The chatbox has been hidden for this page. It will reopen upon refresh. To hide the CBox permanently, select "Permanently Toggle Cbox" in your profile User Settings.
This chatbox is hidden. To reopen, edit your User Settings.
With the men away, the criminals will play. A week after the Colchian armed forces have set sail for the Taengean and Egyptian divide, the people of Midas are shocked to find remains scattered across the entrance of the Hall of the Gods. Pools of blood, splatters of violence and pieces of what was once a human female lay strewn, a crimson barrier to entry into the temples. When husbands and brothers sail for war, it bodes ill when a defeated murder victim bars the way for praise of Ares...
JD
Staff Team
JD
Staff Team
This post was created by our staff team.
Please contact us with your queries and questions.
With the men away, the criminals will play. A week after the Colchian armed forces have set sail for the Taengean and Egyptian divide, the people of Midas are shocked to find remains scattered across the entrance of the Hall of the Gods. Pools of blood, splatters of violence and pieces of what was once a human female lay strewn, a crimson barrier to entry into the temples. When husbands and brothers sail for war, it bodes ill when a defeated murder victim bars the way for praise of Ares...
Bloodlust Event - Colchis
With the men away, the criminals will play. A week after the Colchian armed forces have set sail for the Taengean and Egyptian divide, the people of Midas are shocked to find remains scattered across the entrance of the Hall of the Gods. Pools of blood, splatters of violence and pieces of what was once a human female lay strewn, a crimson barrier to entry into the temples. When husbands and brothers sail for war, it bodes ill when a defeated murder victim bars the way for praise of Ares...
Aedea always drew looks to herself because of her appearance: red hair, pale skin and blue eyes that made everyone knew she wasn’t Greek; the spiked dog collar that was the same as the massive wolfdogs that always followed and obeyed her. But one of the reasons was her clothing: she always wore the white and gold tunics of a Huntress of the Cypress Sisterhood, but they were stained. Spending most of her time in the wilderness hunting, her once-white clothes were always stained by dirt, mud, plant matter, blood and many other things. At some point, the sisters gave up on trying to wash her clothes and let her wear her stained tunic, and Aedea saw no problem with that.
At the moment, though, her clothes and body were stained by fresh blood. After a campaign of hunting in the wilderness outside Midas, the houndmistress was stained from killing, skinning and butchering the game that lived in the mountainous region. It was a fruitful hunt, and she had the spoils on a big back on her back, alongside her favorite bow. Behind her, two of her dogs followed her obediently. The moon has been full that night; a sign that her hunt was blessed by her patron goddess, Artemis… Aedea guessed she would get to the temple of Artemis in the Hall of the Gods at first light. Then she could bathe, and write the report to the high priestess…
Walking with the stride of someone used to watch her path as to not to trip over roots, briars, or anything that may hinder her path, she went through the streets of Midas towards the temple as the rosy light of dawn came, only to stumble upon the gruesome figure of a corpse.
Aedea dropped her bag, issued a silent command to her hounds to watch her back as she ran towards the victim, kneeling before her. She has been butchered, ripped apart, and her blood was splattered all over the entrance of the temple of Ares… the houndmistress noticed immediately that she was a woman. Dammit, she thought… she was supposed to protect women. This was not going to remain unpunished…
A scream made her turn around suddenly. A man, no doubt going to his business in the temple early in the morning, with an expression of horror on his face, began screaming, ‘Werewolf! Werewolf!’ as he pointed at Aedea.
The priestess snarled as much as her dogs. The picture of a redhead that was followed by wolves, covered in blood before a corpse just after the full moon was indeed suspicious. The man began to run in terror, screaming his werewolf cry…
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.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
Aedea always drew looks to herself because of her appearance: red hair, pale skin and blue eyes that made everyone knew she wasn’t Greek; the spiked dog collar that was the same as the massive wolfdogs that always followed and obeyed her. But one of the reasons was her clothing: she always wore the white and gold tunics of a Huntress of the Cypress Sisterhood, but they were stained. Spending most of her time in the wilderness hunting, her once-white clothes were always stained by dirt, mud, plant matter, blood and many other things. At some point, the sisters gave up on trying to wash her clothes and let her wear her stained tunic, and Aedea saw no problem with that.
At the moment, though, her clothes and body were stained by fresh blood. After a campaign of hunting in the wilderness outside Midas, the houndmistress was stained from killing, skinning and butchering the game that lived in the mountainous region. It was a fruitful hunt, and she had the spoils on a big back on her back, alongside her favorite bow. Behind her, two of her dogs followed her obediently. The moon has been full that night; a sign that her hunt was blessed by her patron goddess, Artemis… Aedea guessed she would get to the temple of Artemis in the Hall of the Gods at first light. Then she could bathe, and write the report to the high priestess…
Walking with the stride of someone used to watch her path as to not to trip over roots, briars, or anything that may hinder her path, she went through the streets of Midas towards the temple as the rosy light of dawn came, only to stumble upon the gruesome figure of a corpse.
Aedea dropped her bag, issued a silent command to her hounds to watch her back as she ran towards the victim, kneeling before her. She has been butchered, ripped apart, and her blood was splattered all over the entrance of the temple of Ares… the houndmistress noticed immediately that she was a woman. Dammit, she thought… she was supposed to protect women. This was not going to remain unpunished…
A scream made her turn around suddenly. A man, no doubt going to his business in the temple early in the morning, with an expression of horror on his face, began screaming, ‘Werewolf! Werewolf!’ as he pointed at Aedea.
The priestess snarled as much as her dogs. The picture of a redhead that was followed by wolves, covered in blood before a corpse just after the full moon was indeed suspicious. The man began to run in terror, screaming his werewolf cry…
Aedea always drew looks to herself because of her appearance: red hair, pale skin and blue eyes that made everyone knew she wasn’t Greek; the spiked dog collar that was the same as the massive wolfdogs that always followed and obeyed her. But one of the reasons was her clothing: she always wore the white and gold tunics of a Huntress of the Cypress Sisterhood, but they were stained. Spending most of her time in the wilderness hunting, her once-white clothes were always stained by dirt, mud, plant matter, blood and many other things. At some point, the sisters gave up on trying to wash her clothes and let her wear her stained tunic, and Aedea saw no problem with that.
At the moment, though, her clothes and body were stained by fresh blood. After a campaign of hunting in the wilderness outside Midas, the houndmistress was stained from killing, skinning and butchering the game that lived in the mountainous region. It was a fruitful hunt, and she had the spoils on a big back on her back, alongside her favorite bow. Behind her, two of her dogs followed her obediently. The moon has been full that night; a sign that her hunt was blessed by her patron goddess, Artemis… Aedea guessed she would get to the temple of Artemis in the Hall of the Gods at first light. Then she could bathe, and write the report to the high priestess…
Walking with the stride of someone used to watch her path as to not to trip over roots, briars, or anything that may hinder her path, she went through the streets of Midas towards the temple as the rosy light of dawn came, only to stumble upon the gruesome figure of a corpse.
Aedea dropped her bag, issued a silent command to her hounds to watch her back as she ran towards the victim, kneeling before her. She has been butchered, ripped apart, and her blood was splattered all over the entrance of the temple of Ares… the houndmistress noticed immediately that she was a woman. Dammit, she thought… she was supposed to protect women. This was not going to remain unpunished…
A scream made her turn around suddenly. A man, no doubt going to his business in the temple early in the morning, with an expression of horror on his face, began screaming, ‘Werewolf! Werewolf!’ as he pointed at Aedea.
The priestess snarled as much as her dogs. The picture of a redhead that was followed by wolves, covered in blood before a corpse just after the full moon was indeed suspicious. The man began to run in terror, screaming his werewolf cry…
Akhmad had been climbing and moving swiftly over the rooftops of Midas, committing the streets and structures to memory. It would be useful when the Sariqas made for their major haul and sought out their major mission for him to know every possible route of escape across the tops of buildings or down among the maze likes roads and alley ways. And you could not learn, if you could not see. As such, Akhmad had spent the last few hours clambering, climbing, sliding and slipping around the monuments of the Upper Levels, his feet and hands clinging to surfaces and catching hand holds where there were none to the naked eye. But Akhmad was well practiced and it was easy for him to move with the flow of his own weight and the gravity of his passage. If the hold he took was not secure, he moved with the fall and selected another easily and without fear. The entire process of fluid and more or less silent.
That is until a scream from below caught his attention and the bandaged face that covered his eyes and features swung in the appropriate direction. His hand missed its mark but he didn't much care as he used his legs to absorb some of the fall on the jagged rocky wall of the mountain and then bounced to another spot that he could latch hold of. Using the heels of his feet to slow his descent, Akhmad was careful and yet still a few broken pieces of rocky pebble were sent over the edge of the lip he had found and tumbled to the floor beyond, where the scream had come from.
Moving to the edge of the natural rocky sill, Akhmad was at a crouch on its furthest line, his hands reaching down between his knees and his gaze peering down to see what all the noise was about. Like a slim wraith, or a large bat, Akhmad produced a second fearsome figure upon a scene that already had Colchians calling out names of myth and terror.
The redhead below was one he knew a little but had never gotten the name of – not that he wished for it. And he recognised the fear that such an appearance would naturally create in those that were confronted with a scene of horror. The human species allowed such things to trigger their impulses to fight or flight, but to do either one had to know the source of the danger. Which meant blame had to be placed. He knew such things well enough…
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.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
Akhmad had been climbing and moving swiftly over the rooftops of Midas, committing the streets and structures to memory. It would be useful when the Sariqas made for their major haul and sought out their major mission for him to know every possible route of escape across the tops of buildings or down among the maze likes roads and alley ways. And you could not learn, if you could not see. As such, Akhmad had spent the last few hours clambering, climbing, sliding and slipping around the monuments of the Upper Levels, his feet and hands clinging to surfaces and catching hand holds where there were none to the naked eye. But Akhmad was well practiced and it was easy for him to move with the flow of his own weight and the gravity of his passage. If the hold he took was not secure, he moved with the fall and selected another easily and without fear. The entire process of fluid and more or less silent.
That is until a scream from below caught his attention and the bandaged face that covered his eyes and features swung in the appropriate direction. His hand missed its mark but he didn't much care as he used his legs to absorb some of the fall on the jagged rocky wall of the mountain and then bounced to another spot that he could latch hold of. Using the heels of his feet to slow his descent, Akhmad was careful and yet still a few broken pieces of rocky pebble were sent over the edge of the lip he had found and tumbled to the floor beyond, where the scream had come from.
