duty. The final touch was a belt full of throwing knives, before she ran a hand through her newly cropped hair, and headed off to the Isle of Kos - to war.
While others would call the scene on the isle absolute chaos, to Nike there was nothing more like home. It was how she had been raised for as long as she remembered, far better then the nights she had spent in terror wondering if she would have enough to feed herself as she prowled the docks of Colchis like a waife, newly arrived from Taengea. Perhaps to a certain extent, she would have to thank her father - if not for him and his drunkard behavior, Nike would've never found such a life for herself, and she couldn't imagine anything else.
Unlike many others, Nike had no one to say goodbye to. She had no family, whatever friends she had were going with her to the war - so unlike others, she stood by the side, a spectator to the tearful goodbyes being said, the kind she would never understand. How would it feel to be so closely entwined to someone, their departure made one feel profound sadness? To the woman, quite terrifying. To have lives so intertwined sounded inconceivable to her as she observed the extended farewells.
Her own men had long since been tasked to start packing up, the woman a hard taskmaster who would stand for no dilly dallying. Briefly, her eyes flickered over to Captain Maleos who looked far more anxious then she's seen him before. Nike knew that this would be likely Maleos's first time handling a unit with such great responsibility, and the Commander tried to catch his eye and give the man a reassuring nod - everyone would be anxious before their first war, Nike could remember hers. But anxiety would do no good to one on the battlefield.
Her eyes wandered again, seeing the visage of her crown prince and general entering the ranks of the men preparing to leave the shores - yet where was his supposed betrothed? Briefly, Nike allowed herself to wonder, but when duties presented themselves, she quickly pushed it to one side with a mental note to ask upon her best friend on what in Hades's name had happened, and instead did a quick sweep to make sure all under her was accounted for, scowling when she spotted one astray young lamb.
"Lord Valaoritis! Your tasks are not going to do themselves - we set sail in minutes." Nike yelled loud enough so the young lord she addressed would not mishear and, indeed, many other soldiers now turned to Silanos with an assessing scowl at how he dallied at his farewells when there were many tasks to be done.
The day had begun long before dawn for the Valaoritis lord, and for once not at the beck and call of the Crown Prince as had grudgingly grown used to. After a restless night, Sil had been dispatched to the beaches of southernmost tip of Kos, where a sprawl of soldiers and ships heralded the day that Colchis would go to war.
For as long as he was able, Silanos had operated under the illusion that he would not be going, that he would remain behind because he had no place at war: he was not a soldier or a tactician. Indeed when Prince Vangelis had first alluded to him going, the young lord had made it rather an ambition to make the man think better of it, and he had tried. He had tried. It had all come crashing down on him rather suddenly the night before, the shocking realisation that he had failed and that come what may, he’d be making the voyage to Egypt, to fulfil whatever purpose the Stone Prince deemed vital.
Now he stood off to one side, watching the Red Knights assemble and begin to board the ships that would carry them away from Colchis. First to Taengea, and then onwards to Egypt where war would already be waged. He felt uncomfortable in the unfamiliar armour, and more than a little like a fraud, worrying at the edge of a fingernail with his teeth as he looked on. There was a dull headache pressing behind his eyes, less than he deserved after the night before, but there non the less, and the Lord could only hope it did not grow to something worse.
The number of people on the beach grew as the sun crested the horizon fully, and Sil was finally stirred to move from his spot by the gangplank when he saw his brother arrive, together with their family in tow. That perhaps was the worst thing, what he felt most guilty about. Had it not been for his misdemeanours he wouldn’t have found himself here, and his mother wouldn't be saying goodbye to both her remaining sons.
With a tight sort of feeling in his chest that he tried to ignore, Silanos forsook his post and slid his way through the crowds of farewells towards his own family. He reached his mother’s side and reached out to put a hand on her shoulder before pulling her into a tight embrace. Sil knew he hadn’t been the best of sons since he’d returned from Taengea. Honestly, he’d been shaken by how much age had seemed to take a hold on his mother in his absence. Or grief. Whichever it was, she seemed somehow frail, and that had scared him. He’d stayed away more than he should. And now the choice had been taken away from him.
“I’m sorry Mother '' he muttered into her hair, though she wouldn’t know what he was apologizing for, and he didn’t pull away when she reached up to cradle his face, let her baby him like she tended to do. Fuck what anyone else thought about it. And he didn’t even correct her when she asked where Timaeus was, as if she had not just bid him goodbye. He just squeezed that little bit tighter and swallowed the lump in his throat.
“Lord Valaoritis! Your tasks are not going to do themselves - we set sail in minutes”
The voice was raised, the implication less of a request than an order and Sil stiffened as he heard it, set his teeth and drew back from his mother’s embrace as he turned to look upon Commander Nike. His gaze returned his mother guiltily, though her expression had grown far away and distant and he thought perhaps she was not here in this moment with him any longer. Maybe that was a kindness, considering. The Commander’s evident impatience did not stop him from speaking a brief farewell to his cousins and though Tim had disappeared somewhere , Silanos knew he would have a chance to talk with his brother. Only once he was assured that his cousins would take good care of his mother did the youngest Valaoritis head over to where Commander Nike stood.
“No one to bid farewell too, Commander?” he asked, a touch spitefully,as the man had so seen to interrupt his own goodbyes.
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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The day had begun long before dawn for the Valaoritis lord, and for once not at the beck and call of the Crown Prince as had grudgingly grown used to. After a restless night, Sil had been dispatched to the beaches of southernmost tip of Kos, where a sprawl of soldiers and ships heralded the day that Colchis would go to war.
For as long as he was able, Silanos had operated under the illusion that he would not be going, that he would remain behind because he had no place at war: he was not a soldier or a tactician. Indeed when Prince Vangelis had first alluded to him going, the young lord had made it rather an ambition to make the man think better of it, and he had tried. He had tried. It had all come crashing down on him rather suddenly the night before, the shocking realisation that he had failed and that come what may, he’d be making the voyage to Egypt, to fulfil whatever purpose the Stone Prince deemed vital.
Now he stood off to one side, watching the Red Knights assemble and begin to board the ships that would carry them away from Colchis. First to Taengea, and then onwards to Egypt where war would already be waged. He felt uncomfortable in the unfamiliar armour, and more than a little like a fraud, worrying at the edge of a fingernail with his teeth as he looked on. There was a dull headache pressing behind his eyes, less than he deserved after the night before, but there non the less, and the Lord could only hope it did not grow to something worse.
The number of people on the beach grew as the sun crested the horizon fully, and Sil was finally stirred to move from his spot by the gangplank when he saw his brother arrive, together with their family in tow. That perhaps was the worst thing, what he felt most guilty about. Had it not been for his misdemeanours he wouldn’t have found himself here, and his mother wouldn't be saying goodbye to both her remaining sons.
With a tight sort of feeling in his chest that he tried to ignore, Silanos forsook his post and slid his way through the crowds of farewells towards his own family. He reached his mother’s side and reached out to put a hand on her shoulder before pulling her into a tight embrace. Sil knew he hadn’t been the best of sons since he’d returned from Taengea. Honestly, he’d been shaken by how much age had seemed to take a hold on his mother in his absence. Or grief. Whichever it was, she seemed somehow frail, and that had scared him. He’d stayed away more than he should. And now the choice had been taken away from him.
“I’m sorry Mother '' he muttered into her hair, though she wouldn’t know what he was apologizing for, and he didn’t pull away when she reached up to cradle his face, let her baby him like she tended to do. Fuck what anyone else thought about it. And he didn’t even correct her when she asked where Timaeus was, as if she had not just bid him goodbye. He just squeezed that little bit tighter and swallowed the lump in his throat.
“Lord Valaoritis! Your tasks are not going to do themselves - we set sail in minutes”
The voice was raised, the implication less of a request than an order and Sil stiffened as he heard it, set his teeth and drew back from his mother’s embrace as he turned to look upon Commander Nike. His gaze returned his mother guiltily, though her expression had grown far away and distant and he thought perhaps she was not here in this moment with him any longer. Maybe that was a kindness, considering. The Commander’s evident impatience did not stop him from speaking a brief farewell to his cousins and though Tim had disappeared somewhere , Silanos knew he would have a chance to talk with his brother. Only once he was assured that his cousins would take good care of his mother did the youngest Valaoritis head over to where Commander Nike stood.
“No one to bid farewell too, Commander?” he asked, a touch spitefully,as the man had so seen to interrupt his own goodbyes.
The day had begun long before dawn for the Valaoritis lord, and for once not at the beck and call of the Crown Prince as had grudgingly grown used to. After a restless night, Sil had been dispatched to the beaches of southernmost tip of Kos, where a sprawl of soldiers and ships heralded the day that Colchis would go to war.
For as long as he was able, Silanos had operated under the illusion that he would not be going, that he would remain behind because he had no place at war: he was not a soldier or a tactician. Indeed when Prince Vangelis had first alluded to him going, the young lord had made it rather an ambition to make the man think better of it, and he had tried. He had tried. It had all come crashing down on him rather suddenly the night before, the shocking realisation that he had failed and that come what may, he’d be making the voyage to Egypt, to fulfil whatever purpose the Stone Prince deemed vital.
Now he stood off to one side, watching the Red Knights assemble and begin to board the ships that would carry them away from Colchis. First to Taengea, and then onwards to Egypt where war would already be waged. He felt uncomfortable in the unfamiliar armour, and more than a little like a fraud, worrying at the edge of a fingernail with his teeth as he looked on. There was a dull headache pressing behind his eyes, less than he deserved after the night before, but there non the less, and the Lord could only hope it did not grow to something worse.
The number of people on the beach grew as the sun crested the horizon fully, and Sil was finally stirred to move from his spot by the gangplank when he saw his brother arrive, together with their family in tow. That perhaps was the worst thing, what he felt most guilty about. Had it not been for his misdemeanours he wouldn’t have found himself here, and his mother wouldn't be saying goodbye to both her remaining sons.
With a tight sort of feeling in his chest that he tried to ignore, Silanos forsook his post and slid his way through the crowds of farewells towards his own family. He reached his mother’s side and reached out to put a hand on her shoulder before pulling her into a tight embrace. Sil knew he hadn’t been the best of sons since he’d returned from Taengea. Honestly, he’d been shaken by how much age had seemed to take a hold on his mother in his absence. Or grief. Whichever it was, she seemed somehow frail, and that had scared him. He’d stayed away more than he should. And now the choice had been taken away from him.
“I’m sorry Mother '' he muttered into her hair, though she wouldn’t know what he was apologizing for, and he didn’t pull away when she reached up to cradle his face, let her baby him like she tended to do. Fuck what anyone else thought about it. And he didn’t even correct her when she asked where Timaeus was, as if she had not just bid him goodbye. He just squeezed that little bit tighter and swallowed the lump in his throat.
“Lord Valaoritis! Your tasks are not going to do themselves - we set sail in minutes”
The voice was raised, the implication less of a request than an order and Sil stiffened as he heard it, set his teeth and drew back from his mother’s embrace as he turned to look upon Commander Nike. His gaze returned his mother guiltily, though her expression had grown far away and distant and he thought perhaps she was not here in this moment with him any longer. Maybe that was a kindness, considering. The Commander’s evident impatience did not stop him from speaking a brief farewell to his cousins and though Tim had disappeared somewhere , Silanos knew he would have a chance to talk with his brother. Only once he was assured that his cousins would take good care of his mother did the youngest Valaoritis head over to where Commander Nike stood.
“No one to bid farewell too, Commander?” he asked, a touch spitefully,as the man had so seen to interrupt his own goodbyes.
Evras had rose early, but like she had done for the past two weeks, ever since she had her row with her husband, Evras had not approached neither Dion's quarters, nor Zanon's. She had only seen her son at meals, and while she tried her best to put up a front so the young boy would not notice something amiss between his parents, Evras could only thank the Gods that her young prince was too distracted by watching his uncles and grandfather prepare for war, and his own lessons, to linger far too long on the strained silence between the married couple.
He had asked her to leave their son's education to him - leave everything to him it seems, and so Evras would do as he asked. She was done fighting him, done fighting for what he seemingly didn't want, and so if he chose to walk down the hard path, Evras did not want to go along with him. On her end, Evras has done nothing she would regret, nothing she wanted to apologize for, and for that she would walk with her head held high and a firm resolve to not back down.
With the physician having cleared her worries on her babe's lack of movement within her, the child she carried has also further reassured her by resuming their morning movements, although Evras noticed it was not for long. Perhaps, like her mother-in-law had said, the child was simply due to be not as active as her brother, and for her own sake, Evras hoped it to be true.
Dressing herself in her maroon chiton which ended just below her knees, the sleeves were a white that ended modestly at her elbows. Her dark hair was tied up in a chignon, for Evras did not wish them to be tangled by the strong winds in the Isles of Kos where she was due to be seen with the rest of the royal family. The necklace of her family crest was on her neck as usual, but Evras abandoned the usual bangles that matched her sister's, and instead slipped on simple golden ones embedded with rubies, carved with the insignia of Hera on both wrists.
As the maids moved to put on her usual circlet, the same one she had received upon her marriage to Zanon, Evras stopped them at the last second, and stared at herself in the mirror. Why be a princess, when she did not feel like one? Shaking her head, she refused the wearing of the circlet on her head, the familiar thud in the back of her chest that she adamantly pushed away, before slipping her feet in a pair of strong, sturdy slippers. They were specially made for her as she entered the fifth month of her pregnancy, prevention from slipping on the slippery docks.
By the time Evras got to the docks, a fair few had gathered there, and her blue-green eyes briefly fell upon the King and Queen. The Queen had been a great boon to her, despite a formal relationship they shared over the last decade of her marriage into the family. With her husband's lack of reason and her sister's being busy, on top of her father's obvious problems, Evras had turned to the Queen, and Yanni had ended up becoming a warm shoulder to turn to, so much so that Evras was beginning to remember what it felt like to have a mother again.
Making a mental note to go to Yanni once the men had left, for she would surely need it, her eyes roamed to fall briefly upon the exiled King and Queen of Taengea, their closeness another pang in her heart. Evras was partially thankful Zanon would not be going, for he was in no shape to fight no matter how much she knew he wanted to. She had spent many hours poring over books in hopes to find something that would be able to ease his pain, but Evras was not as well studied as Thea, and her pregnancy had her nodding off to sleep far more often then she'd like, and till now she had not been able to shed any light.
Not that he'd appreciate it at this point, she suspected.
Heaving a heavy sigh, Evras finally accepted the help of the servants to alight from the carriage she had arrived in, and moved to stand by the boat to be ready once her husband's family was ready to bid farewell to the boats heading for war. She was here for duty, if nothing else.
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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Evras had rose early, but like she had done for the past two weeks, ever since she had her row with her husband, Evras had not approached neither Dion's quarters, nor Zanon's. She had only seen her son at meals, and while she tried her best to put up a front so the young boy would not notice something amiss between his parents, Evras could only thank the Gods that her young prince was too distracted by watching his uncles and grandfather prepare for war, and his own lessons, to linger far too long on the strained silence between the married couple.
He had asked her to leave their son's education to him - leave everything to him it seems, and so Evras would do as he asked. She was done fighting him, done fighting for what he seemingly didn't want, and so if he chose to walk down the hard path, Evras did not want to go along with him. On her end, Evras has done nothing she would regret, nothing she wanted to apologize for, and for that she would walk with her head held high and a firm resolve to not back down.
With the physician having cleared her worries on her babe's lack of movement within her, the child she carried has also further reassured her by resuming their morning movements, although Evras noticed it was not for long. Perhaps, like her mother-in-law had said, the child was simply due to be not as active as her brother, and for her own sake, Evras hoped it to be true.
