It wasn’t often that that he found himself amidst the reverence and splendid isolation of the Hall of the Gods, given that he often spent his days tending to the affairs of his province in all of her ghastly terribleness. Yet, in those few moments where he had found himself amongst the buzz and bumble of the masonic capital, Damocles made time for morning prayers at that mountainous temple complex. It would be egregiously blasphemous of him to not take the opportunity for what it was. And oh, there was so much to be grateful for recently. Not only had the Gods showered him with suitable fortunes and grand promotions, but also too they had seen fit to go against the wickedness of his birth, allowing him short, but direct access to the ruler of his hellhole of a province. Of course, it went without saying that even if there had been a bit of divine intervention in his latest of machinations, he still had to allot some of the graces he had aligned with himself to his name also.



Indeed, it seemed that, as for the time being, his invisible hand deftly pulled at the shadows of those he had calculated, leading to his greatest achievement yet, a golden reputation that resulted in his years of excellence following his latest wars in the Northern lands. They had been relatively complicated and difficult endeavors, real tests of leadership, talent and ability, for it had all worked out well for him right now. His place as a captain was firmly cemented, his military unit was personified around his command, and any remnants of the old guard of the Damned had been wiped away and eliminated. There was no doubt who was the real leader of that small army, and that was no small task in of itself. Of course, he had accomplished much for such place. 

Military leadership was not something that everyone was born with. It was a skill, that required a specific set of skills and talents that few men could ever hope to harbor. It had been a relatively long process, turning the Damned into one of the most respectable units of Colchis, with lots of blood, sweat and tears being shed across the years of sacrifice, but it had been done. Perfection was always the objective and anything short of that was to be dismissed and weeded out as fast as possible. There was much to be appreciative of, and there was much to enjoy before the sight of Gods and men. Thus, his trek to the Hall, a small pilgrimage aimed at celebrating his triumphant rise by means of worship and prayer.



Besides, even a blind man could see the importance of paying tribute to the Gods that reigned from above. It would be foolish to inspire their ire upon the world, even if they had momentarily gifted Damocles with the present of some real power and authority. Hence, his journey to the spiritual heart of Colchis. As an occasion that did not warrant a particularly martial appearance, he kept himself to the robes he often reserved for the capital. As per the conditions of Midas, Damocles presented himself in a slightly better version than usual, donning a long blue robe with buttons down the front, leather sandals, a black cape, dark bracers on his muscular forearms and shoulders, and a blue silk shawl around his hips attached to a strap that crossed his chest. He rarely used jewelry around himself, though he kept his old, black-iron, diamond ring fast on his hand, a piece he seldom parted from his finger.



As he walked towards the temples, the darkly man noticed a familiar, if often hidden face appear just a few feet away from him. From a distance he noticed the locks of golden-hair that so often betrayed the first heiress of his most sovereign liege house. A friendly, though respectful smile appeared fast on his features, followed by a gentle bow of his head in clear acknowledgement to the eldest daughter of the Most Sacred and noble House of Drakos, lady Imeeya herself.



“Lady Imeeya” He said, offering only the gentle warmness of an loyal retainer in place of any coldness he might had harbored deep inside him. “It has been years since we've been blessed with each other." He continued, softening his silver-eyes to her so as to give the impression of a man who meant nothing but good intentions. Truth be told, he could care less about the dragon girl, but he still had to play nice with his lord's vassals. “How have you been? Is your family alright?" he asked, feigning friendliness that hid beneath the soft warmth of an old family friend. Though his posture was assertive and his stance exuded confidence and strength, Damocles knew how to balance his presence by means of an air of simplistic cordiality that downplayed his typically overbearing personality. His unfairly handsome features were genuine and the tone of his sonorously deep voice, which had often barked frightening orders that made grown men quiver in accordance to his will, was jovially respectful.

Still, it was interesting to see this woman by herself. Mayhaps, an opportunity was afoot...