Moving to the edge of the natural rocky sill, Akhmad was at a crouch on its furthest line, his hands reaching down between his knees and his gaze peering down to see what all the noise was about. Like a slim wraith, or a large bat, Akhmad produced a second fearsome figure upon a scene that already had Colchians calling out names of myth and terror.
The redhead below was one he knew a little but had never gotten the name of – not that he wished for it. And he recognised the fear that such an appearance would naturally create in those that were confronted with a scene of horror. The human species allowed such things to trigger their impulses to fight or flight, but to do either one had to know the source of the danger. Which meant blame had to be placed. He knew such things well enough…
Akhmad had been climbing and moving swiftly over the rooftops of Midas, committing the streets and structures to memory. It would be useful when the Sariqas made for their major haul and sought out their major mission for him to know every possible route of escape across the tops of buildings or down among the maze likes roads and alley ways. And you could not learn, if you could not see. As such, Akhmad had spent the last few hours clambering, climbing, sliding and slipping around the monuments of the Upper Levels, his feet and hands clinging to surfaces and catching hand holds where there were none to the naked eye. But Akhmad was well practiced and it was easy for him to move with the flow of his own weight and the gravity of his passage. If the hold he took was not secure, he moved with the fall and selected another easily and without fear. The entire process of fluid and more or less silent.
That is until a scream from below caught his attention and the bandaged face that covered his eyes and features swung in the appropriate direction. His hand missed its mark but he didn't much care as he used his legs to absorb some of the fall on the jagged rocky wall of the mountain and then bounced to another spot that he could latch hold of. Using the heels of his feet to slow his descent, Akhmad was careful and yet still a few broken pieces of rocky pebble were sent over the edge of the lip he had found and tumbled to the floor beyond, where the scream had come from.
Moving to the edge of the natural rocky sill, Akhmad was at a crouch on its furthest line, his hands reaching down between his knees and his gaze peering down to see what all the noise was about. Like a slim wraith, or a large bat, Akhmad produced a second fearsome figure upon a scene that already had Colchians calling out names of myth and terror.
The redhead below was one he knew a little but had never gotten the name of – not that he wished for it. And he recognised the fear that such an appearance would naturally create in those that were confronted with a scene of horror. The human species allowed such things to trigger their impulses to fight or flight, but to do either one had to know the source of the danger. Which meant blame had to be placed. He knew such things well enough…
To come and go as a specter in the night was the prerogative of Isandros of Phossis. The call to war was made in Taengea, but unlike his elder brother or his father before him, he was not such a fool as to join any sort of effort. It was not fear that stayed his hand, but rather, dissatisfaction. What had his brothers in Taengea ever done for him that he should stand with them in solidarity? What had Greece ever given him that he should fight for the royalty given the hollow premise of honour? No, Dro stood by himself and relished in none of the camaraderie. If that meant he could never enter Elysium, it hardly mattered. No judgment, from man or God would sway him on a course he disagreed with.
No, instead of gallivanting off to war, Dro languished in the night of Colchis. His arrival earlier in the day wore down upon his senses, but nonetheless rest eluded him as it always did. There was little desire to feel the sway of his small boat as he attempted to put himself to sleep. Rather, he walked the streets of Midas in pursuit of peace. He'd give his sacrifices to Poseidon, an obligation more than a desire to please the God of the Sea. He'd gesture to Zeus and Hades alike, along with the thanks given to Hermes and Ares both. There was no foul in offering the Gods their due respect, especially as he sought after fortunes in the vacuum left behind by the absence of most of Colchis' men.
It was as Dro approached the Hall of the Gods that he heard the scream, his fingers clenching into a fist but there was no shield there for him to wrap them around. His right hand moved to his mace, where it rested in the leather trap that kept it bound to his hip. However, he did not move to draw it just yet. Mismatched eyes surveyed the scene as the hairs at the back of his neck stood at end. A sense of exhilaration whirled in tandem with a need for caution, and Dro tempered himself even as he moved towards the fuss rather than await from it. First, he saw the redheaded woman with her mongrel pets. Hounds had never quite settled well with Isandros, likely for the fact that the smell of blood never quite washed off from him. He did not approach her, more taken in with the scene of the crime as it unfolded before him.
A woman was torn to pieces on the floor, blood puddled in shallow pools around her. The fallen body was directly in his path to the temple, and irritation caught upon his features when his assessment was interrupted by the girl crooning over the corpse just as some witless fool meandered from within the temple and began letting out his curdled werewolf cry. Isandros had never heard the word before, and figured it some delusion of the mind that drove him beyond his wits. Then, he ran off just as quickly, causing the mercenary to roll his eyes.
Isandros of Phossis looked away from the woman and her still mongrels, and instead he allowed his gaze to drift away. If the retreating man had any semblance of wit left, he'd alert the few remaining guards. But, Isandros instead decided to take it upon himself to report what transpired. After all, it was better to ingratiate himself to whomever was left than be hailed in as a suspect for something so senseless. As he turned, he found his gaze settled on a man bound up in cloth with light eyes that reminded one of the trenches of sand.
Another foreigner? And one who keeps his face bound at that. Doesn't have a drop of blood on 'im, but either way... best to be wary.
Dro gave himself an opportunity to drink in the scene one final time before he considered going to let another more suited and more importantly, paid to handle such a matter, resolve it.
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.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
To come and go as a specter in the night was the prerogative of Isandros of Phossis. The call to war was made in Taengea, but unlike his elder brother or his father before him, he was not such a fool as to join any sort of effort. It was not fear that stayed his hand, but rather, dissatisfaction. What had his brothers in Taengea ever done for him that he should stand with them in solidarity? What had Greece ever given him that he should fight for the royalty given the hollow premise of honour? No, Dro stood by himself and relished in none of the camaraderie. If that meant he could never enter Elysium, it hardly mattered. No judgment, from man or God would sway him on a course he disagreed with.
No, instead of gallivanting off to war, Dro languished in the night of Colchis. His arrival earlier in the day wore down upon his senses, but nonetheless rest eluded him as it always did. There was little desire to feel the sway of his small boat as he attempted to put himself to sleep. Rather, he walked the streets of Midas in pursuit of peace. He'd give his sacrifices to Poseidon, an obligation more than a desire to please the God of the Sea. He'd gesture to Zeus and Hades alike, along with the thanks given to Hermes and Ares both. There was no foul in offering the Gods their due respect, especially as he sought after fortunes in the vacuum left behind by the absence of most of Colchis' men.
It was as Dro approached the Hall of the Gods that he heard the scream, his fingers clenching into a fist but there was no shield there for him to wrap them around. His right hand moved to his mace, where it rested in the leather trap that kept it bound to his hip. However, he did not move to draw it just yet. Mismatched eyes surveyed the scene as the hairs at the back of his neck stood at end. A sense of exhilaration whirled in tandem with a need for caution, and Dro tempered himself even as he moved towards the fuss rather than await from it. First, he saw the redheaded woman with her mongrel pets. Hounds had never quite settled well with Isandros, likely for the fact that the smell of blood never quite washed off from him. He did not approach her, more taken in with the scene of the crime as it unfolded before him.
A woman was torn to pieces on the floor, blood puddled in shallow pools around her. The fallen body was directly in his path to the temple, and irritation caught upon his features when his assessment was interrupted by the girl crooning over the corpse just as some witless fool meandered from within the temple and began letting out his curdled werewolf cry. Isandros had never heard the word before, and figured it some delusion of the mind that drove him beyond his wits. Then, he ran off just as quickly, causing the mercenary to roll his eyes.
Isandros of Phossis looked away from the woman and her still mongrels, and instead he allowed his gaze to drift away. If the retreating man had any semblance of wit left, he'd alert the few remaining guards. But, Isandros instead decided to take it upon himself to report what transpired. After all, it was better to ingratiate himself to whomever was left than be hailed in as a suspect for something so senseless. As he turned, he found his gaze settled on a man bound up in cloth with light eyes that reminded one of the trenches of sand.
Another foreigner? And one who keeps his face bound at that. Doesn't have a drop of blood on 'im, but either way... best to be wary.
Dro gave himself an opportunity to drink in the scene one final time before he considered going to let another more suited and more importantly, paid to handle such a matter, resolve it.
To come and go as a specter in the night was the prerogative of Isandros of Phossis. The call to war was made in Taengea, but unlike his elder brother or his father before him, he was not such a fool as to join any sort of effort. It was not fear that stayed his hand, but rather, dissatisfaction. What had his brothers in Taengea ever done for him that he should stand with them in solidarity? What had Greece ever given him that he should fight for the royalty given the hollow premise of honour? No, Dro stood by himself and relished in none of the camaraderie. If that meant he could never enter Elysium, it hardly mattered. No judgment, from man or God would sway him on a course he disagreed with.
No, instead of gallivanting off to war, Dro languished in the night of Colchis. His arrival earlier in the day wore down upon his senses, but nonetheless rest eluded him as it always did. There was little desire to feel the sway of his small boat as he attempted to put himself to sleep. Rather, he walked the streets of Midas in pursuit of peace. He'd give his sacrifices to Poseidon, an obligation more than a desire to please the God of the Sea. He'd gesture to Zeus and Hades alike, along with the thanks given to Hermes and Ares both. There was no foul in offering the Gods their due respect, especially as he sought after fortunes in the vacuum left behind by the absence of most of Colchis' men.
It was as Dro approached the Hall of the Gods that he heard the scream, his fingers clenching into a fist but there was no shield there for him to wrap them around. His right hand moved to his mace, where it rested in the leather trap that kept it bound to his hip. However, he did not move to draw it just yet. Mismatched eyes surveyed the scene as the hairs at the back of his neck stood at end. A sense of exhilaration whirled in tandem with a need for caution, and Dro tempered himself even as he moved towards the fuss rather than await from it. First, he saw the redheaded woman with her mongrel pets. Hounds had never quite settled well with Isandros, likely for the fact that the smell of blood never quite washed off from him. He did not approach her, more taken in with the scene of the crime as it unfolded before him.
A woman was torn to pieces on the floor, blood puddled in shallow pools around her. The fallen body was directly in his path to the temple, and irritation caught upon his features when his assessment was interrupted by the girl crooning over the corpse just as some witless fool meandered from within the temple and began letting out his curdled werewolf cry. Isandros had never heard the word before, and figured it some delusion of the mind that drove him beyond his wits. Then, he ran off just as quickly, causing the mercenary to roll his eyes.