Dressing herself in her maroon chiton which ended just below her knees, the sleeves were a white that ended modestly at her elbows. Her dark hair was tied up in a chignon, for Evras did not wish them to be tangled by the strong winds in the Isles of Kos where she was due to be seen with the rest of the royal family. The necklace of her family crest was on her neck as usual, but Evras abandoned the usual bangles that matched her sister's, and instead slipped on simple golden ones embedded with rubies, carved with the insignia of Hera on both wrists.
As the maids moved to put on her usual circlet, the same one she had received upon her marriage to Zanon, Evras stopped them at the last second, and stared at herself in the mirror. Why be a princess, when she did not feel like one? Shaking her head, she refused the wearing of the circlet on her head, the familiar thud in the back of her chest that she adamantly pushed away, before slipping her feet in a pair of strong, sturdy slippers. They were specially made for her as she entered the fifth month of her pregnancy, prevention from slipping on the slippery docks.
By the time Evras got to the docks, a fair few had gathered there, and her blue-green eyes briefly fell upon the King and Queen. The Queen had been a great boon to her, despite a formal relationship they shared over the last decade of her marriage into the family. With her husband's lack of reason and her sister's being busy, on top of her father's obvious problems, Evras had turned to the Queen, and Yanni had ended up becoming a warm shoulder to turn to, so much so that Evras was beginning to remember what it felt like to have a mother again.
Making a mental note to go to Yanni once the men had left, for she would surely need it, her eyes roamed to fall briefly upon the exiled King and Queen of Taengea, their closeness another pang in her heart. Evras was partially thankful Zanon would not be going, for he was in no shape to fight no matter how much she knew he wanted to. She had spent many hours poring over books in hopes to find something that would be able to ease his pain, but Evras was not as well studied as Thea, and her pregnancy had her nodding off to sleep far more often then she'd like, and till now she had not been able to shed any light.
Not that he'd appreciate it at this point, she suspected.
Heaving a heavy sigh, Evras finally accepted the help of the servants to alight from the carriage she had arrived in, and moved to stand by the boat to be ready once her husband's family was ready to bid farewell to the boats heading for war. She was here for duty, if nothing else.
Evras had rose early, but like she had done for the past two weeks, ever since she had her row with her husband, Evras had not approached neither Dion's quarters, nor Zanon's. She had only seen her son at meals, and while she tried her best to put up a front so the young boy would not notice something amiss between his parents, Evras could only thank the Gods that her young prince was too distracted by watching his uncles and grandfather prepare for war, and his own lessons, to linger far too long on the strained silence between the married couple.
He had asked her to leave their son's education to him - leave everything to him it seems, and so Evras would do as he asked. She was done fighting him, done fighting for what he seemingly didn't want, and so if he chose to walk down the hard path, Evras did not want to go along with him. On her end, Evras has done nothing she would regret, nothing she wanted to apologize for, and for that she would walk with her head held high and a firm resolve to not back down.
With the physician having cleared her worries on her babe's lack of movement within her, the child she carried has also further reassured her by resuming their morning movements, although Evras noticed it was not for long. Perhaps, like her mother-in-law had said, the child was simply due to be not as active as her brother, and for her own sake, Evras hoped it to be true.
Dressing herself in her maroon chiton which ended just below her knees, the sleeves were a white that ended modestly at her elbows. Her dark hair was tied up in a chignon, for Evras did not wish them to be tangled by the strong winds in the Isles of Kos where she was due to be seen with the rest of the royal family. The necklace of her family crest was on her neck as usual, but Evras abandoned the usual bangles that matched her sister's, and instead slipped on simple golden ones embedded with rubies, carved with the insignia of Hera on both wrists.
As the maids moved to put on her usual circlet, the same one she had received upon her marriage to Zanon, Evras stopped them at the last second, and stared at herself in the mirror. Why be a princess, when she did not feel like one? Shaking her head, she refused the wearing of the circlet on her head, the familiar thud in the back of her chest that she adamantly pushed away, before slipping her feet in a pair of strong, sturdy slippers. They were specially made for her as she entered the fifth month of her pregnancy, prevention from slipping on the slippery docks.
By the time Evras got to the docks, a fair few had gathered there, and her blue-green eyes briefly fell upon the King and Queen. The Queen had been a great boon to her, despite a formal relationship they shared over the last decade of her marriage into the family. With her husband's lack of reason and her sister's being busy, on top of her father's obvious problems, Evras had turned to the Queen, and Yanni had ended up becoming a warm shoulder to turn to, so much so that Evras was beginning to remember what it felt like to have a mother again.
Making a mental note to go to Yanni once the men had left, for she would surely need it, her eyes roamed to fall briefly upon the exiled King and Queen of Taengea, their closeness another pang in her heart. Evras was partially thankful Zanon would not be going, for he was in no shape to fight no matter how much she knew he wanted to. She had spent many hours poring over books in hopes to find something that would be able to ease his pain, but Evras was not as well studied as Thea, and her pregnancy had her nodding off to sleep far more often then she'd like, and till now she had not been able to shed any light.
Not that he'd appreciate it at this point, she suspected.
Heaving a heavy sigh, Evras finally accepted the help of the servants to alight from the carriage she had arrived in, and moved to stand by the boat to be ready once her husband's family was ready to bid farewell to the boats heading for war. She was here for duty, if nothing else.
Standing in a corner, Magnus's life had always been one of an observer before he actually had to do any work. As an elder brother, he had focused mainly on watching over Leto whilst his parents worked. As he grew up, Magnus found himself to be more the introvert, but one who grew very well at reading other people's actions and accurately predicting what they would or could be doing. In a way, it had shaped how he had grew up, for that skill proved to be very useful as a litigant. Of course, he also had to learn proper people skills, for his job as a Master Informer required him to speak to many, but Magnus preferred genuine relationships, as such he ended up with many informants he could pawn information off, and eventually relied largely on that.
He was not in denial over the fact that when (and not if) the day came where he could claim his own noble house, his job scope would shift dramatically to be one of a lord and no longer a Master Informer, and that would mean he would primarily need to socialize and speak with people, landowners and merchants of whichever province fell under his rule.
But he'll deal with it when the time came.
Now, Magnus was content to merely watch as the goodbyes and farewells were bidded. His duty here would be to give a final, superficial report to his royal employers. What was important had already been relayed in his final meeting with them the night before, and his presence was now merely a show of loyalty. Concerning himself instead to study who had turned up, a little show of surprise presented itself in the form of a raised single brow when the youngest of the Thanasi household turned up in military regalia. Magnus would never chalk Mihail of Thanasi up to be a military man, but it would appear he needed to dig deeper as to what had occured to find out what caused such an ending.
His gaze lingered briefly upon the knot of house Valaoritis, but Magnus tore his gaze away, knowing that his story with them had yet to end due to Iolanthe's necessary affairs she had to leave Colchis for. He would revisit that later, but fornow things between him and the young baron of Eubocris remained at a standstill until his lover found her return.
It was only when the crown prince arrived, did Magnus finally move from his spot, heading towards where the King and Queen had previously been having their own private farewell. The Master Informer had not wish to intrude on what clearly was a private time, especially since King Tython had unceremoniously returned from the dead, but with the arrival of Vangelis, it was clear the military might of Colchis would be leaving soon, and he wanted to be done with the social necessities before the time was due.
Timing it so he would arrive right after Vangelis had greeted his own parents so he wouldn't be intruding in anyway, Magnus gave his own respectful bow, greeting each prince and princess in turn, before giving his respects to the royal monarch itself. "I shall do my utmost best in ensuring all goes as planned," he murmured, a reference to the investigations regarding the unauthorized mines they had found beneath the newly opened bathhouses, still pending discovery. "I wish strong winds behind your sails, and the blessings of the Gods upon this war, Your Highnesses."
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Standing in a corner, Magnus's life had always been one of an observer before he actually had to do any work. As an elder brother, he had focused mainly on watching over Leto whilst his parents worked. As he grew up, Magnus found himself to be more the introvert, but one who grew very well at reading other people's actions and accurately predicting what they would or could be doing. In a way, it had shaped how he had grew up, for that skill proved to be very useful as a litigant. Of course, he also had to learn proper people skills, for his job as a Master Informer required him to speak to many, but Magnus preferred genuine relationships, as such he ended up with many informants he could pawn information off, and eventually relied largely on that.
He was not in denial over the fact that when (and not if) the day came where he could claim his own noble house, his job scope would shift dramatically to be one of a lord and no longer a Master Informer, and that would mean he would primarily need to socialize and speak with people, landowners and merchants of whichever province fell under his rule.
But he'll deal with it when the time came.
Now, Magnus was content to merely watch as the goodbyes and farewells were bidded. His duty here would be to give a final, superficial report to his royal employers. What was important had already been relayed in his final meeting with them the night before, and his presence was now merely a show of loyalty. Concerning himself instead to study who had turned up, a little show of surprise presented itself in the form of a raised single brow when the youngest of the Thanasi household turned up in military regalia. Magnus would never chalk Mihail of Thanasi up to be a military man, but it would appear he needed to dig deeper as to what had occured to find out what caused such an ending.
His gaze lingered briefly upon the knot of house Valaoritis, but Magnus tore his gaze away, knowing that his story with them had yet to end due to Iolanthe's necessary affairs she had to leave Colchis for. He would revisit that later, but fornow things between him and the young baron of Eubocris remained at a standstill until his lover found her return.
It was only when the crown prince arrived, did Magnus finally move from his spot, heading towards where the King and Queen had previously been having their own private farewell. The Master Informer had not wish to intrude on what clearly was a private time, especially since King Tython had unceremoniously returned from the dead, but with the arrival of Vangelis, it was clear the military might of Colchis would be leaving soon, and he wanted to be done with the social necessities before the time was due.
Timing it so he would arrive right after Vangelis had greeted his own parents so he wouldn't be intruding in anyway, Magnus gave his own respectful bow, greeting each prince and princess in turn, before giving his respects to the royal monarch itself. "I shall do my utmost best in ensuring all goes as planned," he murmured, a reference to the investigations regarding the unauthorized mines they had found beneath the newly opened bathhouses, still pending discovery. "I wish strong winds behind your sails, and the blessings of the Gods upon this war, Your Highnesses."
Standing in a corner, Magnus's life had always been one of an observer before he actually had to do any work. As an elder brother, he had focused mainly on watching over Leto whilst his parents worked. As he grew up, Magnus found himself to be more the introvert, but one who grew very well at reading other people's actions and accurately predicting what they would or could be doing. In a way, it had shaped how he had grew up, for that skill proved to be very useful as a litigant. Of course, he also had to learn proper people skills, for his job as a Master Informer required him to speak to many, but Magnus preferred genuine relationships, as such he ended up with many informants he could pawn information off, and eventually relied largely on that.
He was not in denial over the fact that when (and not if) the day came where he could claim his own noble house, his job scope would shift dramatically to be one of a lord and no longer a Master Informer, and that would mean he would primarily need to socialize and speak with people, landowners and merchants of whichever province fell under his rule.
But he'll deal with it when the time came.
Now, Magnus was content to merely watch as the goodbyes and farewells were bidded. His duty here would be to give a final, superficial report to his royal employers. What was important had already been relayed in his final meeting with them the night before, and his presence was now merely a show of loyalty. Concerning himself instead to study who had turned up, a little show of surprise presented itself in the form of a raised single brow when the youngest of the Thanasi household turned up in military regalia. Magnus would never chalk Mihail of Thanasi up to be a military man, but it would appear he needed to dig deeper as to what had occured to find out what caused such an ending.
His gaze lingered briefly upon the knot of house Valaoritis, but Magnus tore his gaze away, knowing that his story with them had yet to end due to Iolanthe's necessary affairs she had to leave Colchis for. He would revisit that later, but fornow things between him and the young baron of Eubocris remained at a standstill until his lover found her return.
It was only when the crown prince arrived, did Magnus finally move from his spot, heading towards where the King and Queen had previously been having their own private farewell. The Master Informer had not wish to intrude on what clearly was a private time, especially since King Tython had unceremoniously returned from the dead, but with the arrival of Vangelis, it was clear the military might of Colchis would be leaving soon, and he wanted to be done with the social necessities before the time was due.
Timing it so he would arrive right after Vangelis had greeted his own parents so he wouldn't be intruding in anyway, Magnus gave his own respectful bow, greeting each prince and princess in turn, before giving his respects to the royal monarch itself. "I shall do my utmost best in ensuring all goes as planned," he murmured, a reference to the investigations regarding the unauthorized mines they had found beneath the newly opened bathhouses, still pending discovery. "I wish strong winds behind your sails, and the blessings of the Gods upon this war, Your Highnesses."
Olympia’s murmur that she didn’t want him to go drew his attention back to her and he gave her a half pained look. “I can’t refuse.” And he wouldn’t have anyway. Not with how much they owed Vangelis. War wasn’t anything outlandish to ask of him and he’d have volunteered if he hadn’t been asked. Not that Pia needed to know any of that. She worried enough as it was.
Pia twisted in his hold and he opened his arm a little to let her fiddle with whatever her fingers were working at. Then he noticed the veil caught and rolled his eyes to himself. These moments in life that one wanted to be perfect just...never were. There would always be some little oddity to remind him that life was fragile and weird, full of imperfections and perfections alike.
His wife’s face upturned and she spoke to him, smiling, hope briming her eyes. "You will come back, victorious as always. Your men will be lucky to have you leading them."
“I will come back,” he promised, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead again. Victorious as always...that part pierced him just the littlest bit. He wasn’t always victorious, was he? He had been, but this dethroning had marred a near perfect military record and what he and Irakles had been engaged in was definitely battle. Unfortunately, his uncle had had more information and more experience. Stephanos had most definitely lost that round. To the last half of her sentiment, he merely smiled and kissed her forehead again to hide the flat look to his eye, staring over her head at the ships.
"Write to me, and I shall try to make it feel as if you are not missing a moment of her growing up."
“I will write as and when I can,” he felt like he was just making promise after promise after promise without knowing if he could keep any of them. “Write to me as often as you can. Daily, if you like.” He looked down at Tisiphone. “I’ve already wasted too much time.” Ironic. The daughter he did not want, he now didn’t want to be parted from.
“I love you,” he said as he pulled back. Despite all that they’d been through, or maybe because of all they’d been through, and how both awful and sweet they could be to each other, he did love her and he did mean it. However she chose to take it would be entirely fair, since he’d given her more than enough reason to both believe and doubt his word.
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Olympia’s murmur that she didn’t want him to go drew his attention back to her and he gave her a half pained look. “I can’t refuse.” And he wouldn’t have anyway. Not with how much they owed Vangelis. War wasn’t anything outlandish to ask of him and he’d have volunteered if he hadn’t been asked. Not that Pia needed to know any of that. She worried enough as it was.
Pia twisted in his hold and he opened his arm a little to let her fiddle with whatever her fingers were working at. Then he noticed the veil caught and rolled his eyes to himself. These moments in life that one wanted to be perfect just...never were. There would always be some little oddity to remind him that life was fragile and weird, full of imperfections and perfections alike.
His wife’s face upturned and she spoke to him, smiling, hope briming her eyes. "You will come back, victorious as always. Your men will be lucky to have you leading them."
“I will come back,” he promised, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead again. Victorious as always...that part pierced him just the littlest bit. He wasn’t always victorious, was he? He had been, but this dethroning had marred a near perfect military record and what he and Irakles had been engaged in was definitely battle. Unfortunately, his uncle had had more information and more experience. Stephanos had most definitely lost that round. To the last half of her sentiment, he merely smiled and kissed her forehead again to hide the flat look to his eye, staring over her head at the ships.
"Write to me, and I shall try to make it feel as if you are not missing a moment of her growing up."
“I will write as and when I can,” he felt like he was just making promise after promise after promise without knowing if he could keep any of them. “Write to me as often as you can. Daily, if you like.” He looked down at Tisiphone. “I’ve already wasted too much time.” Ironic. The daughter he did not want, he now didn’t want to be parted from.
“I love you,” he said as he pulled back. Despite all that they’d been through, or maybe because of all they’d been through, and how both awful and sweet they could be to each other, he did love her and he did mean it. However she chose to take it would be entirely fair, since he’d given her more than enough reason to both believe and doubt his word.
Olympia’s murmur that she didn’t want him to go drew his attention back to her and he gave her a half pained look. “I can’t refuse.” And he wouldn’t have anyway. Not with how much they owed Vangelis. War wasn’t anything outlandish to ask of him and he’d have volunteered if he hadn’t been asked. Not that Pia needed to know any of that. She worried enough as it was.
Pia twisted in his hold and he opened his arm a little to let her fiddle with whatever her fingers were working at. Then he noticed the veil caught and rolled his eyes to himself. These moments in life that one wanted to be perfect just...never were. There would always be some little oddity to remind him that life was fragile and weird, full of imperfections and perfections alike.
His wife’s face upturned and she spoke to him, smiling, hope briming her eyes. "You will come back, victorious as always. Your men will be lucky to have you leading them."
“I will come back,” he promised, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead again. Victorious as always...that part pierced him just the littlest bit. He wasn’t always victorious, was he? He had been, but this dethroning had marred a near perfect military record and what he and Irakles had been engaged in was definitely battle. Unfortunately, his uncle had had more information and more experience. Stephanos had most definitely lost that round. To the last half of her sentiment, he merely smiled and kissed her forehead again to hide the flat look to his eye, staring over her head at the ships.
"Write to me, and I shall try to make it feel as if you are not missing a moment of her growing up."
“I will write as and when I can,” he felt like he was just making promise after promise after promise without knowing if he could keep any of them. “Write to me as often as you can. Daily, if you like.” He looked down at Tisiphone. “I’ve already wasted too much time.” Ironic. The daughter he did not want, he now didn’t want to be parted from.
“I love you,” he said as he pulled back. Despite all that they’d been through, or maybe because of all they’d been through, and how both awful and sweet they could be to each other, he did love her and he did mean it. However she chose to take it would be entirely fair, since he’d given her more than enough reason to both believe and doubt his word.
Upon perceiving what could only be considered as subdued eagerness in the younger man’s dark eyes, Damocles released a subdued, chagrined smile that fell upon the impasse between resigned apathy, unwavering solemnity and quiet, but discernible self-confidence. His transmission and communication had been firm and unshakably authoritative, like the words of a medic before an willing patient that had to obey no matter the circumstance. His intense, grey eyes declared a silent decree to the black-haired boy, as if he were a soldier in his grand unit, hinting at the commanding air of tenebrous authority that the Captain of the Damned was reputed to exert upon others whenever he felt like it. He wanted it to be abundantly clear that what the young Thanasi was holding was not a toy, but a deadly weapon capable of making veteran soldiers wither away in anguished agony in a matter of hours.
Beneath the pressurized confidence that Damocles exercised, existed an unspoken reason that he had expertly crafted in advance. The fact of the matter was that the silver-eyed man did not really particularly care for Mihail, only the name that was attached to him. Amongst the members of the court it was more than well-known that between those who sought to displace the Kotas, that bloodline was fiercest still. Their numbers might not have been great or large, but Damocles knew firsthand of the power of ambition and determination. It was that very combination which had gotten him as far as he had gone. Besides, given their recent proximity to the throne, it would not be in bad taste to keep close to those who shared unspoken common interest with him. And that proximity could mean greater opportunity still whenever it was time to reap the fruits of his labor.
He was sure that a bloodline that small admonished the very idea of losing one of their own. It would be most disastrous if any ill befell the scions of the Thanasi when they had poised themselves so closely to the crown. Had he had his way, he would feign amity and pretend to care for the boy, lavishing upon him all the security and defense he could garner so as to gain praise and quite possibly enough backing for an overdue promotion. Alas, such a thing would require a living and safe Thanasi, and Gods knew Mihail could not be counted upon to defend himself, much less come out of a war alive and well. Furthermore, despite their shared commander in the form of Vangelis, that boy would be assigned to Megaris, not Magnemea, limiting his ability to protect and safeguard him. Hence, his gift of poison. Whilst he could not protect the boy from his enemies and himself, at least he could try and make sure he would try and stay alive by means of the extra lethality that Damocles granted the boy. At least that way there was a greater chance he would come out alive yet. After all, if their brother did fall, that family of snakes and vipers would not look upon him with quite exactly the level of fondness and gratitude he was expecting.
Of course, he had predicted that mayhaps the youth might use the poison to advance his wayward self-interest and egotistical desires, a set of variable that always needed to be taken into account when dealing with such a lethal weapon. As he mentioned, he had reserved the antidote for himself and kept it hidden amongst his possessions. He doubted that the youth would be foolish enough to actually use the venomous substance for nefarious deeds against the Greeks, but one could never be too sure. He would rather keep his distance from this whole endeavor if it all turned down south. The boy was only a means to an ends, nothing more, nothing less. If he had gone up and fucked-upped his life through his own choices, he would not cry any tears for him. Besides, it was common knowledge that his family were the best poisoners in the realm. Contrastingly, Damocles did not know anything about poison-making. If all else failed, he would not think twice about blaming that den of vipers for their little brother's foolishness.
Once he felt it was right and proper to leave the youth free with his false venom, the towering man grinned at the other in a warmly fraternal manner that contrasted somewhat with the coldness he had channeled momentarily. He did not particularly care whatever did the youth do with his small sliver of poison, but he would not try rein the Thanasi into his control. The best puppets were always the ones that thought they had no strings attached to them after all. He would let this child wonder about as he wished, annoy whomever he desired and leave him to let his own devious machinations ebb and flow as he saw fit. He was not his father or his brother, though he often attempted to satisfy that role with the expected mummery of fraternal tenderness. If Mihail wanted to piss off an officer of high rank, he would attempt to interfere and quell the situation. But, otherwise, there was little point in keeping a tight grip on that royal.
“Unlike silver-eyes here, I don’t have much to offer you, your Grace, but you are more than welcomed at my bed, pretty boy…” Continued to flirt Lysandros as per Damocles’ instructions to seduce the boy as much as possible. Just because he himself wasn’t keeping a close hand by Mihail didn’t mean he wasn’t exactly going to have him spy-less across the entire war. “Lysandros! That is Lord Mihail of Thanasi! Behave yourself at once!” pretendingly, though convincingly, chastised the olive-skinned man against the faux salaciousness of his chief lieutenant. By all means, no detectable trickery had been apparent between the two friends, with their interactions seemingly performing as naturally and organically as anticipated. “Fine…you are welcomed at my bed, Your Grace!” smarmily corrected the strapping blond as he laughed boisterously.
In that moment another figure approached the contemplating trio. Instantly, Damocles was struck by the feminine figure that aloofly tendered her sharp, calculated steps at the direction of Mihail. To him, she was a flawless beauty, behold to a voluptuous, sensual and dark regality that few women had ever emanated with ease and grace. Her features clearly betrayed her bloodline, manifesting the quintessential traits of the Thanasi; what with her lavish, luscious curls of black, her lithe, graceful figure and her dramatic, sapphire-blue eyes that were highlighted by the rim of the kohl she wore. And yet, whilst he could make an educated guess and boldly presume that she was indeed a scion of that bloodline, the silver-eyed man could not conclude exactly who she was, leaving such aspect as a mystery he was determined to investigate.
Despite, once, being unaccustomed to the intricacies of body language, Damocles had long-learned from his time in Midas how to behave and present himself in proper fashion. His broad, powerful shoulders were pushed-back, his spine was straight and his features were relaxed, causing the furrows on his brow to dissipate in place of what could be considered a cordially soft smile. Yet, he knew better than to appear overly-excited amongst the ladies of royalty, thus, he checked-and-balanced his relaxed, welcoming demeanor with the confidence of his posture and channeled a magnetic pull around his intense, silver spheres, directly meeting her own blue eyes with his own so as to project an assertive, yet inviting, air of casual elegance.
Still, one did not speak to royal ladies in such a disrespectfully swift manner as he often did. Thus, before breaking words with the woman, Damocles bowed his head in accordance to the social convention and then resumed to stare at her eyes with the same casual elegance he had exercised before. “Certainly not, My Lady of Thanasi.” Acknowledged the brawny militant, using the proper form of address so as to appeal to the decorum of proper etiquette. He had apparently been correct in his assessment, seeing as the regal woman had called Mihail her ‘little brother’. His voice held fast to its traditionally enticing, but sonorously raspy tone, matching the classically tall, dark and handsome looks of the man who spoke. He carefully studied her, taking in every single gesture, movement and shift in her pale face.
“Yet, permit me to stand on ceremony and introduce myself nonetheless.” He affirmed, once more presenting his enthrallingly deep voice amongst the gathered group. “I am Damocles of Magnemea, Captain of the Damned, at your humble service.” Introduced the silver-eyed man with smoothness and clarity that did not disclose his inner thoughts and machinations. "Though, perhaps you know me by my epithet: Damocles the Terrible, a most exaggerated title I warrant you." he opted to address as a means to see if that perhaps aligned some recollection in the woman. He knew that his name was often spoken about around Court, both in good and bad ways. And yet, he did not often care for the opinions of those that barely were worth their own weight in shit.“And, before you graced us with you presence, My Lady, Lord Mihail and I were merely exchanging some friendly pleasantries between us.”
He had lain our his stack of words for now, offering the mysterious woman all the opportunities to address him as she saw fit. Naturally, he expected she would reply back to him in some regard, but he was not going to get his hopes up. Just as he knew that the woman could address him in proper fashion, so too was he aware that she could just receive him with a cold reception and put an end to their interactions. He knew that such an outcome was possible, but it would be insolent of him to hold too much of himself still. And yet, he figured a way to properly intrigue the woman before him. “In fact, I was just about to offer Lord Mihail my help and protection if he so wished it so in this upcoming battle. My soldiers and I have never lost a single battle. I trust that His Lordship is skilled enough to fend for himself. Alas, it is always good to have friends to possibly count upon if needed, especially in war." surprisingly proposed Damocles between his pleasant, brotherly smiles as he turned his gaze to that dark-haired boy before raising up his eyes once more to the lady of Thanasi. And with that, he turned the tone of the discussion to the woman, leaving her to determine wherefore the direction of such discourse would go.
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Upon perceiving what could only be considered as subdued eagerness in the younger man’s dark eyes, Damocles released a subdued, chagrined smile that fell upon the impasse between resigned apathy, unwavering solemnity and quiet, but discernible self-confidence. His transmission and communication had been firm and unshakably authoritative, like the words of a medic before an willing patient that had to obey no matter the circumstance. His intense, grey eyes declared a silent decree to the black-haired boy, as if he were a soldier in his grand unit, hinting at the commanding air of tenebrous authority that the Captain of the Damned was reputed to exert upon others whenever he felt like it. He wanted it to be abundantly clear that what the young Thanasi was holding was not a toy, but a deadly weapon capable of making veteran soldiers wither away in anguished agony in a matter of hours.
Beneath the pressurized confidence that Damocles exercised, existed an unspoken reason that he had expertly crafted in advance. The fact of the matter was that the silver-eyed man did not really particularly care for Mihail, only the name that was attached to him. Amongst the members of the court it was more than well-known that between those who sought to displace the Kotas, that bloodline was fiercest still. Their numbers might not have been great or large, but Damocles knew firsthand of the power of ambition and determination. It was that very combination which had gotten him as far as he had gone. Besides, given their recent proximity to the throne, it would not be in bad taste to keep close to those who shared unspoken common interest with him. And that proximity could mean greater opportunity still whenever it was time to reap the fruits of his labor.
He was sure that a bloodline that small admonished the very idea of losing one of their own. It would be most disastrous if any ill befell the scions of the Thanasi when they had poised themselves so closely to the crown. Had he had his way, he would feign amity and pretend to care for the boy, lavishing upon him all the security and defense he could garner so as to gain praise and quite possibly enough backing for an overdue promotion. Alas, such a thing would require a living and safe Thanasi, and Gods knew Mihail could not be counted upon to defend himself, much less come out of a war alive and well. Furthermore, despite their shared commander in the form of Vangelis, that boy would be assigned to Megaris, not Magnemea, limiting his ability to protect and safeguard him. Hence, his gift of poison. Whilst he could not protect the boy from his enemies and himself, at least he could try and make sure he would try and stay alive by means of the extra lethality that Damocles granted the boy. At least that way there was a greater chance he would come out alive yet. After all, if their brother did fall, that family of snakes and vipers would not look upon him with quite exactly the level of fondness and gratitude he was expecting.
Of course, he had predicted that mayhaps the youth might use the poison to advance his wayward self-interest and egotistical desires, a set of variable that always needed to be taken into account when dealing with such a lethal weapon. As he mentioned, he had reserved the antidote for himself and kept it hidden amongst his possessions. He doubted that the youth would be foolish enough to actually use the venomous substance for nefarious deeds against the Greeks, but one could never be too sure. He would rather keep his distance from this whole endeavor if it all turned down south. The boy was only a means to an ends, nothing more, nothing less. If he had gone up and fucked-upped his life through his own choices, he would not cry any tears for him. Besides, it was common knowledge that his family were the best poisoners in the realm. Contrastingly, Damocles did not know anything about poison-making. If all else failed, he would not think twice about blaming that den of vipers for their little brother's foolishness.
Once he felt it was right and proper to leave the youth free with his false venom, the towering man grinned at the other in a warmly fraternal manner that contrasted somewhat with the coldness he had channeled momentarily. He did not particularly care whatever did the youth do with his small sliver of poison, but he would not try rein the Thanasi into his control. The best puppets were always the ones that thought they had no strings attached to them after all. He would let this child wonder about as he wished, annoy whomever he desired and leave him to let his own devious machinations ebb and flow as he saw fit. He was not his father or his brother, though he often attempted to satisfy that role with the expected mummery of fraternal tenderness. If Mihail wanted to piss off an officer of high rank, he would attempt to interfere and quell the situation. But, otherwise, there was little point in keeping a tight grip on that royal.
“Unlike silver-eyes here, I don’t have much to offer you, your Grace, but you are more than welcomed at my bed, pretty boy…” Continued to flirt Lysandros as per Damocles’ instructions to seduce the boy as much as possible. Just because he himself wasn’t keeping a close hand by Mihail didn’t mean he wasn’t exactly going to have him spy-less across the entire war. “Lysandros! That is Lord Mihail of Thanasi! Behave yourself at once!” pretendingly, though convincingly, chastised the olive-skinned man against the faux salaciousness of his chief lieutenant. By all means, no detectable trickery had been apparent between the two friends, with their interactions seemingly performing as naturally and organically as anticipated. “Fine…you are welcomed at my bed, Your Grace!” smarmily corrected the strapping blond as he laughed boisterously.
In that moment another figure approached the contemplating trio. Instantly, Damocles was struck by the feminine figure that aloofly tendered her sharp, calculated steps at the direction of Mihail. To him, she was a flawless beauty, behold to a voluptuous, sensual and dark regality that few women had ever emanated with ease and grace. Her features clearly betrayed her bloodline, manifesting the quintessential traits of the Thanasi; what with her lavish, luscious curls of black, her lithe, graceful figure and her dramatic, sapphire-blue eyes that were highlighted by the rim of the kohl she wore. And yet, whilst he could make an educated guess and boldly presume that she was indeed a scion of that bloodline, the silver-eyed man could not conclude exactly who she was, leaving such aspect as a mystery he was determined to investigate.