Isandros of Phossis looked away from the woman and her still mongrels, and instead he allowed his gaze to drift away. If the retreating man had any semblance of wit left, he'd alert the few remaining guards. But, Isandros instead decided to take it upon himself to report what transpired. After all, it was better to ingratiate himself to whomever was left than be hailed in as a suspect for something so senseless. As he turned, he found his gaze settled on a man bound up in cloth with light eyes that reminded one of the trenches of sand.
Another foreigner? And one who keeps his face bound at that. Doesn't have a drop of blood on 'im, but either way... best to be wary.
Dro gave himself an opportunity to drink in the scene one final time before he considered going to let another more suited and more importantly, paid to handle such a matter, resolve it.
The Gods are not a trivial force nor one to be prevailed upon lightly at least per Nethis’ view. She believes, of course she believes, but believing is not blind nor is it only restricted to the Gods. Blasphemous, perhaps, but she believes in herself (more, less and on par with how she believes in the Gods as a force depending on the circumstance) and she knows she is capable of many things.
As such, appealing to the Gods was not usually the first step for her when things were difficult but rather a second or a last. Prayer was for what she could not control, for what she had failed to manage on her own. Mihail’s safety while in Egypt was an exception to the rule, the first course of action because she could do nothing else; there was sense in sending him, despite the fact that their father’s particular rationale was more cruel than sensible, and there had been no way out of it.
It should have been an easy task, almost nothing to offer a sacrifice to that end, but instead, she approached the Hall of the Gods and found herself confronted with a commotion.
The call of werewolf, echoing in the entrance, merely made her roll her eyes. No matter what others believed, Nethis considered this version of the supernatural on par with witches; she was not the latter, no matter her reputation and how many times she was named one, so she was more than willing to give anyone accused of adjacent concepts the benefit of the doubt.
Ignorance knew no bounds and people did so love to talk. These were fundamental truths in her world.
Still, drawing closer, what she stumbled upon was less than ideal, most of all for the woman—she assumed—that the accusation was aimed at; kneeling over a dead body with dogs nearby, most of all in her condition, was not exactly a good look, not that she could stare long to assess this; it was a point of weakness, perhaps, but Nethis preferred her kills clean, the sight and scent of blood in this was not impossible to bear, but it required she glance away to steal herself.
Rather than immediately look back, she glanced around her, looking for no one in particular, but wanting for someone to deal with this so that she didn’t have to. Order and justice were not her responsibilities and she refused to take them on just because it was what a good person might in her position or because she had right enough blood that she could conceivably be an authority until a more official one arrived.
Judging by the company she could see – an unfamiliar man and several other bystanders any hope for that died a little more with every passing moment.
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.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
The Gods are not a trivial force nor one to be prevailed upon lightly at least per Nethis’ view. She believes, of course she believes, but believing is not blind nor is it only restricted to the Gods. Blasphemous, perhaps, but she believes in herself (more, less and on par with how she believes in the Gods as a force depending on the circumstance) and she knows she is capable of many things.
As such, appealing to the Gods was not usually the first step for her when things were difficult but rather a second or a last. Prayer was for what she could not control, for what she had failed to manage on her own. Mihail’s safety while in Egypt was an exception to the rule, the first course of action because she could do nothing else; there was sense in sending him, despite the fact that their father’s particular rationale was more cruel than sensible, and there had been no way out of it.
It should have been an easy task, almost nothing to offer a sacrifice to that end, but instead, she approached the Hall of the Gods and found herself confronted with a commotion.
The call of werewolf, echoing in the entrance, merely made her roll her eyes. No matter what others believed, Nethis considered this version of the supernatural on par with witches; she was not the latter, no matter her reputation and how many times she was named one, so she was more than willing to give anyone accused of adjacent concepts the benefit of the doubt.
Ignorance knew no bounds and people did so love to talk. These were fundamental truths in her world.
Still, drawing closer, what she stumbled upon was less than ideal, most of all for the woman—she assumed—that the accusation was aimed at; kneeling over a dead body with dogs nearby, most of all in her condition, was not exactly a good look, not that she could stare long to assess this; it was a point of weakness, perhaps, but Nethis preferred her kills clean, the sight and scent of blood in this was not impossible to bear, but it required she glance away to steal herself.
Rather than immediately look back, she glanced around her, looking for no one in particular, but wanting for someone to deal with this so that she didn’t have to. Order and justice were not her responsibilities and she refused to take them on just because it was what a good person might in her position or because she had right enough blood that she could conceivably be an authority until a more official one arrived.
Judging by the company she could see – an unfamiliar man and several other bystanders any hope for that died a little more with every passing moment.
The Gods are not a trivial force nor one to be prevailed upon lightly at least per Nethis’ view. She believes, of course she believes, but believing is not blind nor is it only restricted to the Gods. Blasphemous, perhaps, but she believes in herself (more, less and on par with how she believes in the Gods as a force depending on the circumstance) and she knows she is capable of many things.
As such, appealing to the Gods was not usually the first step for her when things were difficult but rather a second or a last. Prayer was for what she could not control, for what she had failed to manage on her own. Mihail’s safety while in Egypt was an exception to the rule, the first course of action because she could do nothing else; there was sense in sending him, despite the fact that their father’s particular rationale was more cruel than sensible, and there had been no way out of it.
It should have been an easy task, almost nothing to offer a sacrifice to that end, but instead, she approached the Hall of the Gods and found herself confronted with a commotion.
The call of werewolf, echoing in the entrance, merely made her roll her eyes. No matter what others believed, Nethis considered this version of the supernatural on par with witches; she was not the latter, no matter her reputation and how many times she was named one, so she was more than willing to give anyone accused of adjacent concepts the benefit of the doubt.
Ignorance knew no bounds and people did so love to talk. These were fundamental truths in her world.
Still, drawing closer, what she stumbled upon was less than ideal, most of all for the woman—she assumed—that the accusation was aimed at; kneeling over a dead body with dogs nearby, most of all in her condition, was not exactly a good look, not that she could stare long to assess this; it was a point of weakness, perhaps, but Nethis preferred her kills clean, the sight and scent of blood in this was not impossible to bear, but it required she glance away to steal herself.
Rather than immediately look back, she glanced around her, looking for no one in particular, but wanting for someone to deal with this so that she didn’t have to. Order and justice were not her responsibilities and she refused to take them on just because it was what a good person might in her position or because she had right enough blood that she could conceivably be an authority until a more official one arrived.
Judging by the company she could see – an unfamiliar man and several other bystanders any hope for that died a little more with every passing moment.
Since her father and brothers had shipped out, Athanasia had religiously visited the Temple of Ares to pray for their safe return. She could have prayed for victory too, but she didn’t want to seem greedy. And she believed that prayers or no, the Greeks would send the enemy running back into their desert. The Egyptians were said to be fierce fighters, but nobody could defeat an army of proud, brave, and focused Colchians.
She left the manor preceded by two guards and followed by an equal number of handmaidens bearing gifts for Ares, The sun was just rising, splashing the sky with its brilliant hues. The young princess loved this time of morning when everything seemed fresh and new and full of promise. She had not slipped away last night and had finally had a good night’s sleep. There was a spring to Athanasia’s step and she felt quite cheerful. Her emerald green chiton floated around her legs and the fibulae that held it in place as well as her emerald tiara and jewelry sparkled in the muted light.
Usually, she would take one of the royal carriages when she went to the temple, but she was restless today and needed to burn off some excess energy. The path was scenic and though she had passed this way many times before, she never got tired of the view or the sound of waves rushing over rocks far below her. Perhaps she would go swimming before she went back home.
As she approached the Halls of the Gods, her guards suddenly stopped and drew their swords. Athanasia couldn’t see what was up ahead but she could hear panicked footsteps. A man ran by her screaming of werewolves and once he had gone, the guards lowered their swords and the small entourage continued on its way. Someone smoked too much opium last night, she thought, amused.
A few minutes later, her guards stopped again, this time quite abruptly. “We must go back, Your Highness,” one of them said. Stepping sideways, her blue eyes widened at the gruesome sight before her. Parts of what had once been a young woman were strewn upon the ground right in front of the entrance to the temples. Blood was splattered everywhere and its metallic scent filled her nostrils.
Kneeling beside the carnage was Aedea, the White Priestess who had given her some archery tips a few months ago. She looked as if she had been out hunting all night as her clothes were stained with blood and there was a large bag beside her that likely contained her kills. Two huge dogs were guarding her. Now I know why that man thought he saw a werewolf.
As if she had thought the word aloud, it echoed back at her as a woman yelled it and fled. Heedless of her guards, the princess ran toward Aedea and stood in front of her. “This woman is no werewolf,” she said, loudly enough so that everyone gathered around could hear. “She’s a priestess of the Cypress Sisterhood and she’s trying to help.”
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.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
Since her father and brothers had shipped out, Athanasia had religiously visited the Temple of Ares to pray for their safe return. She could have prayed for victory too, but she didn’t want to seem greedy. And she believed that prayers or no, the Greeks would send the enemy running back into their desert. The Egyptians were said to be fierce fighters, but nobody could defeat an army of proud, brave, and focused Colchians.
She left the manor preceded by two guards and followed by an equal number of handmaidens bearing gifts for Ares, The sun was just rising, splashing the sky with its brilliant hues. The young princess loved this time of morning when everything seemed fresh and new and full of promise. She had not slipped away last night and had finally had a good night’s sleep. There was a spring to Athanasia’s step and she felt quite cheerful. Her emerald green chiton floated around her legs and the fibulae that held it in place as well as her emerald tiara and jewelry sparkled in the muted light.
Usually, she would take one of the royal carriages when she went to the temple, but she was restless today and needed to burn off some excess energy. The path was scenic and though she had passed this way many times before, she never got tired of the view or the sound of waves rushing over rocks far below her. Perhaps she would go swimming before she went back home.
As she approached the Halls of the Gods, her guards suddenly stopped and drew their swords. Athanasia couldn’t see what was up ahead but she could hear panicked footsteps. A man ran by her screaming of werewolves and once he had gone, the guards lowered their swords and the small entourage continued on its way. Someone smoked too much opium last night, she thought, amused.