Despite, once, being unaccustomed to the intricacies of body language, Damocles had long-learned from his time in Midas how to behave and present himself in proper fashion. His broad, powerful shoulders were pushed-back, his spine was straight and his features were relaxed, causing the furrows on his brow to dissipate in place of what could be considered a cordially soft smile. Yet, he knew better than to appear overly-excited amongst the ladies of royalty, thus, he checked-and-balanced his relaxed, welcoming demeanor with the confidence of his posture and channeled a magnetic pull around his intense, silver spheres, directly meeting her own blue eyes with his own so as to project an assertive, yet inviting, air of casual elegance.
Still, one did not speak to royal ladies in such a disrespectfully swift manner as he often did. Thus, before breaking words with the woman, Damocles bowed his head in accordance to the social convention and then resumed to stare at her eyes with the same casual elegance he had exercised before. “Certainly not, My Lady of Thanasi.” Acknowledged the brawny militant, using the proper form of address so as to appeal to the decorum of proper etiquette. He had apparently been correct in his assessment, seeing as the regal woman had called Mihail her ‘little brother’. His voice held fast to its traditionally enticing, but sonorously raspy tone, matching the classically tall, dark and handsome looks of the man who spoke. He carefully studied her, taking in every single gesture, movement and shift in her pale face.
“Yet, permit me to stand on ceremony and introduce myself nonetheless.” He affirmed, once more presenting his enthrallingly deep voice amongst the gathered group. “I am Damocles of Magnemea, Captain of the Damned, at your humble service.” Introduced the silver-eyed man with smoothness and clarity that did not disclose his inner thoughts and machinations. "Though, perhaps you know me by my epithet: Damocles the Terrible, a most exaggerated title I warrant you." he opted to address as a means to see if that perhaps aligned some recollection in the woman. He knew that his name was often spoken about around Court, both in good and bad ways. And yet, he did not often care for the opinions of those that barely were worth their own weight in shit.“And, before you graced us with you presence, My Lady, Lord Mihail and I were merely exchanging some friendly pleasantries between us.”
He had lain our his stack of words for now, offering the mysterious woman all the opportunities to address him as she saw fit. Naturally, he expected she would reply back to him in some regard, but he was not going to get his hopes up. Just as he knew that the woman could address him in proper fashion, so too was he aware that she could just receive him with a cold reception and put an end to their interactions. He knew that such an outcome was possible, but it would be insolent of him to hold too much of himself still. And yet, he figured a way to properly intrigue the woman before him. “In fact, I was just about to offer Lord Mihail my help and protection if he so wished it so in this upcoming battle. My soldiers and I have never lost a single battle. I trust that His Lordship is skilled enough to fend for himself. Alas, it is always good to have friends to possibly count upon if needed, especially in war." surprisingly proposed Damocles between his pleasant, brotherly smiles as he turned his gaze to that dark-haired boy before raising up his eyes once more to the lady of Thanasi. And with that, he turned the tone of the discussion to the woman, leaving her to determine wherefore the direction of such discourse would go.
Upon perceiving what could only be considered as subdued eagerness in the younger man’s dark eyes, Damocles released a subdued, chagrined smile that fell upon the impasse between resigned apathy, unwavering solemnity and quiet, but discernible self-confidence. His transmission and communication had been firm and unshakably authoritative, like the words of a medic before an willing patient that had to obey no matter the circumstance. His intense, grey eyes declared a silent decree to the black-haired boy, as if he were a soldier in his grand unit, hinting at the commanding air of tenebrous authority that the Captain of the Damned was reputed to exert upon others whenever he felt like it. He wanted it to be abundantly clear that what the young Thanasi was holding was not a toy, but a deadly weapon capable of making veteran soldiers wither away in anguished agony in a matter of hours.
Beneath the pressurized confidence that Damocles exercised, existed an unspoken reason that he had expertly crafted in advance. The fact of the matter was that the silver-eyed man did not really particularly care for Mihail, only the name that was attached to him. Amongst the members of the court it was more than well-known that between those who sought to displace the Kotas, that bloodline was fiercest still. Their numbers might not have been great or large, but Damocles knew firsthand of the power of ambition and determination. It was that very combination which had gotten him as far as he had gone. Besides, given their recent proximity to the throne, it would not be in bad taste to keep close to those who shared unspoken common interest with him. And that proximity could mean greater opportunity still whenever it was time to reap the fruits of his labor.
He was sure that a bloodline that small admonished the very idea of losing one of their own. It would be most disastrous if any ill befell the scions of the Thanasi when they had poised themselves so closely to the crown. Had he had his way, he would feign amity and pretend to care for the boy, lavishing upon him all the security and defense he could garner so as to gain praise and quite possibly enough backing for an overdue promotion. Alas, such a thing would require a living and safe Thanasi, and Gods knew Mihail could not be counted upon to defend himself, much less come out of a war alive and well. Furthermore, despite their shared commander in the form of Vangelis, that boy would be assigned to Megaris, not Magnemea, limiting his ability to protect and safeguard him. Hence, his gift of poison. Whilst he could not protect the boy from his enemies and himself, at least he could try and make sure he would try and stay alive by means of the extra lethality that Damocles granted the boy. At least that way there was a greater chance he would come out alive yet. After all, if their brother did fall, that family of snakes and vipers would not look upon him with quite exactly the level of fondness and gratitude he was expecting.
Of course, he had predicted that mayhaps the youth might use the poison to advance his wayward self-interest and egotistical desires, a set of variable that always needed to be taken into account when dealing with such a lethal weapon. As he mentioned, he had reserved the antidote for himself and kept it hidden amongst his possessions. He doubted that the youth would be foolish enough to actually use the venomous substance for nefarious deeds against the Greeks, but one could never be too sure. He would rather keep his distance from this whole endeavor if it all turned down south. The boy was only a means to an ends, nothing more, nothing less. If he had gone up and fucked-upped his life through his own choices, he would not cry any tears for him. Besides, it was common knowledge that his family were the best poisoners in the realm. Contrastingly, Damocles did not know anything about poison-making. If all else failed, he would not think twice about blaming that den of vipers for their little brother's foolishness.
Once he felt it was right and proper to leave the youth free with his false venom, the towering man grinned at the other in a warmly fraternal manner that contrasted somewhat with the coldness he had channeled momentarily. He did not particularly care whatever did the youth do with his small sliver of poison, but he would not try rein the Thanasi into his control. The best puppets were always the ones that thought they had no strings attached to them after all. He would let this child wonder about as he wished, annoy whomever he desired and leave him to let his own devious machinations ebb and flow as he saw fit. He was not his father or his brother, though he often attempted to satisfy that role with the expected mummery of fraternal tenderness. If Mihail wanted to piss off an officer of high rank, he would attempt to interfere and quell the situation. But, otherwise, there was little point in keeping a tight grip on that royal.
“Unlike silver-eyes here, I don’t have much to offer you, your Grace, but you are more than welcomed at my bed, pretty boy…” Continued to flirt Lysandros as per Damocles’ instructions to seduce the boy as much as possible. Just because he himself wasn’t keeping a close hand by Mihail didn’t mean he wasn’t exactly going to have him spy-less across the entire war. “Lysandros! That is Lord Mihail of Thanasi! Behave yourself at once!” pretendingly, though convincingly, chastised the olive-skinned man against the faux salaciousness of his chief lieutenant. By all means, no detectable trickery had been apparent between the two friends, with their interactions seemingly performing as naturally and organically as anticipated. “Fine…you are welcomed at my bed, Your Grace!” smarmily corrected the strapping blond as he laughed boisterously.
In that moment another figure approached the contemplating trio. Instantly, Damocles was struck by the feminine figure that aloofly tendered her sharp, calculated steps at the direction of Mihail. To him, she was a flawless beauty, behold to a voluptuous, sensual and dark regality that few women had ever emanated with ease and grace. Her features clearly betrayed her bloodline, manifesting the quintessential traits of the Thanasi; what with her lavish, luscious curls of black, her lithe, graceful figure and her dramatic, sapphire-blue eyes that were highlighted by the rim of the kohl she wore. And yet, whilst he could make an educated guess and boldly presume that she was indeed a scion of that bloodline, the silver-eyed man could not conclude exactly who she was, leaving such aspect as a mystery he was determined to investigate.
Despite, once, being unaccustomed to the intricacies of body language, Damocles had long-learned from his time in Midas how to behave and present himself in proper fashion. His broad, powerful shoulders were pushed-back, his spine was straight and his features were relaxed, causing the furrows on his brow to dissipate in place of what could be considered a cordially soft smile. Yet, he knew better than to appear overly-excited amongst the ladies of royalty, thus, he checked-and-balanced his relaxed, welcoming demeanor with the confidence of his posture and channeled a magnetic pull around his intense, silver spheres, directly meeting her own blue eyes with his own so as to project an assertive, yet inviting, air of casual elegance.
Still, one did not speak to royal ladies in such a disrespectfully swift manner as he often did. Thus, before breaking words with the woman, Damocles bowed his head in accordance to the social convention and then resumed to stare at her eyes with the same casual elegance he had exercised before. “Certainly not, My Lady of Thanasi.” Acknowledged the brawny militant, using the proper form of address so as to appeal to the decorum of proper etiquette. He had apparently been correct in his assessment, seeing as the regal woman had called Mihail her ‘little brother’. His voice held fast to its traditionally enticing, but sonorously raspy tone, matching the classically tall, dark and handsome looks of the man who spoke. He carefully studied her, taking in every single gesture, movement and shift in her pale face.
“Yet, permit me to stand on ceremony and introduce myself nonetheless.” He affirmed, once more presenting his enthrallingly deep voice amongst the gathered group. “I am Damocles of Magnemea, Captain of the Damned, at your humble service.” Introduced the silver-eyed man with smoothness and clarity that did not disclose his inner thoughts and machinations. "Though, perhaps you know me by my epithet: Damocles the Terrible, a most exaggerated title I warrant you." he opted to address as a means to see if that perhaps aligned some recollection in the woman. He knew that his name was often spoken about around Court, both in good and bad ways. And yet, he did not often care for the opinions of those that barely were worth their own weight in shit.“And, before you graced us with you presence, My Lady, Lord Mihail and I were merely exchanging some friendly pleasantries between us.”
He had lain our his stack of words for now, offering the mysterious woman all the opportunities to address him as she saw fit. Naturally, he expected she would reply back to him in some regard, but he was not going to get his hopes up. Just as he knew that the woman could address him in proper fashion, so too was he aware that she could just receive him with a cold reception and put an end to their interactions. He knew that such an outcome was possible, but it would be insolent of him to hold too much of himself still. And yet, he figured a way to properly intrigue the woman before him. “In fact, I was just about to offer Lord Mihail my help and protection if he so wished it so in this upcoming battle. My soldiers and I have never lost a single battle. I trust that His Lordship is skilled enough to fend for himself. Alas, it is always good to have friends to possibly count upon if needed, especially in war." surprisingly proposed Damocles between his pleasant, brotherly smiles as he turned his gaze to that dark-haired boy before raising up his eyes once more to the lady of Thanasi. And with that, he turned the tone of the discussion to the woman, leaving her to determine wherefore the direction of such discourse would go.
When Vangelis arrived at what was essentially the preparations for battle, he felt his entire being relax. An odd reaction perhaps for many, given that a large number of the men he now surveyed would be sailing to their deaths but it was simply how his experience and life had wired his mind and personality. It didn’t matter that, regardless of any genius in leadership, all wars brought a death toll, periods of hunger, tension, danger and excessive fear. It didn’t matter that he would be bringing home a number of names to inform grieving families and widows of the loss of their husbands, brothers and sons. Whilst he could never claim to enjoy such duties as the leader of his armies, Vangelis still could not cease the feeling of great comfort that he took from stepping into the world of militia once more.
Having spent the last few months either bedbound from injury or playing his role as a prince and noble, Vangelis could not help the satisfaction he felt in returning to what he was good at. No women here to try to interpret and understand, no duties of fatherhood and responsibilities as a son, no courtly politics or wicked turns of revelation. He didn’t have to adapt or interpret, pander or flatter. Instead, he could simply be as he was, with the knowledge that he had, give the orders that he saw fit and witness them carried out. A simple action and consequence. It was the simplicity that he loved so – the ease and confidence with which he knew cause and effect would occur. And if all went as he viewed it, victory with the least loss of life would be possible.
It was this confidence and assurance of his efforts – the trust within his Gods – that saw him relaxed when he arrived at the docklands and the processions of men that bid goodbye to their loved ones and steadily trickled into the waiting ships, already heavy with the cargo and requirements for so large an envoy voyage.
Looking around, Vangelis spotted his friend and now fellow Commander Stephanos bidding goodbye to his wife and child and quickly looked away, not wanting to analyse too closely the emotion that curled a little in his chest. Instead, he glanced in the opposite direction in time to catch Nike ordering Silanos around, ensuring that he completed his duties to high standard. The woman had shawn her hair off once more and looked all the more masculine for it, her claymore large and imposing upon her back. He wasn’t sure he agreed with her decision to leave behind her longsword, just in case she got herself into a situation where such a large weapon was cumbersome but he also wasn’t one to tell her what to do, despite the care he took in her safety. They were each experienced in the way that war worked and they needed to trust in their own judgements else blame and resentment bloomed over dangers or injuries.
Close enough to hear Silanos’ snide comment towards Nike about having no-one to bid goodbye, Vangelis called from where he stood just a few feet behind the Valaoritis lord.
“It tends to happen when you fight for as long as we do, Silanos.” He commented, without sorrow but with a deadly tone. “Most of the men Nike and I might have bid goodbye to as brothers are dead. Follow his orders and you might not be one of them.”
Leaving the boy to ponder on such a consideration, Vangelis shouldered his ceremonial spear and headed down towards the coastline, parting the crowds of soldiers like stories from Egypt had spoke of the parting of seas. As the men did so, it was easy for Vangelis to spot his own family.
Heading in their direction, for he knew he would not escape an emotional parting at least from his mother, Vangelis paused only momentarily when Master Magnus approached and assured him of his continued investigations. He had left two very significant duties to the man. One was to inspect the tunnels that led from the new loutra to beneath the Halls of the Gods and Royal Treasury. The other was to continue the investigation into Vangelis’ poisoning, alongside his brother Zanon. The man was one of the few people in the world that Vangelis trusted implicitly to be autonomous in his efforts.
“You have my faith, Master Magnus.” He assured the man with a nod and the clapping of a hand upon his shoulder. Which, from Vangelis, was perhaps the greatest expression of trust that he was able to give. With a nod of thanks at the man’s blessing upon the voyage, Vangelis continued on his way to meet with his family. So many of them would be travelling with him – his father included, despite the fact that Tython had made it clear that Vangelis was to be the highest authority upon this campaign. But there were still members of it that he would be bidding farewell; his mother and sister included. The former being his first stop for such, potentially final, words…
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When Vangelis arrived at what was essentially the preparations for battle, he felt his entire being relax. An odd reaction perhaps for many, given that a large number of the men he now surveyed would be sailing to their deaths but it was simply how his experience and life had wired his mind and personality. It didn’t matter that, regardless of any genius in leadership, all wars brought a death toll, periods of hunger, tension, danger and excessive fear. It didn’t matter that he would be bringing home a number of names to inform grieving families and widows of the loss of their husbands, brothers and sons. Whilst he could never claim to enjoy such duties as the leader of his armies, Vangelis still could not cease the feeling of great comfort that he took from stepping into the world of militia once more.
Having spent the last few months either bedbound from injury or playing his role as a prince and noble, Vangelis could not help the satisfaction he felt in returning to what he was good at. No women here to try to interpret and understand, no duties of fatherhood and responsibilities as a son, no courtly politics or wicked turns of revelation. He didn’t have to adapt or interpret, pander or flatter. Instead, he could simply be as he was, with the knowledge that he had, give the orders that he saw fit and witness them carried out. A simple action and consequence. It was the simplicity that he loved so – the ease and confidence with which he knew cause and effect would occur. And if all went as he viewed it, victory with the least loss of life would be possible.
It was this confidence and assurance of his efforts – the trust within his Gods – that saw him relaxed when he arrived at the docklands and the processions of men that bid goodbye to their loved ones and steadily trickled into the waiting ships, already heavy with the cargo and requirements for so large an envoy voyage.
Looking around, Vangelis spotted his friend and now fellow Commander Stephanos bidding goodbye to his wife and child and quickly looked away, not wanting to analyse too closely the emotion that curled a little in his chest. Instead, he glanced in the opposite direction in time to catch Nike ordering Silanos around, ensuring that he completed his duties to high standard. The woman had shawn her hair off once more and looked all the more masculine for it, her claymore large and imposing upon her back. He wasn’t sure he agreed with her decision to leave behind her longsword, just in case she got herself into a situation where such a large weapon was cumbersome but he also wasn’t one to tell her what to do, despite the care he took in her safety. They were each experienced in the way that war worked and they needed to trust in their own judgements else blame and resentment bloomed over dangers or injuries.
Close enough to hear Silanos’ snide comment towards Nike about having no-one to bid goodbye, Vangelis called from where he stood just a few feet behind the Valaoritis lord.
“It tends to happen when you fight for as long as we do, Silanos.” He commented, without sorrow but with a deadly tone. “Most of the men Nike and I might have bid goodbye to as brothers are dead. Follow his orders and you might not be one of them.”
Leaving the boy to ponder on such a consideration, Vangelis shouldered his ceremonial spear and headed down towards the coastline, parting the crowds of soldiers like stories from Egypt had spoke of the parting of seas. As the men did so, it was easy for Vangelis to spot his own family.
Heading in their direction, for he knew he would not escape an emotional parting at least from his mother, Vangelis paused only momentarily when Master Magnus approached and assured him of his continued investigations. He had left two very significant duties to the man. One was to inspect the tunnels that led from the new loutra to beneath the Halls of the Gods and Royal Treasury. The other was to continue the investigation into Vangelis’ poisoning, alongside his brother Zanon. The man was one of the few people in the world that Vangelis trusted implicitly to be autonomous in his efforts.
“You have my faith, Master Magnus.” He assured the man with a nod and the clapping of a hand upon his shoulder. Which, from Vangelis, was perhaps the greatest expression of trust that he was able to give. With a nod of thanks at the man’s blessing upon the voyage, Vangelis continued on his way to meet with his family. So many of them would be travelling with him – his father included, despite the fact that Tython had made it clear that Vangelis was to be the highest authority upon this campaign. But there were still members of it that he would be bidding farewell; his mother and sister included. The former being his first stop for such, potentially final, words…
When Vangelis arrived at what was essentially the preparations for battle, he felt his entire being relax. An odd reaction perhaps for many, given that a large number of the men he now surveyed would be sailing to their deaths but it was simply how his experience and life had wired his mind and personality. It didn’t matter that, regardless of any genius in leadership, all wars brought a death toll, periods of hunger, tension, danger and excessive fear. It didn’t matter that he would be bringing home a number of names to inform grieving families and widows of the loss of their husbands, brothers and sons. Whilst he could never claim to enjoy such duties as the leader of his armies, Vangelis still could not cease the feeling of great comfort that he took from stepping into the world of militia once more.
Having spent the last few months either bedbound from injury or playing his role as a prince and noble, Vangelis could not help the satisfaction he felt in returning to what he was good at. No women here to try to interpret and understand, no duties of fatherhood and responsibilities as a son, no courtly politics or wicked turns of revelation. He didn’t have to adapt or interpret, pander or flatter. Instead, he could simply be as he was, with the knowledge that he had, give the orders that he saw fit and witness them carried out. A simple action and consequence. It was the simplicity that he loved so – the ease and confidence with which he knew cause and effect would occur. And if all went as he viewed it, victory with the least loss of life would be possible.
It was this confidence and assurance of his efforts – the trust within his Gods – that saw him relaxed when he arrived at the docklands and the processions of men that bid goodbye to their loved ones and steadily trickled into the waiting ships, already heavy with the cargo and requirements for so large an envoy voyage.
Looking around, Vangelis spotted his friend and now fellow Commander Stephanos bidding goodbye to his wife and child and quickly looked away, not wanting to analyse too closely the emotion that curled a little in his chest. Instead, he glanced in the opposite direction in time to catch Nike ordering Silanos around, ensuring that he completed his duties to high standard. The woman had shawn her hair off once more and looked all the more masculine for it, her claymore large and imposing upon her back. He wasn’t sure he agreed with her decision to leave behind her longsword, just in case she got herself into a situation where such a large weapon was cumbersome but he also wasn’t one to tell her what to do, despite the care he took in her safety. They were each experienced in the way that war worked and they needed to trust in their own judgements else blame and resentment bloomed over dangers or injuries.
Close enough to hear Silanos’ snide comment towards Nike about having no-one to bid goodbye, Vangelis called from where he stood just a few feet behind the Valaoritis lord.
“It tends to happen when you fight for as long as we do, Silanos.” He commented, without sorrow but with a deadly tone. “Most of the men Nike and I might have bid goodbye to as brothers are dead. Follow his orders and you might not be one of them.”
Leaving the boy to ponder on such a consideration, Vangelis shouldered his ceremonial spear and headed down towards the coastline, parting the crowds of soldiers like stories from Egypt had spoke of the parting of seas. As the men did so, it was easy for Vangelis to spot his own family.
Heading in their direction, for he knew he would not escape an emotional parting at least from his mother, Vangelis paused only momentarily when Master Magnus approached and assured him of his continued investigations. He had left two very significant duties to the man. One was to inspect the tunnels that led from the new loutra to beneath the Halls of the Gods and Royal Treasury. The other was to continue the investigation into Vangelis’ poisoning, alongside his brother Zanon. The man was one of the few people in the world that Vangelis trusted implicitly to be autonomous in his efforts.
“You have my faith, Master Magnus.” He assured the man with a nod and the clapping of a hand upon his shoulder. Which, from Vangelis, was perhaps the greatest expression of trust that he was able to give. With a nod of thanks at the man’s blessing upon the voyage, Vangelis continued on his way to meet with his family. So many of them would be travelling with him – his father included, despite the fact that Tython had made it clear that Vangelis was to be the highest authority upon this campaign. But there were still members of it that he would be bidding farewell; his mother and sister included. The former being his first stop for such, potentially final, words…
"Ah man! My back hurts!"
The sack of sand was putting pressure on Maximus' spinal cord. At first, Maximus attempted to carry the sack of sand and it was fine at first however the human body has its limits no matter how conditioned it may be. Hours of carrying the sack of sand while waving at civilians waving goodbye drained what strength Maximus had. After a while, his arms felt as though it was about to be remove from its sockets. Why oh why did Maximus come in late? It wasn't like him to be this.... distracted, Maximus could only surmise that he was nervous about the upcoming war. But like his father said, every green boy was nervous even him. Maximus is a lieutenant possibly the youngest in his family's history what an utter disgrace awkwardly rushing to command late for an inspection. How can the men take Maximus seriously into battle?! How can he gain glory in battle if he isn't prepared.
Well Nike made sure to remind Maximus of his duty, a sack full of sand was punishment enough in his mind it beat getting forty lashes. Maximus wondered though why the sand? What was the army going to use it for? Punishment? Or something else? He'll have to ask later but for now he might as well have the words: the fool imprinted on his forehead. It was best to leave the situation behind and forget this ever happened. The young man sighed he eventually readjusted his sack to fit back his other items are in the bottom deck it made things easier at first but soon his back was starting to break.
"I'll be a hunchback by the time we hit land," Maximus muttered to himself heading towards the starboard side. As he looked at the waving citizens of Colchis, the shame he felt transformed into pride. He had to think about this way, he'll be leaving Isle of Kotos a boy and returning as a man. Many Egyptians will fall to his spear, he'll lead many troops into battle and he'll explore exotic lands with his brothers from Athenia, Tangea and Colchis. Who knows? Maybe Maximus will find his roots in Egypt it is in Africa after all.
He also thought about Nethis and the possibility about getting her a Cat in Egypt. Maximus was pessimistic about Nethis getting his letter much less reading it. Despite the adventures they had, Nethis still somewhat kept her distance from Maximus. That still didn't stopped him from trying to get a letter to the woman after writing letters to his best friends: Basil and Adelpha. Maximus just couldn't help but think about her: The Thanasi Witch, she wore it with pride and used it to scare other people. In a way Maximus wondered if Nethis could go as well: Her cold stare can single handedly stop an army in their tracks.
As Maximus lumbered around, he carefully avoided Nike barking orders again while bumping into a fellow soldier. "Oh sorry!" Maximus said embarrassingly as grains of sand landed onto the boy's feet. "Oh Ares no! Argh!"
Maximus hurriedly cleaned all the grains of sand next to the boys feet. "Sorry!" Maximus said to the boy. "I'm forced to carry this sack of sand on my back! Punishment for being late for inspection!"
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"Ah man! My back hurts!"
The sack of sand was putting pressure on Maximus' spinal cord. At first, Maximus attempted to carry the sack of sand and it was fine at first however the human body has its limits no matter how conditioned it may be. Hours of carrying the sack of sand while waving at civilians waving goodbye drained what strength Maximus had. After a while, his arms felt as though it was about to be remove from its sockets. Why oh why did Maximus come in late? It wasn't like him to be this.... distracted, Maximus could only surmise that he was nervous about the upcoming war. But like his father said, every green boy was nervous even him. Maximus is a lieutenant possibly the youngest in his family's history what an utter disgrace awkwardly rushing to command late for an inspection. How can the men take Maximus seriously into battle?! How can he gain glory in battle if he isn't prepared.
Well Nike made sure to remind Maximus of his duty, a sack full of sand was punishment enough in his mind it beat getting forty lashes. Maximus wondered though why the sand? What was the army going to use it for? Punishment? Or something else? He'll have to ask later but for now he might as well have the words: the fool imprinted on his forehead. It was best to leave the situation behind and forget this ever happened. The young man sighed he eventually readjusted his sack to fit back his other items are in the bottom deck it made things easier at first but soon his back was starting to break.
"I'll be a hunchback by the time we hit land," Maximus muttered to himself heading towards the starboard side. As he looked at the waving citizens of Colchis, the shame he felt transformed into pride. He had to think about this way, he'll be leaving Isle of Kotos a boy and returning as a man. Many Egyptians will fall to his spear, he'll lead many troops into battle and he'll explore exotic lands with his brothers from Athenia, Tangea and Colchis. Who knows? Maybe Maximus will find his roots in Egypt it is in Africa after all.
He also thought about Nethis and the possibility about getting her a Cat in Egypt. Maximus was pessimistic about Nethis getting his letter much less reading it. Despite the adventures they had, Nethis still somewhat kept her distance from Maximus. That still didn't stopped him from trying to get a letter to the woman after writing letters to his best friends: Basil and Adelpha. Maximus just couldn't help but think about her: The Thanasi Witch, she wore it with pride and used it to scare other people. In a way Maximus wondered if Nethis could go as well: Her cold stare can single handedly stop an army in their tracks.
As Maximus lumbered around, he carefully avoided Nike barking orders again while bumping into a fellow soldier. "Oh sorry!" Maximus said embarrassingly as grains of sand landed onto the boy's feet. "Oh Ares no! Argh!"
Maximus hurriedly cleaned all the grains of sand next to the boys feet. "Sorry!" Maximus said to the boy. "I'm forced to carry this sack of sand on my back! Punishment for being late for inspection!"
"Ah man! My back hurts!"
The sack of sand was putting pressure on Maximus' spinal cord. At first, Maximus attempted to carry the sack of sand and it was fine at first however the human body has its limits no matter how conditioned it may be. Hours of carrying the sack of sand while waving at civilians waving goodbye drained what strength Maximus had. After a while, his arms felt as though it was about to be remove from its sockets. Why oh why did Maximus come in late? It wasn't like him to be this.... distracted, Maximus could only surmise that he was nervous about the upcoming war. But like his father said, every green boy was nervous even him. Maximus is a lieutenant possibly the youngest in his family's history what an utter disgrace awkwardly rushing to command late for an inspection. How can the men take Maximus seriously into battle?! How can he gain glory in battle if he isn't prepared.
Well Nike made sure to remind Maximus of his duty, a sack full of sand was punishment enough in his mind it beat getting forty lashes. Maximus wondered though why the sand? What was the army going to use it for? Punishment? Or something else? He'll have to ask later but for now he might as well have the words: the fool imprinted on his forehead. It was best to leave the situation behind and forget this ever happened. The young man sighed he eventually readjusted his sack to fit back his other items are in the bottom deck it made things easier at first but soon his back was starting to break.
"I'll be a hunchback by the time we hit land," Maximus muttered to himself heading towards the starboard side. As he looked at the waving citizens of Colchis, the shame he felt transformed into pride. He had to think about this way, he'll be leaving Isle of Kotos a boy and returning as a man. Many Egyptians will fall to his spear, he'll lead many troops into battle and he'll explore exotic lands with his brothers from Athenia, Tangea and Colchis. Who knows? Maybe Maximus will find his roots in Egypt it is in Africa after all.
He also thought about Nethis and the possibility about getting her a Cat in Egypt. Maximus was pessimistic about Nethis getting his letter much less reading it. Despite the adventures they had, Nethis still somewhat kept her distance from Maximus. That still didn't stopped him from trying to get a letter to the woman after writing letters to his best friends: Basil and Adelpha. Maximus just couldn't help but think about her: The Thanasi Witch, she wore it with pride and used it to scare other people. In a way Maximus wondered if Nethis could go as well: Her cold stare can single handedly stop an army in their tracks.
As Maximus lumbered around, he carefully avoided Nike barking orders again while bumping into a fellow soldier. "Oh sorry!" Maximus said embarrassingly as grains of sand landed onto the boy's feet. "Oh Ares no! Argh!"
Maximus hurriedly cleaned all the grains of sand next to the boys feet. "Sorry!" Maximus said to the boy. "I'm forced to carry this sack of sand on my back! Punishment for being late for inspection!"
Nike had long since come to terms, and indeed relish the fact that she had little to no familial connection. It was why the woman thrived in the brotherhood she built within the military, and why she felt far more at home out there on the Ares's dancefloor, then she did stuck and cooped up in a house in Midas. In truth, Nike had only purchased her residence in the Colchian capitol out of necessity, after being chided one too many times for perpetually taking up residence in an inn like a nomad without a home.
So really, Silanos's little attempt at spite flew past Nike's head, and she merely raised a brow at her young charge. The woman would've dug into the young male to show him what it meant to respect and have some sense of dignity about him to stoop that low, but it would appear she did not have to, for Vangelis appeared soon enough and seemed to have heard every word out of the young Valaoritis's mouth.
The corners of her mouth quirked upwards at the crown prince's deadly serious tone. There was truth to his words, of course. Nike had seen death far more then Silanos could probably imagine, that she was quite immune to it by now. Sure, she grew attached to the men she fought side by side with, but in the heat of a battle, she had no time to grieve, or she would be the one being grieved over soon enough.