A few minutes later, her guards stopped again, this time quite abruptly. “We must go back, Your Highness,” one of them said. Stepping sideways, her blue eyes widened at the gruesome sight before her. Parts of what had once been a young woman were strewn upon the ground right in front of the entrance to the temples. Blood was splattered everywhere and its metallic scent filled her nostrils.
Kneeling beside the carnage was Aedea, the White Priestess who had given her some archery tips a few months ago. She looked as if she had been out hunting all night as her clothes were stained with blood and there was a large bag beside her that likely contained her kills. Two huge dogs were guarding her. Now I know why that man thought he saw a werewolf.
As if she had thought the word aloud, it echoed back at her as a woman yelled it and fled. Heedless of her guards, the princess ran toward Aedea and stood in front of her. “This woman is no werewolf,” she said, loudly enough so that everyone gathered around could hear. “She’s a priestess of the Cypress Sisterhood and she’s trying to help.”
Since her father and brothers had shipped out, Athanasia had religiously visited the Temple of Ares to pray for their safe return. She could have prayed for victory too, but she didn’t want to seem greedy. And she believed that prayers or no, the Greeks would send the enemy running back into their desert. The Egyptians were said to be fierce fighters, but nobody could defeat an army of proud, brave, and focused Colchians.
She left the manor preceded by two guards and followed by an equal number of handmaidens bearing gifts for Ares, The sun was just rising, splashing the sky with its brilliant hues. The young princess loved this time of morning when everything seemed fresh and new and full of promise. She had not slipped away last night and had finally had a good night’s sleep. There was a spring to Athanasia’s step and she felt quite cheerful. Her emerald green chiton floated around her legs and the fibulae that held it in place as well as her emerald tiara and jewelry sparkled in the muted light.
Usually, she would take one of the royal carriages when she went to the temple, but she was restless today and needed to burn off some excess energy. The path was scenic and though she had passed this way many times before, she never got tired of the view or the sound of waves rushing over rocks far below her. Perhaps she would go swimming before she went back home.
As she approached the Halls of the Gods, her guards suddenly stopped and drew their swords. Athanasia couldn’t see what was up ahead but she could hear panicked footsteps. A man ran by her screaming of werewolves and once he had gone, the guards lowered their swords and the small entourage continued on its way. Someone smoked too much opium last night, she thought, amused.
A few minutes later, her guards stopped again, this time quite abruptly. “We must go back, Your Highness,” one of them said. Stepping sideways, her blue eyes widened at the gruesome sight before her. Parts of what had once been a young woman were strewn upon the ground right in front of the entrance to the temples. Blood was splattered everywhere and its metallic scent filled her nostrils.
Kneeling beside the carnage was Aedea, the White Priestess who had given her some archery tips a few months ago. She looked as if she had been out hunting all night as her clothes were stained with blood and there was a large bag beside her that likely contained her kills. Two huge dogs were guarding her. Now I know why that man thought he saw a werewolf.
As if she had thought the word aloud, it echoed back at her as a woman yelled it and fled. Heedless of her guards, the princess ran toward Aedea and stood in front of her. “This woman is no werewolf,” she said, loudly enough so that everyone gathered around could hear. “She’s a priestess of the Cypress Sisterhood and she’s trying to help.”
Magnus had spent many days after the departure of the king and his men scouring the markets and listening to the poeple of his underground network. Afterall, it wasn't as if the royal family had nothing to do in the absence of their military might. The Master Informer still had a mysterious tunnel to explore, and after seeking out some assistance from one of the military men left to guard the capitol, his findings came back far more gristly then the spymaster had expected.
In the dead of the night, Magnus had to deal with three crisp dead bodies, the smell obvious that the bodies had been burnt in that fateful night of the Midas fires. No one had even known of the existence of these mines to know they had to search, but that the bodies were there at all, was fishy enough for Magnus to suspect foul play.
But with no evidence and nothing else to go on, he had sworn the soldier to secrecy on the promise that he could assist him in further investigations, before he continued to peruse the tunnels. The nickmarks Magnus had studied from the tunnel did not seem familiar, yet he had yet to find a single book in his study that spoke of such tools. Already almost at his wits ends, the man had emerged from his investigations at the Loutra, exiting the bathhouse only to frown when he suddenly saw throngs of people heading to the Halls of the Gods.
Did everyone suddenly turn highly devout to go for prayers at this time of the day?
Frowning at such an anomaly in the behavior of the Midas residents, Magnus had fully intended simply to observe for a moment, before returning to his family abode to further stud his findings - that was, until a sharp scream pierced the air.
Curiosity was practically his middle name, and with a job like a Master Informer, it was Magnus's job to find out everything that had to do in the capitol, so it took little to get the man to start jogging towards the Halls itself, his eyes widening when he got near enough to see what was causing the commotion. He faintly recognized the redhead, remembering seeing her in the company of the priestesses of Artemis, yet never really catching her name. She was memorable though, due to the canines she had around her, and her lack of speech. But it wasn't her behavior, but the people around her which caused the commotion, along with what had dragged them there.
His brows furrowed when he saw the bloodied scene in front of the Halls, and it took no genius to figure out why people screamed, when he saw the bloodied garments of the priestess. The people of Greece quickly jumped to conclusions, but unlike them, Magnus however was tasked to make educated guesses. The call of the woman being a werewolf sounded ridiculous to Magnus, as much as he knew the superstitions of his kind. He believed in the Gods, but only faintly as protectors of the land he lived upon. Other such stories of creatures of the deep sea and skies he chose to eschew unless proof shows otherwise.
Instead, Magnus focused on the details at hand which he could see, pushing his way to the front of the crowds to quickly assess the situation, before waving a hand to bring forward the city guards as they arrived to calm the situation down. He spied the young princess as he finally managed to get to the front of the crowd, just as she spoke, and the Master Informer nodded as he approached her respectfully, giving a small bow before he turned to the crowds. "Whether she is a werewolf or not, we will find proof before throwing such an accusation." he warned, as more and more looks in teh crowds turned murderous as they turned wary. "Sort out the body and bring it to the Dikasitirio for me to study." He instructed the arriving city guards, before turning to the young princess. "Princess Athanasia, do you know this woman you call a priestess, personally?" he asked, even as his eyes turned to watch the rest of the crowd, resting briefly on the frame of Nethis of Thanasi. What was the eldest of the Thanasi sister's doing here? Whilst he's had his conversations with both the younger ones, Magnus's instincts could not trust the eldest of the brood.
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.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
Magnus had spent many days after the departure of the king and his men scouring the markets and listening to the poeple of his underground network. Afterall, it wasn't as if the royal family had nothing to do in the absence of their military might. The Master Informer still had a mysterious tunnel to explore, and after seeking out some assistance from one of the military men left to guard the capitol, his findings came back far more gristly then the spymaster had expected.
In the dead of the night, Magnus had to deal with three crisp dead bodies, the smell obvious that the bodies had been burnt in that fateful night of the Midas fires. No one had even known of the existence of these mines to know they had to search, but that the bodies were there at all, was fishy enough for Magnus to suspect foul play.
But with no evidence and nothing else to go on, he had sworn the soldier to secrecy on the promise that he could assist him in further investigations, before he continued to peruse the tunnels. The nickmarks Magnus had studied from the tunnel did not seem familiar, yet he had yet to find a single book in his study that spoke of such tools. Already almost at his wits ends, the man had emerged from his investigations at the Loutra, exiting the bathhouse only to frown when he suddenly saw throngs of people heading to the Halls of the Gods.
Did everyone suddenly turn highly devout to go for prayers at this time of the day?
Frowning at such an anomaly in the behavior of the Midas residents, Magnus had fully intended simply to observe for a moment, before returning to his family abode to further stud his findings - that was, until a sharp scream pierced the air.
Curiosity was practically his middle name, and with a job like a Master Informer, it was Magnus's job to find out everything that had to do in the capitol, so it took little to get the man to start jogging towards the Halls itself, his eyes widening when he got near enough to see what was causing the commotion. He faintly recognized the redhead, remembering seeing her in the company of the priestesses of Artemis, yet never really catching her name. She was memorable though, due to the canines she had around her, and her lack of speech. But it wasn't her behavior, but the people around her which caused the commotion, along with what had dragged them there.
His brows furrowed when he saw the bloodied scene in front of the Halls, and it took no genius to figure out why people screamed, when he saw the bloodied garments of the priestess. The people of Greece quickly jumped to conclusions, but unlike them, Magnus however was tasked to make educated guesses. The call of the woman being a werewolf sounded ridiculous to Magnus, as much as he knew the superstitions of his kind. He believed in the Gods, but only faintly as protectors of the land he lived upon. Other such stories of creatures of the deep sea and skies he chose to eschew unless proof shows otherwise.
Instead, Magnus focused on the details at hand which he could see, pushing his way to the front of the crowds to quickly assess the situation, before waving a hand to bring forward the city guards as they arrived to calm the situation down. He spied the young princess as he finally managed to get to the front of the crowd, just as she spoke, and the Master Informer nodded as he approached her respectfully, giving a small bow before he turned to the crowds. "Whether she is a werewolf or not, we will find proof before throwing such an accusation." he warned, as more and more looks in teh crowds turned murderous as they turned wary. "Sort out the body and bring it to the Dikasitirio for me to study." He instructed the arriving city guards, before turning to the young princess. "Princess Athanasia, do you know this woman you call a priestess, personally?" he asked, even as his eyes turned to watch the rest of the crowd, resting briefly on the frame of Nethis of Thanasi. What was the eldest of the Thanasi sister's doing here? Whilst he's had his conversations with both the younger ones, Magnus's instincts could not trust the eldest of the brood.
Magnus had spent many days after the departure of the king and his men scouring the markets and listening to the poeple of his underground network. Afterall, it wasn't as if the royal family had nothing to do in the absence of their military might. The Master Informer still had a mysterious tunnel to explore, and after seeking out some assistance from one of the military men left to guard the capitol, his findings came back far more gristly then the spymaster had expected.
In the dead of the night, Magnus had to deal with three crisp dead bodies, the smell obvious that the bodies had been burnt in that fateful night of the Midas fires. No one had even known of the existence of these mines to know they had to search, but that the bodies were there at all, was fishy enough for Magnus to suspect foul play.
But with no evidence and nothing else to go on, he had sworn the soldier to secrecy on the promise that he could assist him in further investigations, before he continued to peruse the tunnels. The nickmarks Magnus had studied from the tunnel did not seem familiar, yet he had yet to find a single book in his study that spoke of such tools. Already almost at his wits ends, the man had emerged from his investigations at the Loutra, exiting the bathhouse only to frown when he suddenly saw throngs of people heading to the Halls of the Gods.
Did everyone suddenly turn highly devout to go for prayers at this time of the day?
Frowning at such an anomaly in the behavior of the Midas residents, Magnus had fully intended simply to observe for a moment, before returning to his family abode to further stud his findings - that was, until a sharp scream pierced the air.
Curiosity was practically his middle name, and with a job like a Master Informer, it was Magnus's job to find out everything that had to do in the capitol, so it took little to get the man to start jogging towards the Halls itself, his eyes widening when he got near enough to see what was causing the commotion. He faintly recognized the redhead, remembering seeing her in the company of the priestesses of Artemis, yet never really catching her name. She was memorable though, due to the canines she had around her, and her lack of speech. But it wasn't her behavior, but the people around her which caused the commotion, along with what had dragged them there.
His brows furrowed when he saw the bloodied scene in front of the Halls, and it took no genius to figure out why people screamed, when he saw the bloodied garments of the priestess. The people of Greece quickly jumped to conclusions, but unlike them, Magnus however was tasked to make educated guesses. The call of the woman being a werewolf sounded ridiculous to Magnus, as much as he knew the superstitions of his kind. He believed in the Gods, but only faintly as protectors of the land he lived upon. Other such stories of creatures of the deep sea and skies he chose to eschew unless proof shows otherwise.
Instead, Magnus focused on the details at hand which he could see, pushing his way to the front of the crowds to quickly assess the situation, before waving a hand to bring forward the city guards as they arrived to calm the situation down. He spied the young princess as he finally managed to get to the front of the crowd, just as she spoke, and the Master Informer nodded as he approached her respectfully, giving a small bow before he turned to the crowds. "Whether she is a werewolf or not, we will find proof before throwing such an accusation." he warned, as more and more looks in teh crowds turned murderous as they turned wary. "Sort out the body and bring it to the Dikasitirio for me to study." He instructed the arriving city guards, before turning to the young princess. "Princess Athanasia, do you know this woman you call a priestess, personally?" he asked, even as his eyes turned to watch the rest of the crowd, resting briefly on the frame of Nethis of Thanasi. What was the eldest of the Thanasi sister's doing here? Whilst he's had his conversations with both the younger ones, Magnus's instincts could not trust the eldest of the brood.
Magnus had left the house earlier in the morning to go about his investigations. Leto was more than familiar with the tasks at hand, partially from the time she spent keeping up the affairs of the house - which included keeping Magnus' study from dissolving into utter disarray - and partially from her own prying questions as she placed herself as a sounding-board and rare matching mind to his. Well, as long as he would entertain it. Often, her questions pried too much and the conversations met a swift end.
It had been her target to find herself very much within Magnus' sphere since his most recent return from Taengea and her deeper involvement and understanding with his world. It helped that her fledgling interactions with nobles and courtly issues had proved her to toe the line of serving as an informant herself. Yet, unlike the other common informants he placed around Midas and beyond, she could clearly see the lines between the points and how they formed a full picture, like the constellations on the star map hidden away in her room.
Thoughts of both Maleos and Silanos had kept her mind swirling, filling her chest with anxiety and worry that could only be soothed by her now daily prayers at the Hall of the Gods. Standing before Ares and Athena each day, pleading with them for the safety of the two Egypt-bound men, alongside the King and Princes, she found herself drifting towards the entrance within the walls for Aphrodite.
Her feelings had been hard to decipher in the passing days since the ships set sail, a sight she watched from a far distance - unable to bring herself to see them eye-to-eye before leaving. It made her the worst of cowards, but lest she embarrass her logical sensibilities by appearing emotional at the docks without explanation for Magnus, she chose not to go. She was not ready for that conversation.
Leto's senses were on high-alert when she noted the crowds forming around the Hall of the Gods. Her feet did not speed or slow as she approached, the screams of werewolf causing her brows to furrow at the ridiculous nature of the cries. Approaching, she noted her brother's face above the crowd, his height proving useful in that moment. All but shouldering her way through to him, she fidgeted with her hair, shoveling it with an arm over one shoulder, thankful that she made the attempt to spin the loose hairs from her temples into tight coils and pin them away from her eyes.
"Brother," Leto said, approaching her brother as her eyes followed his to the carnage before the entrance to the Halls' shrine for Ares. A visceral dread tightened in her stomach - not from the sight of blood and the rending of the poor woman's body, but that someone did this to stop worshippers from entering the temple. A pit of pious anger flared in her at that but had to be quelled as she recognized their present company included Princess Athanasia, a young woman she had only ever seen at a distance.
"Your Highness," Leto greeted with a deep curtsey, her face still serious as her eyes flicked with a quick analysis to the body there and the red-haired priestess and her dogs. Blinking a few moments, her mind began to process what she saw. The slices that separated the woman's body were cleaner than they had a right to be - manmade, with a tool - not the work of teeth or claws, werewolf or otherwise.
"Even if she were one," Leto mused, taking on the tone that mirrored that of her long, deciphering talks she shared when processing the unknown with Magnus, "It was not her doing. Look at where it is separated, along the major joints. Not teeth or claw marks. Something hacked away at her with purpose..." Her hand inadvertently gestured, as if mentally linking the body parts back together. When her eyes fell back towards the Princess, she dipped her head with an apologetic grimace, "Forgive me if I offend, Your Highness. I simply speak what I see."
Her analytical eyes then looked around the crowd, flicking between the faces. Some were regular attendees to the temple that she had seen in passing, all of whom looked just as shocked and startled as her initial reaction had been. Her eyes flicked to Magnus, as she quietly added, "Whoever did this would likely want to see the reaction. They're likely still here..."
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.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
Magnus had left the house earlier in the morning to go about his investigations. Leto was more than familiar with the tasks at hand, partially from the time she spent keeping up the affairs of the house - which included keeping Magnus' study from dissolving into utter disarray - and partially from her own prying questions as she placed herself as a sounding-board and rare matching mind to his. Well, as long as he would entertain it. Often, her questions pried too much and the conversations met a swift end.
It had been her target to find herself very much within Magnus' sphere since his most recent return from Taengea and her deeper involvement and understanding with his world. It helped that her fledgling interactions with nobles and courtly issues had proved her to toe the line of serving as an informant herself. Yet, unlike the other common informants he placed around Midas and beyond, she could clearly see the lines between the points and how they formed a full picture, like the constellations on the star map hidden away in her room.
Thoughts of both Maleos and Silanos had kept her mind swirling, filling her chest with anxiety and worry that could only be soothed by her now daily prayers at the Hall of the Gods. Standing before Ares and Athena each day, pleading with them for the safety of the two Egypt-bound men, alongside the King and Princes, she found herself drifting towards the entrance within the walls for Aphrodite.
Her feelings had been hard to decipher in the passing days since the ships set sail, a sight she watched from a far distance - unable to bring herself to see them eye-to-eye before leaving. It made her the worst of cowards, but lest she embarrass her logical sensibilities by appearing emotional at the docks without explanation for Magnus, she chose not to go. She was not ready for that conversation.
Leto's senses were on high-alert when she noted the crowds forming around the Hall of the Gods. Her feet did not speed or slow as she approached, the screams of werewolf causing her brows to furrow at the ridiculous nature of the cries. Approaching, she noted her brother's face above the crowd, his height proving useful in that moment. All but shouldering her way through to him, she fidgeted with her hair, shoveling it with an arm over one shoulder, thankful that she made the attempt to spin the loose hairs from her temples into tight coils and pin them away from her eyes.
"Brother," Leto said, approaching her brother as her eyes followed his to the carnage before the entrance to the Halls' shrine for Ares. A visceral dread tightened in her stomach - not from the sight of blood and the rending of the poor woman's body, but that someone did this to stop worshippers from entering the temple. A pit of pious anger flared in her at that but had to be quelled as she recognized their present company included Princess Athanasia, a young woman she had only ever seen at a distance.
"Your Highness," Leto greeted with a deep curtsey, her face still serious as her eyes flicked with a quick analysis to the body there and the red-haired priestess and her dogs. Blinking a few moments, her mind began to process what she saw. The slices that separated the woman's body were cleaner than they had a right to be - manmade, with a tool - not the work of teeth or claws, werewolf or otherwise.
"Even if she were one," Leto mused, taking on the tone that mirrored that of her long, deciphering talks she shared when processing the unknown with Magnus, "It was not her doing. Look at where it is separated, along the major joints. Not teeth or claw marks. Something hacked away at her with purpose..." Her hand inadvertently gestured, as if mentally linking the body parts back together. When her eyes fell back towards the Princess, she dipped her head with an apologetic grimace, "Forgive me if I offend, Your Highness. I simply speak what I see."
Her analytical eyes then looked around the crowd, flicking between the faces. Some were regular attendees to the temple that she had seen in passing, all of whom looked just as shocked and startled as her initial reaction had been. Her eyes flicked to Magnus, as she quietly added, "Whoever did this would likely want to see the reaction. They're likely still here..."
Magnus had left the house earlier in the morning to go about his investigations. Leto was more than familiar with the tasks at hand, partially from the time she spent keeping up the affairs of the house - which included keeping Magnus' study from dissolving into utter disarray - and partially from her own prying questions as she placed herself as a sounding-board and rare matching mind to his. Well, as long as he would entertain it. Often, her questions pried too much and the conversations met a swift end.
It had been her target to find herself very much within Magnus' sphere since his most recent return from Taengea and her deeper involvement and understanding with his world. It helped that her fledgling interactions with nobles and courtly issues had proved her to toe the line of serving as an informant herself. Yet, unlike the other common informants he placed around Midas and beyond, she could clearly see the lines between the points and how they formed a full picture, like the constellations on the star map hidden away in her room.
Thoughts of both Maleos and Silanos had kept her mind swirling, filling her chest with anxiety and worry that could only be soothed by her now daily prayers at the Hall of the Gods. Standing before Ares and Athena each day, pleading with them for the safety of the two Egypt-bound men, alongside the King and Princes, she found herself drifting towards the entrance within the walls for Aphrodite.
Her feelings had been hard to decipher in the passing days since the ships set sail, a sight she watched from a far distance - unable to bring herself to see them eye-to-eye before leaving. It made her the worst of cowards, but lest she embarrass her logical sensibilities by appearing emotional at the docks without explanation for Magnus, she chose not to go. She was not ready for that conversation.