Flashing her general a grim smirk that only a pair of comrades who had fought together for as long as they had could share, the woman was quick to return her attention to Silanos with a raised brow. "Would you like to join my brothers of past, my lord? I would gladly grant you passage." she murmured as if actually wanting to help him, and intentionally using his formal title to drive her point in harder.
In the capitol, in court, Silanos may hold clout. The younger brother of a baron, a name with a noble house tacked behind it, his rank was far beyond Nike's with only a commander and a common-born background. But in the battlefield, whether you be a prince or a lord mattered naught to Thanatos and Hades, for it would be skill and wit that kept one out of the Underworld and the grasps of death itself. Her duty was to make sure all of her men came back alive, and to do that they required discipline and hard work, all of which Nike was trying to hammer into their heads with very little time given to her.
"Lets go, Silanos." Without another look at the lord, for she expected he to follow her, the woman began her way towards the ships which her men would board, and to set sail to Egypt. As she walked, her men who had been visiting their family scurried once they saw their Commander headed to the ship. It was sign enough that the time for goodbye's was over for her unit - Nike was a tough taskmaster, and her men had learned well as they scurried after their Commander boarding the ship.
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Nike had long since come to terms, and indeed relish the fact that she had little to no familial connection. It was why the woman thrived in the brotherhood she built within the military, and why she felt far more at home out there on the Ares's dancefloor, then she did stuck and cooped up in a house in Midas. In truth, Nike had only purchased her residence in the Colchian capitol out of necessity, after being chided one too many times for perpetually taking up residence in an inn like a nomad without a home.
So really, Silanos's little attempt at spite flew past Nike's head, and she merely raised a brow at her young charge. The woman would've dug into the young male to show him what it meant to respect and have some sense of dignity about him to stoop that low, but it would appear she did not have to, for Vangelis appeared soon enough and seemed to have heard every word out of the young Valaoritis's mouth.
The corners of her mouth quirked upwards at the crown prince's deadly serious tone. There was truth to his words, of course. Nike had seen death far more then Silanos could probably imagine, that she was quite immune to it by now. Sure, she grew attached to the men she fought side by side with, but in the heat of a battle, she had no time to grieve, or she would be the one being grieved over soon enough.
Flashing her general a grim smirk that only a pair of comrades who had fought together for as long as they had could share, the woman was quick to return her attention to Silanos with a raised brow. "Would you like to join my brothers of past, my lord? I would gladly grant you passage." she murmured as if actually wanting to help him, and intentionally using his formal title to drive her point in harder.
In the capitol, in court, Silanos may hold clout. The younger brother of a baron, a name with a noble house tacked behind it, his rank was far beyond Nike's with only a commander and a common-born background. But in the battlefield, whether you be a prince or a lord mattered naught to Thanatos and Hades, for it would be skill and wit that kept one out of the Underworld and the grasps of death itself. Her duty was to make sure all of her men came back alive, and to do that they required discipline and hard work, all of which Nike was trying to hammer into their heads with very little time given to her.
"Lets go, Silanos." Without another look at the lord, for she expected he to follow her, the woman began her way towards the ships which her men would board, and to set sail to Egypt. As she walked, her men who had been visiting their family scurried once they saw their Commander headed to the ship. It was sign enough that the time for goodbye's was over for her unit - Nike was a tough taskmaster, and her men had learned well as they scurried after their Commander boarding the ship.
Nike had long since come to terms, and indeed relish the fact that she had little to no familial connection. It was why the woman thrived in the brotherhood she built within the military, and why she felt far more at home out there on the Ares's dancefloor, then she did stuck and cooped up in a house in Midas. In truth, Nike had only purchased her residence in the Colchian capitol out of necessity, after being chided one too many times for perpetually taking up residence in an inn like a nomad without a home.
So really, Silanos's little attempt at spite flew past Nike's head, and she merely raised a brow at her young charge. The woman would've dug into the young male to show him what it meant to respect and have some sense of dignity about him to stoop that low, but it would appear she did not have to, for Vangelis appeared soon enough and seemed to have heard every word out of the young Valaoritis's mouth.
The corners of her mouth quirked upwards at the crown prince's deadly serious tone. There was truth to his words, of course. Nike had seen death far more then Silanos could probably imagine, that she was quite immune to it by now. Sure, she grew attached to the men she fought side by side with, but in the heat of a battle, she had no time to grieve, or she would be the one being grieved over soon enough.
Flashing her general a grim smirk that only a pair of comrades who had fought together for as long as they had could share, the woman was quick to return her attention to Silanos with a raised brow. "Would you like to join my brothers of past, my lord? I would gladly grant you passage." she murmured as if actually wanting to help him, and intentionally using his formal title to drive her point in harder.
In the capitol, in court, Silanos may hold clout. The younger brother of a baron, a name with a noble house tacked behind it, his rank was far beyond Nike's with only a commander and a common-born background. But in the battlefield, whether you be a prince or a lord mattered naught to Thanatos and Hades, for it would be skill and wit that kept one out of the Underworld and the grasps of death itself. Her duty was to make sure all of her men came back alive, and to do that they required discipline and hard work, all of which Nike was trying to hammer into their heads with very little time given to her.
"Lets go, Silanos." Without another look at the lord, for she expected he to follow her, the woman began her way towards the ships which her men would board, and to set sail to Egypt. As she walked, her men who had been visiting their family scurried once they saw their Commander headed to the ship. It was sign enough that the time for goodbye's was over for her unit - Nike was a tough taskmaster, and her men had learned well as they scurried after their Commander boarding the ship.
Nana didn't want to believe that this was happening. That as soon as she'd gotten over her stupid pride and reconciled with Timaeus, he was to go to war. It almost seemed that her luck was cursed, a fact that made the girl almost want to stay home. What if her well-wishes for her paramour only served to cause him harm in battle?
Though even with worries clouding her mind, she couldn't keep herself from going. She could not just let Timaeus go off to war without a proper goodbye. And seeing as it would be quite a while before she had any chance to see him again, she needed to make her final moments with him count.
It was for this reason that she put a great deal of thought into her attire, donning a deep teal chiton reminiscent of her homeland's symbol, and adorning herself with less finery than usual - only a few rings and her Leventi pendant. Her hair she'd left down, save for a few tresses pinned back by her face. For that was what really mattered. She didn't care if he remembered her dress or her jewelry; she wanted him to remember her face.
Arriving at the beach with her family, Nana waited patiently up the shore of the warships, almost set to sail, looking out among the crowd of soldiers saying their goodbyes for hers. It took her a few moments, but she eventually spotted him among a small crowd of people, holding a woman who she could only assume to be his mother - a woman of middling age who, after Nana got a better look at, seemed... fatigued. Nana felt a sinking feeling in her stomach as the thoughts she'd been trying to fight off of her own account came out in seeing the mother and son say what could be their last goodbye. What if Timaeus did not return from battle? Nana had not stopped to consider how anyone but herself would react. His mother, Nana was convinced, certainly would not recover.
In the middle of this unwanted reflection, Timaeus turned her way and the two locked eyes. Nana blinked, almost feeling embarrassed for having been caught in such a way, and in an effort to hide the fact she'd seen much, quickly pulled the corners of her mouth up into a grin to distract from the frown which had settled on her countenance in observation. Clutching the gift she held for him tightly in her hands, she held eye contact with the baron as he approached, not able to keep herself from breaking out into a full-blown smile in response to his own.
Fighting the urge to leave her family to close the distance between them, Nana fingered the fabric of her chiton as Timaeus closed it himself, coyly providing her hand as he reached for it, and biting her lip to keep herself from saying anything too over-the-top in front of everyone nearby. For the first time, Nana felt embarrassed at the thought of people putting their eyes on her. So, she would keep her words polite and formal. "Lord Timaeus," she responded, withdrawing her hand and once again taking ahold of her dress as he piled on compliments that, when said by perhaps anyone else, would not affect Nana in quite the same way.
She had to bring a hand up to cover her mouth as he then went on to greet those around her. With how awkward he seemed to feel, and with how her family seemed almost an afterthought, she could not help the giggles that threatened to bubble up to the surface.
Yet, as things died down and Nana was left to speak with her beau, the blue-eyed baron seemed to take some liberty in closing the space between them to whisper in her ear a suggestion she was more than happy to agree to. Nana couldn't help but let out a quick laugh when the man pulled away and she saw the look in his eyes. Even in such a stressful time as this, her newfound love found a way to bring levity to the situation. Quickly making up the excuse that the smell of the sea was giving her a headache, Nana raised her eyebrows at Timaeus, and after gathering her skirts, started making her way further up-shore to where the carriages formed a line in the sand.
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Nana didn't want to believe that this was happening. That as soon as she'd gotten over her stupid pride and reconciled with Timaeus, he was to go to war. It almost seemed that her luck was cursed, a fact that made the girl almost want to stay home. What if her well-wishes for her paramour only served to cause him harm in battle?
Though even with worries clouding her mind, she couldn't keep herself from going. She could not just let Timaeus go off to war without a proper goodbye. And seeing as it would be quite a while before she had any chance to see him again, she needed to make her final moments with him count.
It was for this reason that she put a great deal of thought into her attire, donning a deep teal chiton reminiscent of her homeland's symbol, and adorning herself with less finery than usual - only a few rings and her Leventi pendant. Her hair she'd left down, save for a few tresses pinned back by her face. For that was what really mattered. She didn't care if he remembered her dress or her jewelry; she wanted him to remember her face.
Arriving at the beach with her family, Nana waited patiently up the shore of the warships, almost set to sail, looking out among the crowd of soldiers saying their goodbyes for hers. It took her a few moments, but she eventually spotted him among a small crowd of people, holding a woman who she could only assume to be his mother - a woman of middling age who, after Nana got a better look at, seemed... fatigued. Nana felt a sinking feeling in her stomach as the thoughts she'd been trying to fight off of her own account came out in seeing the mother and son say what could be their last goodbye. What if Timaeus did not return from battle? Nana had not stopped to consider how anyone but herself would react. His mother, Nana was convinced, certainly would not recover.
In the middle of this unwanted reflection, Timaeus turned her way and the two locked eyes. Nana blinked, almost feeling embarrassed for having been caught in such a way, and in an effort to hide the fact she'd seen much, quickly pulled the corners of her mouth up into a grin to distract from the frown which had settled on her countenance in observation. Clutching the gift she held for him tightly in her hands, she held eye contact with the baron as he approached, not able to keep herself from breaking out into a full-blown smile in response to his own.
Fighting the urge to leave her family to close the distance between them, Nana fingered the fabric of her chiton as Timaeus closed it himself, coyly providing her hand as he reached for it, and biting her lip to keep herself from saying anything too over-the-top in front of everyone nearby. For the first time, Nana felt embarrassed at the thought of people putting their eyes on her. So, she would keep her words polite and formal. "Lord Timaeus," she responded, withdrawing her hand and once again taking ahold of her dress as he piled on compliments that, when said by perhaps anyone else, would not affect Nana in quite the same way.
She had to bring a hand up to cover her mouth as he then went on to greet those around her. With how awkward he seemed to feel, and with how her family seemed almost an afterthought, she could not help the giggles that threatened to bubble up to the surface.
Yet, as things died down and Nana was left to speak with her beau, the blue-eyed baron seemed to take some liberty in closing the space between them to whisper in her ear a suggestion she was more than happy to agree to. Nana couldn't help but let out a quick laugh when the man pulled away and she saw the look in his eyes. Even in such a stressful time as this, her newfound love found a way to bring levity to the situation. Quickly making up the excuse that the smell of the sea was giving her a headache, Nana raised her eyebrows at Timaeus, and after gathering her skirts, started making her way further up-shore to where the carriages formed a line in the sand.
Nana didn't want to believe that this was happening. That as soon as she'd gotten over her stupid pride and reconciled with Timaeus, he was to go to war. It almost seemed that her luck was cursed, a fact that made the girl almost want to stay home. What if her well-wishes for her paramour only served to cause him harm in battle?
Though even with worries clouding her mind, she couldn't keep herself from going. She could not just let Timaeus go off to war without a proper goodbye. And seeing as it would be quite a while before she had any chance to see him again, she needed to make her final moments with him count.
It was for this reason that she put a great deal of thought into her attire, donning a deep teal chiton reminiscent of her homeland's symbol, and adorning herself with less finery than usual - only a few rings and her Leventi pendant. Her hair she'd left down, save for a few tresses pinned back by her face. For that was what really mattered. She didn't care if he remembered her dress or her jewelry; she wanted him to remember her face.
Arriving at the beach with her family, Nana waited patiently up the shore of the warships, almost set to sail, looking out among the crowd of soldiers saying their goodbyes for hers. It took her a few moments, but she eventually spotted him among a small crowd of people, holding a woman who she could only assume to be his mother - a woman of middling age who, after Nana got a better look at, seemed... fatigued. Nana felt a sinking feeling in her stomach as the thoughts she'd been trying to fight off of her own account came out in seeing the mother and son say what could be their last goodbye. What if Timaeus did not return from battle? Nana had not stopped to consider how anyone but herself would react. His mother, Nana was convinced, certainly would not recover.
In the middle of this unwanted reflection, Timaeus turned her way and the two locked eyes. Nana blinked, almost feeling embarrassed for having been caught in such a way, and in an effort to hide the fact she'd seen much, quickly pulled the corners of her mouth up into a grin to distract from the frown which had settled on her countenance in observation. Clutching the gift she held for him tightly in her hands, she held eye contact with the baron as he approached, not able to keep herself from breaking out into a full-blown smile in response to his own.
Fighting the urge to leave her family to close the distance between them, Nana fingered the fabric of her chiton as Timaeus closed it himself, coyly providing her hand as he reached for it, and biting her lip to keep herself from saying anything too over-the-top in front of everyone nearby. For the first time, Nana felt embarrassed at the thought of people putting their eyes on her. So, she would keep her words polite and formal. "Lord Timaeus," she responded, withdrawing her hand and once again taking ahold of her dress as he piled on compliments that, when said by perhaps anyone else, would not affect Nana in quite the same way.
She had to bring a hand up to cover her mouth as he then went on to greet those around her. With how awkward he seemed to feel, and with how her family seemed almost an afterthought, she could not help the giggles that threatened to bubble up to the surface.
Yet, as things died down and Nana was left to speak with her beau, the blue-eyed baron seemed to take some liberty in closing the space between them to whisper in her ear a suggestion she was more than happy to agree to. Nana couldn't help but let out a quick laugh when the man pulled away and she saw the look in his eyes. Even in such a stressful time as this, her newfound love found a way to bring levity to the situation. Quickly making up the excuse that the smell of the sea was giving her a headache, Nana raised her eyebrows at Timaeus, and after gathering her skirts, started making her way further up-shore to where the carriages formed a line in the sand.
It was just his luck, Silanos thought darkly as he heard the unmistakable voice of Prince Vangelis behind him. His shoulders tensed as he half- turned towards the Crown Prince, wary at the chill in the man’s tone, chagrined at having been caught being less than polite to the Commander. He swallowed, because the other’s words rang true, and it wasn’t as if the young lord was not already afraid. Sil’s gaze slid sideways to the sharp features of Commander Nike as he spoke and for a minute, he held the man’s gaze, jaw set so as to stop himself shooting his mouth off and getting in any further trouble. Swallowing, he managed a tight ‘No, sir” before looking away, a frown settled across his brow.
He would have been content in his own little cloud of misery and self pity for a while longer, but the gods would not even spare him that, for he was jostled by some idiot knocking into him who then proceeded to spill sand all over his feet. On another day, Silanos would hardly have been vexed by such a thing. They stood on a beach after all, and sand had an irritating habit of getting everywhere. But stung by the reprimand from the Prince and with his nerves still pulled thin from bidding farewell to his family, the Valaoritis lord’s temper was not at its best.