Leto's senses were on high-alert when she noted the crowds forming around the Hall of the Gods. Her feet did not speed or slow as she approached, the screams of werewolf causing her brows to furrow at the ridiculous nature of the cries. Approaching, she noted her brother's face above the crowd, his height proving useful in that moment. All but shouldering her way through to him, she fidgeted with her hair, shoveling it with an arm over one shoulder, thankful that she made the attempt to spin the loose hairs from her temples into tight coils and pin them away from her eyes.
"Brother," Leto said, approaching her brother as her eyes followed his to the carnage before the entrance to the Halls' shrine for Ares. A visceral dread tightened in her stomach - not from the sight of blood and the rending of the poor woman's body, but that someone did this to stop worshippers from entering the temple. A pit of pious anger flared in her at that but had to be quelled as she recognized their present company included Princess Athanasia, a young woman she had only ever seen at a distance.
"Your Highness," Leto greeted with a deep curtsey, her face still serious as her eyes flicked with a quick analysis to the body there and the red-haired priestess and her dogs. Blinking a few moments, her mind began to process what she saw. The slices that separated the woman's body were cleaner than they had a right to be - manmade, with a tool - not the work of teeth or claws, werewolf or otherwise.
"Even if she were one," Leto mused, taking on the tone that mirrored that of her long, deciphering talks she shared when processing the unknown with Magnus, "It was not her doing. Look at where it is separated, along the major joints. Not teeth or claw marks. Something hacked away at her with purpose..." Her hand inadvertently gestured, as if mentally linking the body parts back together. When her eyes fell back towards the Princess, she dipped her head with an apologetic grimace, "Forgive me if I offend, Your Highness. I simply speak what I see."
Her analytical eyes then looked around the crowd, flicking between the faces. Some were regular attendees to the temple that she had seen in passing, all of whom looked just as shocked and startled as her initial reaction had been. Her eyes flicked to Magnus, as she quietly added, "Whoever did this would likely want to see the reaction. They're likely still here..."
Akhmad held no care for what people thought of him. He had no instinctive pride or ego for the thoughts of others or the depravities with which they might associate a man who hid his face. Not just his face either. For Akhmad was cloaked and bandages from head to foot, not a piece of skin visible save for that of his eyelids and just beneath his brows. Every element of his persona and identity was hidden from sight.
For those that might have heard tales from Taengea, he might have appeared as a member of this Creed that was spoken of in hushed tones. The only difference in his dress being that his eyes were kept unmasked and his clothing held more personal touches - weaponry and bits of armour, medallions and additional stolen pieces that had been tucked within the folds of his clothing. His dress was more individual than that of the singular black clad units of the Creed cult.
Yet, it would have been an easy mistake to make.
Just as easy as the cries of werewolf that were given to the young redhead that lingered over the body. For she was feral enough to not have cleaned herself down before associating with civilisation. The crimson over her face, hands and clothes were damning to be sure and even more obvious in their colour, stark scarlet for all to see. Yet, this was exactly what told Akhmad that she had not committed the crime - unless she had been possessed by the transformative nature of Lycan mythology (to which Akhmad did not subscribe). For no guilty party wore their guilt so obviously...
Unless the girl was double bluffing and betting on such an assumption...?
Distracted from his analysis of the scene, Akhmad felt the gaze of a watcher and turned to make eye contact with a man that held himself like a fighter. With an unnerving ability to hold a gaze with a steady and expressionless stare, Akhmad challenged the male with his eyes alone before blinking and looking away with dismissive apathy. For now, his gaze moved to that of a young brunette who surmised the killer to be a witness to his own work.
And slowly, at such words, several of the stares in the crowd turned up towards him...
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.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
Akhmad held no care for what people thought of him. He had no instinctive pride or ego for the thoughts of others or the depravities with which they might associate a man who hid his face. Not just his face either. For Akhmad was cloaked and bandages from head to foot, not a piece of skin visible save for that of his eyelids and just beneath his brows. Every element of his persona and identity was hidden from sight.
For those that might have heard tales from Taengea, he might have appeared as a member of this Creed that was spoken of in hushed tones. The only difference in his dress being that his eyes were kept unmasked and his clothing held more personal touches - weaponry and bits of armour, medallions and additional stolen pieces that had been tucked within the folds of his clothing. His dress was more individual than that of the singular black clad units of the Creed cult.
Yet, it would have been an easy mistake to make.
Just as easy as the cries of werewolf that were given to the young redhead that lingered over the body. For she was feral enough to not have cleaned herself down before associating with civilisation. The crimson over her face, hands and clothes were damning to be sure and even more obvious in their colour, stark scarlet for all to see. Yet, this was exactly what told Akhmad that she had not committed the crime - unless she had been possessed by the transformative nature of Lycan mythology (to which Akhmad did not subscribe). For no guilty party wore their guilt so obviously...
Unless the girl was double bluffing and betting on such an assumption...?
Distracted from his analysis of the scene, Akhmad felt the gaze of a watcher and turned to make eye contact with a man that held himself like a fighter. With an unnerving ability to hold a gaze with a steady and expressionless stare, Akhmad challenged the male with his eyes alone before blinking and looking away with dismissive apathy. For now, his gaze moved to that of a young brunette who surmised the killer to be a witness to his own work.
And slowly, at such words, several of the stares in the crowd turned up towards him...
Akhmad held no care for what people thought of him. He had no instinctive pride or ego for the thoughts of others or the depravities with which they might associate a man who hid his face. Not just his face either. For Akhmad was cloaked and bandages from head to foot, not a piece of skin visible save for that of his eyelids and just beneath his brows. Every element of his persona and identity was hidden from sight.
For those that might have heard tales from Taengea, he might have appeared as a member of this Creed that was spoken of in hushed tones. The only difference in his dress being that his eyes were kept unmasked and his clothing held more personal touches - weaponry and bits of armour, medallions and additional stolen pieces that had been tucked within the folds of his clothing. His dress was more individual than that of the singular black clad units of the Creed cult.
Yet, it would have been an easy mistake to make.
Just as easy as the cries of werewolf that were given to the young redhead that lingered over the body. For she was feral enough to not have cleaned herself down before associating with civilisation. The crimson over her face, hands and clothes were damning to be sure and even more obvious in their colour, stark scarlet for all to see. Yet, this was exactly what told Akhmad that she had not committed the crime - unless she had been possessed by the transformative nature of Lycan mythology (to which Akhmad did not subscribe). For no guilty party wore their guilt so obviously...
Unless the girl was double bluffing and betting on such an assumption...?
Distracted from his analysis of the scene, Akhmad felt the gaze of a watcher and turned to make eye contact with a man that held himself like a fighter. With an unnerving ability to hold a gaze with a steady and expressionless stare, Akhmad challenged the male with his eyes alone before blinking and looking away with dismissive apathy. For now, his gaze moved to that of a young brunette who surmised the killer to be a witness to his own work.
And slowly, at such words, several of the stares in the crowd turned up towards him...
Aedea never paid too much attention when people looked at her. People always stared and whispered, as she was an stranger with a strange appearance, strange clothing, and strange mannerisms. For most of her life, that bothered her, but the sisters always taught her to ignore them, and so she did. But this was impossible to ignore: people were looking at her in utter terror, and they weren’t whispering; they were clamoring that she was a werewolf, a lycan, a shifter, a monster…
Her hounds bared their teeth defending their mistress. Aedea wanted to go to them and calm them before some tragedy happened, but she knew that if she got closer, the guards with spears that went forward would kill her. But thankfully, all seemed to defuse thanks to a person she considered her friend.
Athanasia, the Princess of Colchis whom she meet in the White Temple and offered archery lessons. She had a high opinion of the woman, and she was sure she had one for the priestess as well. She hoped that her words would carry enough weight for the crowd to listen to her. She was not a werewolf; she was a person of flesh and blood just like them.
At that, Aedea whistled, and her hounds stood down. They stopped snarling at the guards that obeyed the princess, and she decided to take the risk and move forward. Once she was in front of her hounds, still covered in blood, she knelt before the princess and said, “Princess. You know I. I friend. I no guilty. I no Lycan. I help find guilty”, she said with the respectful tone she used for someone that was above her, and someone that was just below the Olympians.
But as she raised her head to look at her, and looking at the other people, she noticed something else.
The overly-dressed man Aedea meet not too long ago was impossible to mistake. The strange man and her shared shelter and food for a night, without exchanging a single word, so she wasn’t able to catch his name. She found the occasion to be weird and pleasant, and didn’t particularly like how everyone else was looking at him…
This time, she stood up and quickly moved towards the people looking at him, snarling; that caused her hounds to snarl as well. She said with a fierce tone, “Stop! No look him!”, because if there was something she hated, was people staring at things they didn’t understand as if they were monstrous.
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.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
Aedea never paid too much attention when people looked at her. People always stared and whispered, as she was an stranger with a strange appearance, strange clothing, and strange mannerisms. For most of her life, that bothered her, but the sisters always taught her to ignore them, and so she did. But this was impossible to ignore: people were looking at her in utter terror, and they weren’t whispering; they were clamoring that she was a werewolf, a lycan, a shifter, a monster…
Her hounds bared their teeth defending their mistress. Aedea wanted to go to them and calm them before some tragedy happened, but she knew that if she got closer, the guards with spears that went forward would kill her. But thankfully, all seemed to defuse thanks to a person she considered her friend.
Athanasia, the Princess of Colchis whom she meet in the White Temple and offered archery lessons. She had a high opinion of the woman, and she was sure she had one for the priestess as well. She hoped that her words would carry enough weight for the crowd to listen to her. She was not a werewolf; she was a person of flesh and blood just like them.
At that, Aedea whistled, and her hounds stood down. They stopped snarling at the guards that obeyed the princess, and she decided to take the risk and move forward. Once she was in front of her hounds, still covered in blood, she knelt before the princess and said, “Princess. You know I. I friend. I no guilty. I no Lycan. I help find guilty”, she said with the respectful tone she used for someone that was above her, and someone that was just below the Olympians.
But as she raised her head to look at her, and looking at the other people, she noticed something else.
The overly-dressed man Aedea meet not too long ago was impossible to mistake. The strange man and her shared shelter and food for a night, without exchanging a single word, so she wasn’t able to catch his name. She found the occasion to be weird and pleasant, and didn’t particularly like how everyone else was looking at him…
This time, she stood up and quickly moved towards the people looking at him, snarling; that caused her hounds to snarl as well. She said with a fierce tone, “Stop! No look him!”, because if there was something she hated, was people staring at things they didn’t understand as if they were monstrous.
Aedea never paid too much attention when people looked at her. People always stared and whispered, as she was an stranger with a strange appearance, strange clothing, and strange mannerisms. For most of her life, that bothered her, but the sisters always taught her to ignore them, and so she did. But this was impossible to ignore: people were looking at her in utter terror, and they weren’t whispering; they were clamoring that she was a werewolf, a lycan, a shifter, a monster…
Her hounds bared their teeth defending their mistress. Aedea wanted to go to them and calm them before some tragedy happened, but she knew that if she got closer, the guards with spears that went forward would kill her. But thankfully, all seemed to defuse thanks to a person she considered her friend.
Athanasia, the Princess of Colchis whom she meet in the White Temple and offered archery lessons. She had a high opinion of the woman, and she was sure she had one for the priestess as well. She hoped that her words would carry enough weight for the crowd to listen to her. She was not a werewolf; she was a person of flesh and blood just like them.
At that, Aedea whistled, and her hounds stood down. They stopped snarling at the guards that obeyed the princess, and she decided to take the risk and move forward. Once she was in front of her hounds, still covered in blood, she knelt before the princess and said, “Princess. You know I. I friend. I no guilty. I no Lycan. I help find guilty”, she said with the respectful tone she used for someone that was above her, and someone that was just below the Olympians.
But as she raised her head to look at her, and looking at the other people, she noticed something else.
The overly-dressed man Aedea meet not too long ago was impossible to mistake. The strange man and her shared shelter and food for a night, without exchanging a single word, so she wasn’t able to catch his name. She found the occasion to be weird and pleasant, and didn’t particularly like how everyone else was looking at him…
This time, she stood up and quickly moved towards the people looking at him, snarling; that caused her hounds to snarl as well. She said with a fierce tone, “Stop! No look him!”, because if there was something she hated, was people staring at things they didn’t understand as if they were monstrous.
Akhmad watched from his perch without much of a reaction to all that happened below. The appearance of the young princess was perhaps a surprise and the other man looked to hold some import. then there was the soldier or militia-like individual who seemed to be watching him. And another woman who appeared to hold all sense of the words "dark intensity". Akhmad rolled his eyes behind his mask.
What sent his brows rising a little in surprise, however, was the defence that the redhead offered to him, trying to order those around her not to look at him. He wasn't sure why the girl was making such demands or what she thought might be damaging to him in their stares, but he said nothing as per usual and simply re-settled his hold and standing upon the roof top so that one of his hands became free and he could shake a little knife into his palm.
The metal glinted in the sunlight but he cared not what such a gesture would appear as. He was more interested in being able to defend himself is anyone below took issue with his presence and happened to be in possession of a bow and arrow.
For the girl's calls and redirection seemed to be having the opposite affect and only drawing more eyes towards his cat-like perch upon the rooftop.
Whilst he cared nothing for the looks... No Sariqas was left unprepared for such attentions that could turn violent.
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.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
Akhmad watched from his perch without much of a reaction to all that happened below. The appearance of the young princess was perhaps a surprise and the other man looked to hold some import. then there was the soldier or militia-like individual who seemed to be watching him. And another woman who appeared to hold all sense of the words "dark intensity". Akhmad rolled his eyes behind his mask.
What sent his brows rising a little in surprise, however, was the defence that the redhead offered to him, trying to order those around her not to look at him. He wasn't sure why the girl was making such demands or what she thought might be damaging to him in their stares, but he said nothing as per usual and simply re-settled his hold and standing upon the roof top so that one of his hands became free and he could shake a little knife into his palm.
The metal glinted in the sunlight but he cared not what such a gesture would appear as. He was more interested in being able to defend himself is anyone below took issue with his presence and happened to be in possession of a bow and arrow.
For the girl's calls and redirection seemed to be having the opposite affect and only drawing more eyes towards his cat-like perch upon the rooftop.
Whilst he cared nothing for the looks... No Sariqas was left unprepared for such attentions that could turn violent.
Akhmad watched from his perch without much of a reaction to all that happened below. The appearance of the young princess was perhaps a surprise and the other man looked to hold some import. then there was the soldier or militia-like individual who seemed to be watching him. And another woman who appeared to hold all sense of the words "dark intensity". Akhmad rolled his eyes behind his mask.
What sent his brows rising a little in surprise, however, was the defence that the redhead offered to him, trying to order those around her not to look at him. He wasn't sure why the girl was making such demands or what she thought might be damaging to him in their stares, but he said nothing as per usual and simply re-settled his hold and standing upon the roof top so that one of his hands became free and he could shake a little knife into his palm.
The metal glinted in the sunlight but he cared not what such a gesture would appear as. He was more interested in being able to defend himself is anyone below took issue with his presence and happened to be in possession of a bow and arrow.
For the girl's calls and redirection seemed to be having the opposite affect and only drawing more eyes towards his cat-like perch upon the rooftop.
Whilst he cared nothing for the looks... No Sariqas was left unprepared for such attentions that could turn violent.
Myrrine had managed to slip out of her home just before first light. It had been a restless night, as most of hers had been as of late. Her mind was too full of thoughts to find peace. She hadn’t been able to stop thinking of Hashe. It was as though he had consumed her, lit this spark inside her. Suddenly the life she’d accepted years before seemed lacking, she craved what she had long ago known she would never have.
With him, it suddenly seemed possible.
But then she thought of her family. How could she leave? Her siblings were mostly old enough, living their own lives. But she was the one who ran the shop more often than not. More than that, it was Calantha who filled her with guilt. The older children had known her as a sister first. They’d have years together with mom, even if those memories were fewer. But Calantha... Myrrine was the only mother she had ever known. How could she abandon her?
With these warring thoughts and emotions plaguing her, she had fled the only place she could think to find comfort. The Halls of the Gods. Yet as she approached, she saw the crowd gathered ahead. Her pace increased, stopping just short as she saw the first hint of blood.
In truth, Myrrine wasn’t a squeamish person. She’d butchered her family’s meat, tended to wounds of varying sizes - blood wasn’t an issue for her. But this... this wasn’t blood, this was carnage. A look of horror spread over her face, yet she couldn’t seem to pull her eyes away. She took several steps closer, the people in front of her moving just enough that she could see the majority of the scene.
Her hands immediately flew to her face, eyes wide and rapidly filling with unshed tears. There were no words for what lay before them. Her feet were frozen in place. She couldn’t scream, couldn’t cry, couldn’t speak. All she was capable of was staring ahead in horror. The longer she looked at what lay before her, the more detail she seemed to see, recognizing limbs and body parts.
Suddenly, her legs began to wobble beneath her and the world around her began to shift.
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.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
Myrrine had managed to slip out of her home just before first light. It had been a restless night, as most of hers had been as of late. Her mind was too full of thoughts to find peace. She hadn’t been able to stop thinking of Hashe. It was as though he had consumed her, lit this spark inside her. Suddenly the life she’d accepted years before seemed lacking, she craved what she had long ago known she would never have.
With him, it suddenly seemed possible.
But then she thought of her family. How could she leave? Her siblings were mostly old enough, living their own lives. But she was the one who ran the shop more often than not. More than that, it was Calantha who filled her with guilt. The older children had known her as a sister first. They’d have years together with mom, even if those memories were fewer. But Calantha... Myrrine was the only mother she had ever known. How could she abandon her?
With these warring thoughts and emotions plaguing her, she had fled the only place she could think to find comfort. The Halls of the Gods. Yet as she approached, she saw the crowd gathered ahead. Her pace increased, stopping just short as she saw the first hint of blood.
In truth, Myrrine wasn’t a squeamish person. She’d butchered her family’s meat, tended to wounds of varying sizes - blood wasn’t an issue for her. But this... this wasn’t blood, this was carnage. A look of horror spread over her face, yet she couldn’t seem to pull her eyes away. She took several steps closer, the people in front of her moving just enough that she could see the majority of the scene.
Her hands immediately flew to her face, eyes wide and rapidly filling with unshed tears. There were no words for what lay before them. Her feet were frozen in place. She couldn’t scream, couldn’t cry, couldn’t speak. All she was capable of was staring ahead in horror. The longer she looked at what lay before her, the more detail she seemed to see, recognizing limbs and body parts.
Suddenly, her legs began to wobble beneath her and the world around her began to shift.
Myrrine had managed to slip out of her home just before first light. It had been a restless night, as most of hers had been as of late. Her mind was too full of thoughts to find peace. She hadn’t been able to stop thinking of Hashe. It was as though he had consumed her, lit this spark inside her. Suddenly the life she’d accepted years before seemed lacking, she craved what she had long ago known she would never have.
With him, it suddenly seemed possible.
But then she thought of her family. How could she leave? Her siblings were mostly old enough, living their own lives. But she was the one who ran the shop more often than not. More than that, it was Calantha who filled her with guilt. The older children had known her as a sister first. They’d have years together with mom, even if those memories were fewer. But Calantha... Myrrine was the only mother she had ever known. How could she abandon her?
With these warring thoughts and emotions plaguing her, she had fled the only place she could think to find comfort. The Halls of the Gods. Yet as she approached, she saw the crowd gathered ahead. Her pace increased, stopping just short as she saw the first hint of blood.
In truth, Myrrine wasn’t a squeamish person. She’d butchered her family’s meat, tended to wounds of varying sizes - blood wasn’t an issue for her. But this... this wasn’t blood, this was carnage. A look of horror spread over her face, yet she couldn’t seem to pull her eyes away. She took several steps closer, the people in front of her moving just enough that she could see the majority of the scene.
Her hands immediately flew to her face, eyes wide and rapidly filling with unshed tears. There were no words for what lay before them. Her feet were frozen in place. She couldn’t scream, couldn’t cry, couldn’t speak. All she was capable of was staring ahead in horror. The longer she looked at what lay before her, the more detail she seemed to see, recognizing limbs and body parts.
Suddenly, her legs began to wobble beneath her and the world around her began to shift.