“Watch where you’re going, fool” And then when the other began scrabbling round at his feet as if he might attempt to pick up the sand that he spilled, Silanos looked at him incredulously stepping away. “What the fuck are you actually doing?”
He didn’t give a fuck why the soldier was lugging a bag of sand around with him, but Sil’s eyes narrowed a little and he thought he remembered the kid from a few days prior. He was still carrying it?! The lord almost felt sympathetic over and above his own discontent. Almost.
“Lets go, Silanos”
Not even a moment’s reprieve, and Sil’s eyes closed briefly, because that was it. Those three simple words that he could not ignore were what would see him board the ship that would carry him away from home. When he opened his eyes again, it was for his gaze to fall upon the soldier still trying to gather the spilt sand back to himself, and in some unexplainable moment of pity, Sil muttered a few choice curses and then bent to help the man. “Lest you are late getting on the fucking boat as well” he said snippily as if to deflect the strange act of kindness. Then he was standing, and with a last look toward where his family stood, Silanos jogged to catch up with the Commander. As he drew level with the man, Sil found himself searching the crowd for another face he had hoped to bid farewell to. He’d thought she’d be here, but Leto did not stand with her brother, nor -thankfully- did he see her with Maleos. He’d left it too late to look properly though, and it was only another thing to add to his list of regrets, a relatively new concept for the Valaoritis lord, and yet one he found he was adding to more often than he’d like.
Princess Evras , who he’d spied and carefully avoided already that morning….the first of the errors that had set him on the path that ended with him here, now. Up until recently, Silanos had preferred a ‘have fun and worry about it later’ approach to life, only it turned out the later was fucking miserable, and he’d had to readjust his worldview slightly. He cast an uneasy glance at the Commander again as he made his way onto the ship, and tried to stifle the feeling that such changes were only going to continue.
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It was just his luck, Silanos thought darkly as he heard the unmistakable voice of Prince Vangelis behind him. His shoulders tensed as he half- turned towards the Crown Prince, wary at the chill in the man’s tone, chagrined at having been caught being less than polite to the Commander. He swallowed, because the other’s words rang true, and it wasn’t as if the young lord was not already afraid. Sil’s gaze slid sideways to the sharp features of Commander Nike as he spoke and for a minute, he held the man’s gaze, jaw set so as to stop himself shooting his mouth off and getting in any further trouble. Swallowing, he managed a tight ‘No, sir” before looking away, a frown settled across his brow.
He would have been content in his own little cloud of misery and self pity for a while longer, but the gods would not even spare him that, for he was jostled by some idiot knocking into him who then proceeded to spill sand all over his feet. On another day, Silanos would hardly have been vexed by such a thing. They stood on a beach after all, and sand had an irritating habit of getting everywhere. But stung by the reprimand from the Prince and with his nerves still pulled thin from bidding farewell to his family, the Valaoritis lord’s temper was not at its best.
“Watch where you’re going, fool” And then when the other began scrabbling round at his feet as if he might attempt to pick up the sand that he spilled, Silanos looked at him incredulously stepping away. “What the fuck are you actually doing?”
He didn’t give a fuck why the soldier was lugging a bag of sand around with him, but Sil’s eyes narrowed a little and he thought he remembered the kid from a few days prior. He was still carrying it?! The lord almost felt sympathetic over and above his own discontent. Almost.
“Lets go, Silanos”
Not even a moment’s reprieve, and Sil’s eyes closed briefly, because that was it. Those three simple words that he could not ignore were what would see him board the ship that would carry him away from home. When he opened his eyes again, it was for his gaze to fall upon the soldier still trying to gather the spilt sand back to himself, and in some unexplainable moment of pity, Sil muttered a few choice curses and then bent to help the man. “Lest you are late getting on the fucking boat as well” he said snippily as if to deflect the strange act of kindness. Then he was standing, and with a last look toward where his family stood, Silanos jogged to catch up with the Commander. As he drew level with the man, Sil found himself searching the crowd for another face he had hoped to bid farewell to. He’d thought she’d be here, but Leto did not stand with her brother, nor -thankfully- did he see her with Maleos. He’d left it too late to look properly though, and it was only another thing to add to his list of regrets, a relatively new concept for the Valaoritis lord, and yet one he found he was adding to more often than he’d like.
Princess Evras , who he’d spied and carefully avoided already that morning….the first of the errors that had set him on the path that ended with him here, now. Up until recently, Silanos had preferred a ‘have fun and worry about it later’ approach to life, only it turned out the later was fucking miserable, and he’d had to readjust his worldview slightly. He cast an uneasy glance at the Commander again as he made his way onto the ship, and tried to stifle the feeling that such changes were only going to continue.
It was just his luck, Silanos thought darkly as he heard the unmistakable voice of Prince Vangelis behind him. His shoulders tensed as he half- turned towards the Crown Prince, wary at the chill in the man’s tone, chagrined at having been caught being less than polite to the Commander. He swallowed, because the other’s words rang true, and it wasn’t as if the young lord was not already afraid. Sil’s gaze slid sideways to the sharp features of Commander Nike as he spoke and for a minute, he held the man’s gaze, jaw set so as to stop himself shooting his mouth off and getting in any further trouble. Swallowing, he managed a tight ‘No, sir” before looking away, a frown settled across his brow.
He would have been content in his own little cloud of misery and self pity for a while longer, but the gods would not even spare him that, for he was jostled by some idiot knocking into him who then proceeded to spill sand all over his feet. On another day, Silanos would hardly have been vexed by such a thing. They stood on a beach after all, and sand had an irritating habit of getting everywhere. But stung by the reprimand from the Prince and with his nerves still pulled thin from bidding farewell to his family, the Valaoritis lord’s temper was not at its best.
“Watch where you’re going, fool” And then when the other began scrabbling round at his feet as if he might attempt to pick up the sand that he spilled, Silanos looked at him incredulously stepping away. “What the fuck are you actually doing?”
He didn’t give a fuck why the soldier was lugging a bag of sand around with him, but Sil’s eyes narrowed a little and he thought he remembered the kid from a few days prior. He was still carrying it?! The lord almost felt sympathetic over and above his own discontent. Almost.
“Lets go, Silanos”
Not even a moment’s reprieve, and Sil’s eyes closed briefly, because that was it. Those three simple words that he could not ignore were what would see him board the ship that would carry him away from home. When he opened his eyes again, it was for his gaze to fall upon the soldier still trying to gather the spilt sand back to himself, and in some unexplainable moment of pity, Sil muttered a few choice curses and then bent to help the man. “Lest you are late getting on the fucking boat as well” he said snippily as if to deflect the strange act of kindness. Then he was standing, and with a last look toward where his family stood, Silanos jogged to catch up with the Commander. As he drew level with the man, Sil found himself searching the crowd for another face he had hoped to bid farewell to. He’d thought she’d be here, but Leto did not stand with her brother, nor -thankfully- did he see her with Maleos. He’d left it too late to look properly though, and it was only another thing to add to his list of regrets, a relatively new concept for the Valaoritis lord, and yet one he found he was adding to more often than he’d like.
Princess Evras , who he’d spied and carefully avoided already that morning….the first of the errors that had set him on the path that ended with him here, now. Up until recently, Silanos had preferred a ‘have fun and worry about it later’ approach to life, only it turned out the later was fucking miserable, and he’d had to readjust his worldview slightly. He cast an uneasy glance at the Commander again as he made his way onto the ship, and tried to stifle the feeling that such changes were only going to continue.
"Well hello to you too,"
Maximus looked at the boy who was walking with Prince Vangelis. This boy was a soldier right? So instead of trying to accomadeering to Maximus, he called him fool and asked what he was doing. The way the boy glared daggers into Maximus, already agitated for being forced to carry the bag of sand part of Maximus wanted to punch the boy in the face. However the young man remembered his disicpline and held back, the last thing Maximus needed right now was a another reprimand from either Nike or the Prince.
"My name is Maximus of Laconia," Maximus called out to the boy as he left with Prince Vangelis. He probably didn't hear him and Maximus didn't care might as well anaswer cruelty with kindess. Maximus wondered though how long was he supposed to carry the grain of sand for. Possibly until they made land? Who knows but Maximus doesn't want to arrive in Egypt being a hunchback.
Lumbering to the edge of the boat, Maximus watched the Colchian citizens continued to wave at the soldiers as they prepared to set sail. Maximus looked at the people feeling a bit envious of them. There was a sense of innocence amongst the Colchian people, a hope that all men will return home safe and sound. However Maximus knew as the people knew that most of these men in the boats won't be making it back including himself if he made a mistake on the battefield.
For most men, it would be their first time seeing combat. For Maximus he already experienced his first battle. Then again it was a less of a battle and more an ambush turned into a slaughter. The Professor once told Maximus that you can never forget your first and while Maximus recognized the sexual innuendo behind his statement, the words rung true. Maximus remembered his unit being ambushed vividly, the mixture of mud and blood swrling onto the ground. Maximus dropping his spear as soon as he saw the Barbarian roaring and flailing his stolen shortsword at him.
Maximus remembered himself being knocked flat on his back. Trickles of blood fell past his eye, whether it was by the Barbarian with the shortsword or another he was not sure. However Maximus was ended up whimpering unable to move while surrounded by the corpses until Maleous and his men swooped from the rear and attacked the Barbarians forcing them to retreat.
That was Maximus' first battle barely 20 and already have a notch of experience on his belt. Bloodied and hardened Maximus endured a battle and lived to tell tale. However there was an underlying fear within him, the first taste of battle and Maximus was curled up in a fetal position ready to weep and it was against a disorgnaized Barbarian raid. What would happen if Maximus engaged a well trained and no doubt well armed Egyptian force? Would he give in to fear again? Maximus is a Lieutant now and men under his command most of them green will look to him to give orders.
"Maximus the Craven," the young man dreamed of becoming a legendary warrior one day. However on that day where he had a chance to prove himself, the young man tucked in his tail and collapsed like a building with a poor foundation. All that years of training all that disipline went away in just one minute. Forget warrior, craven suited Maximus just fine.
The young man's blood ran cold, he should be exicited to attain glory but right now he felt like jumping off the ship and swimming to the docks. "Focus!" Maximus said to himself. "What happened in the past, happened in the past! You've succeeded! You're here right now! People are giving you a second chance! Do not waist it!"
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Check out their information page here.
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"Well hello to you too,"
Maximus looked at the boy who was walking with Prince Vangelis. This boy was a soldier right? So instead of trying to accomadeering to Maximus, he called him fool and asked what he was doing. The way the boy glared daggers into Maximus, already agitated for being forced to carry the bag of sand part of Maximus wanted to punch the boy in the face. However the young man remembered his disicpline and held back, the last thing Maximus needed right now was a another reprimand from either Nike or the Prince.
"My name is Maximus of Laconia," Maximus called out to the boy as he left with Prince Vangelis. He probably didn't hear him and Maximus didn't care might as well anaswer cruelty with kindess. Maximus wondered though how long was he supposed to carry the grain of sand for. Possibly until they made land? Who knows but Maximus doesn't want to arrive in Egypt being a hunchback.
Lumbering to the edge of the boat, Maximus watched the Colchian citizens continued to wave at the soldiers as they prepared to set sail. Maximus looked at the people feeling a bit envious of them. There was a sense of innocence amongst the Colchian people, a hope that all men will return home safe and sound. However Maximus knew as the people knew that most of these men in the boats won't be making it back including himself if he made a mistake on the battefield.
For most men, it would be their first time seeing combat. For Maximus he already experienced his first battle. Then again it was a less of a battle and more an ambush turned into a slaughter. The Professor once told Maximus that you can never forget your first and while Maximus recognized the sexual innuendo behind his statement, the words rung true. Maximus remembered his unit being ambushed vividly, the mixture of mud and blood swrling onto the ground. Maximus dropping his spear as soon as he saw the Barbarian roaring and flailing his stolen shortsword at him.
Maximus remembered himself being knocked flat on his back. Trickles of blood fell past his eye, whether it was by the Barbarian with the shortsword or another he was not sure. However Maximus was ended up whimpering unable to move while surrounded by the corpses until Maleous and his men swooped from the rear and attacked the Barbarians forcing them to retreat.
That was Maximus' first battle barely 20 and already have a notch of experience on his belt. Bloodied and hardened Maximus endured a battle and lived to tell tale. However there was an underlying fear within him, the first taste of battle and Maximus was curled up in a fetal position ready to weep and it was against a disorgnaized Barbarian raid. What would happen if Maximus engaged a well trained and no doubt well armed Egyptian force? Would he give in to fear again? Maximus is a Lieutant now and men under his command most of them green will look to him to give orders.
"Maximus the Craven," the young man dreamed of becoming a legendary warrior one day. However on that day where he had a chance to prove himself, the young man tucked in his tail and collapsed like a building with a poor foundation. All that years of training all that disipline went away in just one minute. Forget warrior, craven suited Maximus just fine.
The young man's blood ran cold, he should be exicited to attain glory but right now he felt like jumping off the ship and swimming to the docks. "Focus!" Maximus said to himself. "What happened in the past, happened in the past! You've succeeded! You're here right now! People are giving you a second chance! Do not waist it!"
"Well hello to you too,"
Maximus looked at the boy who was walking with Prince Vangelis. This boy was a soldier right? So instead of trying to accomadeering to Maximus, he called him fool and asked what he was doing. The way the boy glared daggers into Maximus, already agitated for being forced to carry the bag of sand part of Maximus wanted to punch the boy in the face. However the young man remembered his disicpline and held back, the last thing Maximus needed right now was a another reprimand from either Nike or the Prince.
"My name is Maximus of Laconia," Maximus called out to the boy as he left with Prince Vangelis. He probably didn't hear him and Maximus didn't care might as well anaswer cruelty with kindess. Maximus wondered though how long was he supposed to carry the grain of sand for. Possibly until they made land? Who knows but Maximus doesn't want to arrive in Egypt being a hunchback.
Lumbering to the edge of the boat, Maximus watched the Colchian citizens continued to wave at the soldiers as they prepared to set sail. Maximus looked at the people feeling a bit envious of them. There was a sense of innocence amongst the Colchian people, a hope that all men will return home safe and sound. However Maximus knew as the people knew that most of these men in the boats won't be making it back including himself if he made a mistake on the battefield.
For most men, it would be their first time seeing combat. For Maximus he already experienced his first battle. Then again it was a less of a battle and more an ambush turned into a slaughter. The Professor once told Maximus that you can never forget your first and while Maximus recognized the sexual innuendo behind his statement, the words rung true. Maximus remembered his unit being ambushed vividly, the mixture of mud and blood swrling onto the ground. Maximus dropping his spear as soon as he saw the Barbarian roaring and flailing his stolen shortsword at him.
Maximus remembered himself being knocked flat on his back. Trickles of blood fell past his eye, whether it was by the Barbarian with the shortsword or another he was not sure. However Maximus was ended up whimpering unable to move while surrounded by the corpses until Maleous and his men swooped from the rear and attacked the Barbarians forcing them to retreat.
That was Maximus' first battle barely 20 and already have a notch of experience on his belt. Bloodied and hardened Maximus endured a battle and lived to tell tale. However there was an underlying fear within him, the first taste of battle and Maximus was curled up in a fetal position ready to weep and it was against a disorgnaized Barbarian raid. What would happen if Maximus engaged a well trained and no doubt well armed Egyptian force? Would he give in to fear again? Maximus is a Lieutant now and men under his command most of them green will look to him to give orders.
"Maximus the Craven," the young man dreamed of becoming a legendary warrior one day. However on that day where he had a chance to prove himself, the young man tucked in his tail and collapsed like a building with a poor foundation. All that years of training all that disipline went away in just one minute. Forget warrior, craven suited Maximus just fine.
The young man's blood ran cold, he should be exicited to attain glory but right now he felt like jumping off the ship and swimming to the docks. "Focus!" Maximus said to himself. "What happened in the past, happened in the past! You've succeeded! You're here right now! People are giving you a second chance! Do not waist it!"
Divine Curveball To War
As the people of Colchis culminate on the docks to bid farewell to their loved ones, a black cloud gathers in the distance. Eyes are turned and hands are raised to point as the cloud draws closer and then disintegrates into a swarm of vultures. Hundreds of large, black, carrion birds circle the ships, finding purchase on masts and sails or simply forming concentric circles high above the crowd... An omen to be sure... But of what?
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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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Divine Curveball To War
As the people of Colchis culminate on the docks to bid farewell to their loved ones, a black cloud gathers in the distance. Eyes are turned and hands are raised to point as the cloud draws closer and then disintegrates into a swarm of vultures. Hundreds of large, black, carrion birds circle the ships, finding purchase on masts and sails or simply forming concentric circles high above the crowd... An omen to be sure... But of what?
Divine Curveball To War
As the people of Colchis culminate on the docks to bid farewell to their loved ones, a black cloud gathers in the distance. Eyes are turned and hands are raised to point as the cloud draws closer and then disintegrates into a swarm of vultures. Hundreds of large, black, carrion birds circle the ships, finding purchase on masts and sails or simply forming concentric circles high above the crowd... An omen to be sure... But of what?
"I shall have Imma sketch her for you when we return home. So that you can carry a memory with you."
They had both agreed that home with her parents would be the safest place for the young princess and her mother. Georgios of Leventi would protect them with his life, and with Selene no longer engaged to Vangelis there was no family to remain with here. Achilleas held no grudge against them and her sister as queen would do no harm, nor would Emilios if he had been left as regent. The cousins had always been close and had all supported Stephanos in spite of their father's lies. Olympia had no fear of returning home, only a bittersweet sadness to go back to her father's island home instead of returning to the palace she had spent so many months making her own. She wondered if Theodora had redone the nursery that she had been planning for Tisiphone, or if her sister had left it the same in hopes of her own babe to come.
The sound of the tiny fist of their daughter flailing in amusement against her father's armor was the only sound for a moment, until he spoke of already having wasted too much time. Her heart felt both as if it were breaking and being made whole once again. All she had wanted since the birth of their daughter was for him to love her, to want her, and for far too long it had not been the case. Now she could see it in his eyes, the love that Stephanos had for Tisi, the way the young girl had charmed everyone who saw her into loving her. She already had her father's gift for that.
"We will miss you." Already she had gone to the temples, praying fervently to Ares and Athena both to protect her husband and Poseidon to guide him home safely. "I love you." It was easy to say those words again, and she was more relieved than ever that they had been able to mend their relationship before he was being taken from her.
Lifting a hand to his cheek, Pia gave a smile and brushed her thumb softly along his cheekbone, committing to memory the way he looked so it could be imprinted in her heart. She barely had to lift onto her toes to kiss him, far sweeter than perhaps it ought to have been with so many people watching, but she didn't care what they thought of her. All that mattered was ensuring that Stephanos knew how she felt, and that she wished him nothing but the best on his mission. The blessing of a wife might not have meant as much as that of a queen, but as she laid her head against his shoulder and watched Tisiphone slowly blink as she fought sleep, she couldn't help but send up more prayers that he would come home to them.
The sound of the birds reached her before she saw them, and as she lifted her head from Stephanos' shoulder she paled at the sight of the birds descending on the ships. "Ares bless you.." She whispered beneath her breath, hoping that it was in fact a blessing, though the sight of so many carrion creatures set fear in her heart.
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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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"I shall have Imma sketch her for you when we return home. So that you can carry a memory with you."
They had both agreed that home with her parents would be the safest place for the young princess and her mother. Georgios of Leventi would protect them with his life, and with Selene no longer engaged to Vangelis there was no family to remain with here. Achilleas held no grudge against them and her sister as queen would do no harm, nor would Emilios if he had been left as regent. The cousins had always been close and had all supported Stephanos in spite of their father's lies. Olympia had no fear of returning home, only a bittersweet sadness to go back to her father's island home instead of returning to the palace she had spent so many months making her own. She wondered if Theodora had redone the nursery that she had been planning for Tisiphone, or if her sister had left it the same in hopes of her own babe to come.
The sound of the tiny fist of their daughter flailing in amusement against her father's armor was the only sound for a moment, until he spoke of already having wasted too much time. Her heart felt both as if it were breaking and being made whole once again. All she had wanted since the birth of their daughter was for him to love her, to want her, and for far too long it had not been the case. Now she could see it in his eyes, the love that Stephanos had for Tisi, the way the young girl had charmed everyone who saw her into loving her. She already had her father's gift for that.
"We will miss you." Already she had gone to the temples, praying fervently to Ares and Athena both to protect her husband and Poseidon to guide him home safely. "I love you." It was easy to say those words again, and she was more relieved than ever that they had been able to mend their relationship before he was being taken from her.
Lifting a hand to his cheek, Pia gave a smile and brushed her thumb softly along his cheekbone, committing to memory the way he looked so it could be imprinted in her heart. She barely had to lift onto her toes to kiss him, far sweeter than perhaps it ought to have been with so many people watching, but she didn't care what they thought of her. All that mattered was ensuring that Stephanos knew how she felt, and that she wished him nothing but the best on his mission. The blessing of a wife might not have meant as much as that of a queen, but as she laid her head against his shoulder and watched Tisiphone slowly blink as she fought sleep, she couldn't help but send up more prayers that he would come home to them.
The sound of the birds reached her before she saw them, and as she lifted her head from Stephanos' shoulder she paled at the sight of the birds descending on the ships. "Ares bless you.." She whispered beneath her breath, hoping that it was in fact a blessing, though the sight of so many carrion creatures set fear in her heart.
"I shall have Imma sketch her for you when we return home. So that you can carry a memory with you."
They had both agreed that home with her parents would be the safest place for the young princess and her mother. Georgios of Leventi would protect them with his life, and with Selene no longer engaged to Vangelis there was no family to remain with here. Achilleas held no grudge against them and her sister as queen would do no harm, nor would Emilios if he had been left as regent. The cousins had always been close and had all supported Stephanos in spite of their father's lies. Olympia had no fear of returning home, only a bittersweet sadness to go back to her father's island home instead of returning to the palace she had spent so many months making her own. She wondered if Theodora had redone the nursery that she had been planning for Tisiphone, or if her sister had left it the same in hopes of her own babe to come.
The sound of the tiny fist of their daughter flailing in amusement against her father's armor was the only sound for a moment, until he spoke of already having wasted too much time. Her heart felt both as if it were breaking and being made whole once again. All she had wanted since the birth of their daughter was for him to love her, to want her, and for far too long it had not been the case. Now she could see it in his eyes, the love that Stephanos had for Tisi, the way the young girl had charmed everyone who saw her into loving her. She already had her father's gift for that.
"We will miss you." Already she had gone to the temples, praying fervently to Ares and Athena both to protect her husband and Poseidon to guide him home safely. "I love you." It was easy to say those words again, and she was more relieved than ever that they had been able to mend their relationship before he was being taken from her.
Lifting a hand to his cheek, Pia gave a smile and brushed her thumb softly along his cheekbone, committing to memory the way he looked so it could be imprinted in her heart. She barely had to lift onto her toes to kiss him, far sweeter than perhaps it ought to have been with so many people watching, but she didn't care what they thought of her. All that mattered was ensuring that Stephanos knew how she felt, and that she wished him nothing but the best on his mission. The blessing of a wife might not have meant as much as that of a queen, but as she laid her head against his shoulder and watched Tisiphone slowly blink as she fought sleep, she couldn't help but send up more prayers that he would come home to them.
The sound of the birds reached her before she saw them, and as she lifted her head from Stephanos' shoulder she paled at the sight of the birds descending on the ships. "Ares bless you.." She whispered beneath her breath, hoping that it was in fact a blessing, though the sight of so many carrion creatures set fear in her heart.
Zanon had left sometime after his parents yet before his wife, gathering Dion from his tutors and bringing the boy down to the docks to see off his uncles and grandfather as well as everyone else who would be going to war. They had ridden together, and he was proud of how his boy was comporting himself, a small circlet atop his messy brown curls and maroon himation over his white chiton. Dion's grey pony was not quite the size of a war horse, but it gave the impression that the young prince was not so far off from heading to battle himself one day.
The second prince himself was dressed in similar fashion to his son, though his chiton was the maroon of the Kotas family, and he wore his own circlet as uncomfortable as it was. His own black warhorse picked up on what was going on, excited at the thought that they might be returning to action, and though Zan patted him on the neck to try to calm him it was difficult for both of them to be left behind. He wanted nothing more than to be able to go and fight with his brothers, to take up arms alongside them and support them along the way, but it could not happen for him any longer. He was too much of a liability to take along, and with both his father and Vangelis heading out today he would be needed to support his mother in her regency.
Dismounting along with Dion as they arrived, he saw Evras emerging from her carriage and gestured for his son to come along with him to collect his mother. Zanon held out his hand for his wife, giving her a small smile in acknowledgement of the discussions they yet needed to have, but the appreciation he felt for her coming out in her condition. If he had his way she would be in bed to rest until their second child was born, but it was important to present the united front today in front of all of their people.
"My lady." Dion gave his mother a bow and then a hug, walking on her other side as Zanon had dictated. He'd told the boy about the fragile state of Evras' pregnancy this time, asking him for help to make sure his mother was resting and well cared for, and it seemed that the boy was taking it seriously. "We won't stay long. I want to make sure you're back at rest soon."
As the small branch of the family approached his parents, Zanon took a breath at the sight of the two of them together. They were so obviously completely in love, and a lump formed in his throat at the thought of his mother seeing her husband off to yet another war after just discovering that he had survived the last one. It was unfair sometimes, the way the world worked. But he was a Kotas, a Colchian, as the rest of them, and that was the way they did things, their strength lay in their ability to survive.
"Your majesties. Father, Mother." The second prince had just greeted his parents when the birds descended, the flock of dark carrion creatures filling the masts and sails of the ships. A grin that was almost like a snarl found its way over his lips, the sign to him one of the gods' support. These carrion creatures knew Colchians would leave plenty for them to feast upon in their wake, and so followed them for better fortunes. The grin shifted to something more civil as he placed a hand on Dion's head to reassure the boy that all was well.
"Say your goodbyes to his majesty. We promise to keep mother from getting too bored and lonely, don't we?"
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Check out their information page here.
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Zanon had left sometime after his parents yet before his wife, gathering Dion from his tutors and bringing the boy down to the docks to see off his uncles and grandfather as well as everyone else who would be going to war. They had ridden together, and he was proud of how his boy was comporting himself, a small circlet atop his messy brown curls and maroon himation over his white chiton. Dion's grey pony was not quite the size of a war horse, but it gave the impression that the young prince was not so far off from heading to battle himself one day.
The second prince himself was dressed in similar fashion to his son, though his chiton was the maroon of the Kotas family, and he wore his own circlet as uncomfortable as it was. His own black warhorse picked up on what was going on, excited at the thought that they might be returning to action, and though Zan patted him on the neck to try to calm him it was difficult for both of them to be left behind. He wanted nothing more than to be able to go and fight with his brothers, to take up arms alongside them and support them along the way, but it could not happen for him any longer. He was too much of a liability to take along, and with both his father and Vangelis heading out today he would be needed to support his mother in her regency.
Dismounting along with Dion as they arrived, he saw Evras emerging from her carriage and gestured for his son to come along with him to collect his mother. Zanon held out his hand for his wife, giving her a small smile in acknowledgement of the discussions they yet needed to have, but the appreciation he felt for her coming out in her condition. If he had his way she would be in bed to rest until their second child was born, but it was important to present the united front today in front of all of their people.
"My lady." Dion gave his mother a bow and then a hug, walking on her other side as Zanon had dictated. He'd told the boy about the fragile state of Evras' pregnancy this time, asking him for help to make sure his mother was resting and well cared for, and it seemed that the boy was taking it seriously. "We won't stay long. I want to make sure you're back at rest soon."
As the small branch of the family approached his parents, Zanon took a breath at the sight of the two of them together. They were so obviously completely in love, and a lump formed in his throat at the thought of his mother seeing her husband off to yet another war after just discovering that he had survived the last one. It was unfair sometimes, the way the world worked. But he was a Kotas, a Colchian, as the rest of them, and that was the way they did things, their strength lay in their ability to survive.
"Your majesties. Father, Mother." The second prince had just greeted his parents when the birds descended, the flock of dark carrion creatures filling the masts and sails of the ships. A grin that was almost like a snarl found its way over his lips, the sign to him one of the gods' support. These carrion creatures knew Colchians would leave plenty for them to feast upon in their wake, and so followed them for better fortunes. The grin shifted to something more civil as he placed a hand on Dion's head to reassure the boy that all was well.
"Say your goodbyes to his majesty. We promise to keep mother from getting too bored and lonely, don't we?"
Zanon had left sometime after his parents yet before his wife, gathering Dion from his tutors and bringing the boy down to the docks to see off his uncles and grandfather as well as everyone else who would be going to war. They had ridden together, and he was proud of how his boy was comporting himself, a small circlet atop his messy brown curls and maroon himation over his white chiton. Dion's grey pony was not quite the size of a war horse, but it gave the impression that the young prince was not so far off from heading to battle himself one day.
The second prince himself was dressed in similar fashion to his son, though his chiton was the maroon of the Kotas family, and he wore his own circlet as uncomfortable as it was. His own black warhorse picked up on what was going on, excited at the thought that they might be returning to action, and though Zan patted him on the neck to try to calm him it was difficult for both of them to be left behind. He wanted nothing more than to be able to go and fight with his brothers, to take up arms alongside them and support them along the way, but it could not happen for him any longer. He was too much of a liability to take along, and with both his father and Vangelis heading out today he would be needed to support his mother in her regency.
Dismounting along with Dion as they arrived, he saw Evras emerging from her carriage and gestured for his son to come along with him to collect his mother. Zanon held out his hand for his wife, giving her a small smile in acknowledgement of the discussions they yet needed to have, but the appreciation he felt for her coming out in her condition. If he had his way she would be in bed to rest until their second child was born, but it was important to present the united front today in front of all of their people.
"My lady." Dion gave his mother a bow and then a hug, walking on her other side as Zanon had dictated. He'd told the boy about the fragile state of Evras' pregnancy this time, asking him for help to make sure his mother was resting and well cared for, and it seemed that the boy was taking it seriously. "We won't stay long. I want to make sure you're back at rest soon."
As the small branch of the family approached his parents, Zanon took a breath at the sight of the two of them together. They were so obviously completely in love, and a lump formed in his throat at the thought of his mother seeing her husband off to yet another war after just discovering that he had survived the last one. It was unfair sometimes, the way the world worked. But he was a Kotas, a Colchian, as the rest of them, and that was the way they did things, their strength lay in their ability to survive.
"Your majesties. Father, Mother." The second prince had just greeted his parents when the birds descended, the flock of dark carrion creatures filling the masts and sails of the ships. A grin that was almost like a snarl found its way over his lips, the sign to him one of the gods' support. These carrion creatures knew Colchians would leave plenty for them to feast upon in their wake, and so followed them for better fortunes. The grin shifted to something more civil as he placed a hand on Dion's head to reassure the boy that all was well.
"Say your goodbyes to his majesty. We promise to keep mother from getting too bored and lonely, don't we?"