In his guise as a beggar, Nahash had been roaming the streets searching for a place to settle for the day. Even after his encounter with Myrrine he had been avoiding her shop, especially so really for fear she would recognize him even under the bandages and wraps he used to hide his identity. There was one in particular that held a good view of the temples that would help him mark the comings and goings of people at the temple of Ares, and so after hobbling through the streets enough to confuse and lose anyone following him, he was approaching the square as the commotion grew.
Frowning beneath his hood, he crept forward with his staff as support, playing up the injury as he caught sight of the crimson on the ground. This would perhaps not be the best place for him today. As he moved to step away though, someone familiar caught his eye. Akhmad atop the statues had become a focal point for most, and he scowled even deeper at the sight of one of his own at the point of being blamed for this. The man was a killer, but he'd never known him to so thoroughly dismember the body, and they would have to have words if the other man thought leaving it and then remaining in plain sight was a fine course of action. There was a warning in his eye, not that he expected the other man to be able to tell from such a distance.
The idiot girl who was screaming about Akhmad was doing no good, and his fingers itched to silence her. If he saw her in the streets with few around, he would be thrilled to extinguish her obnoxious screeches permanently. He had to do something, there had to be some way to draw attention from his man, and it was as he scanned the crowd quickly he saw yet another familiar form.
Myrrine had managed to set herself up with a far better view of the mess than he, and though he had still planned to slip away into the city, he could see her begin to waver. It was an annoyance that he knew her body language so well that he could tell when she was close to a faint. Only a moment passed before he knew what he had to do. Nahash moved quickly as his disguise would allow, reaching out to catch hold of her as she fell. The people around them as the woman fainted made a good deal of ruckus, their attention diverted as Nahash himself helped lower her to the ground without hitting her head. His voice mingled with the others about, calling for a physician in the hopes that the master informer and nobles on the other edge would look to the wellbeing of one of the living citizens.
"Careful, mistress." These words were just for her, and though half of his face was covered with the bandage he couldn't help but smile slightly even as his brow was knit in concern.
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.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
In his guise as a beggar, Nahash had been roaming the streets searching for a place to settle for the day. Even after his encounter with Myrrine he had been avoiding her shop, especially so really for fear she would recognize him even under the bandages and wraps he used to hide his identity. There was one in particular that held a good view of the temples that would help him mark the comings and goings of people at the temple of Ares, and so after hobbling through the streets enough to confuse and lose anyone following him, he was approaching the square as the commotion grew.
Frowning beneath his hood, he crept forward with his staff as support, playing up the injury as he caught sight of the crimson on the ground. This would perhaps not be the best place for him today. As he moved to step away though, someone familiar caught his eye. Akhmad atop the statues had become a focal point for most, and he scowled even deeper at the sight of one of his own at the point of being blamed for this. The man was a killer, but he'd never known him to so thoroughly dismember the body, and they would have to have words if the other man thought leaving it and then remaining in plain sight was a fine course of action. There was a warning in his eye, not that he expected the other man to be able to tell from such a distance.
The idiot girl who was screaming about Akhmad was doing no good, and his fingers itched to silence her. If he saw her in the streets with few around, he would be thrilled to extinguish her obnoxious screeches permanently. He had to do something, there had to be some way to draw attention from his man, and it was as he scanned the crowd quickly he saw yet another familiar form.
Myrrine had managed to set herself up with a far better view of the mess than he, and though he had still planned to slip away into the city, he could see her begin to waver. It was an annoyance that he knew her body language so well that he could tell when she was close to a faint. Only a moment passed before he knew what he had to do. Nahash moved quickly as his disguise would allow, reaching out to catch hold of her as she fell. The people around them as the woman fainted made a good deal of ruckus, their attention diverted as Nahash himself helped lower her to the ground without hitting her head. His voice mingled with the others about, calling for a physician in the hopes that the master informer and nobles on the other edge would look to the wellbeing of one of the living citizens.
"Careful, mistress." These words were just for her, and though half of his face was covered with the bandage he couldn't help but smile slightly even as his brow was knit in concern.
In his guise as a beggar, Nahash had been roaming the streets searching for a place to settle for the day. Even after his encounter with Myrrine he had been avoiding her shop, especially so really for fear she would recognize him even under the bandages and wraps he used to hide his identity. There was one in particular that held a good view of the temples that would help him mark the comings and goings of people at the temple of Ares, and so after hobbling through the streets enough to confuse and lose anyone following him, he was approaching the square as the commotion grew.
Frowning beneath his hood, he crept forward with his staff as support, playing up the injury as he caught sight of the crimson on the ground. This would perhaps not be the best place for him today. As he moved to step away though, someone familiar caught his eye. Akhmad atop the statues had become a focal point for most, and he scowled even deeper at the sight of one of his own at the point of being blamed for this. The man was a killer, but he'd never known him to so thoroughly dismember the body, and they would have to have words if the other man thought leaving it and then remaining in plain sight was a fine course of action. There was a warning in his eye, not that he expected the other man to be able to tell from such a distance.
The idiot girl who was screaming about Akhmad was doing no good, and his fingers itched to silence her. If he saw her in the streets with few around, he would be thrilled to extinguish her obnoxious screeches permanently. He had to do something, there had to be some way to draw attention from his man, and it was as he scanned the crowd quickly he saw yet another familiar form.
Myrrine had managed to set herself up with a far better view of the mess than he, and though he had still planned to slip away into the city, he could see her begin to waver. It was an annoyance that he knew her body language so well that he could tell when she was close to a faint. Only a moment passed before he knew what he had to do. Nahash moved quickly as his disguise would allow, reaching out to catch hold of her as she fell. The people around them as the woman fainted made a good deal of ruckus, their attention diverted as Nahash himself helped lower her to the ground without hitting her head. His voice mingled with the others about, calling for a physician in the hopes that the master informer and nobles on the other edge would look to the wellbeing of one of the living citizens.
"Careful, mistress." These words were just for her, and though half of his face was covered with the bandage he couldn't help but smile slightly even as his brow was knit in concern.
It all happened so quickly. One moment she was staring in horror at the scene before the temple and then next, the world was spinning until it went dark. She wasn’t sure if she was out for only a moment or longer. Time had ceased to exist to her. She was first aware of the noise. A chorus of voices and general ruckus, but it seemed faded, like a vague background noise. What stood out to her was not cries of outrage or calls for a physician. It was a specific voice.
A familiar voice.
Her eyes fluttered open at last. “It’s you,” she murmured, more in awe than anything. She was too stunned to think much else. “I’ve been so worried.” It didn’t occur to her in her half-dazed state the irony of expressing concern for anyone other than herself in the current circumstances.
Yet slowly her awareness returned, and she realized what must have happened. She had fainted. Putting aside that embarrassment, she realized another fact. Her head didn’t ache - how had she not hit it when she fell? Unless...
Myrrine looked up at the familiar face of the beggar once more, seeing the concern etched into his face. “Did you...” Had he caught her? The way he stood over her, she didn’t see any such alternative. No matter how little sense it made to think the haggard old man had managed such a feat. “Thank you,” she whispered.
Slowly, she propped herself up on her elbows, looking around herself. Her face was quickly stained with a crimson blush. “I’m fine,” she called out, voice louder now, as she realized she was at least half responsible for the commotion surrounding her.
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.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
It all happened so quickly. One moment she was staring in horror at the scene before the temple and then next, the world was spinning until it went dark. She wasn’t sure if she was out for only a moment or longer. Time had ceased to exist to her. She was first aware of the noise. A chorus of voices and general ruckus, but it seemed faded, like a vague background noise. What stood out to her was not cries of outrage or calls for a physician. It was a specific voice.
A familiar voice.
Her eyes fluttered open at last. “It’s you,” she murmured, more in awe than anything. She was too stunned to think much else. “I’ve been so worried.” It didn’t occur to her in her half-dazed state the irony of expressing concern for anyone other than herself in the current circumstances.
Yet slowly her awareness returned, and she realized what must have happened. She had fainted. Putting aside that embarrassment, she realized another fact. Her head didn’t ache - how had she not hit it when she fell? Unless...
Myrrine looked up at the familiar face of the beggar once more, seeing the concern etched into his face. “Did you...” Had he caught her? The way he stood over her, she didn’t see any such alternative. No matter how little sense it made to think the haggard old man had managed such a feat. “Thank you,” she whispered.
Slowly, she propped herself up on her elbows, looking around herself. Her face was quickly stained with a crimson blush. “I’m fine,” she called out, voice louder now, as she realized she was at least half responsible for the commotion surrounding her.
It all happened so quickly. One moment she was staring in horror at the scene before the temple and then next, the world was spinning until it went dark. She wasn’t sure if she was out for only a moment or longer. Time had ceased to exist to her. She was first aware of the noise. A chorus of voices and general ruckus, but it seemed faded, like a vague background noise. What stood out to her was not cries of outrage or calls for a physician. It was a specific voice.
A familiar voice.
Her eyes fluttered open at last. “It’s you,” she murmured, more in awe than anything. She was too stunned to think much else. “I’ve been so worried.” It didn’t occur to her in her half-dazed state the irony of expressing concern for anyone other than herself in the current circumstances.
Yet slowly her awareness returned, and she realized what must have happened. She had fainted. Putting aside that embarrassment, she realized another fact. Her head didn’t ache - how had she not hit it when she fell? Unless...
Myrrine looked up at the familiar face of the beggar once more, seeing the concern etched into his face. “Did you...” Had he caught her? The way he stood over her, she didn’t see any such alternative. No matter how little sense it made to think the haggard old man had managed such a feat. “Thank you,” she whispered.
Slowly, she propped herself up on her elbows, looking around herself. Her face was quickly stained with a crimson blush. “I’m fine,” she called out, voice louder now, as she realized she was at least half responsible for the commotion surrounding her.
It was true that Akhmad was too far away for any look of warning on Nahash's face to be noticed by him atop the temple entrance. What he could see, however, were the familiar wrappings and shawls and stick that Nahash liked to favour when playing his games as a beggar on the streets. So, he knew fully well who the man was. No limp or ambling step would be able to fool him into believing the homeless man to be anything but his own superior.
Too far to read any look of warning, he might have been, but Akhmad would know Nahash's thoughts well enough. The scene was easy to read. A dead body. An assassin known for his inhuman ways (not that he had ever openly dismembered a body in service of the Sariqas before). It was an easy juxtaposition to make. And yet, Akhmad hoped that Nahash would know him to be smart enough not to linger over his own kills. Which fairly securely spelt him as innocent of this particular crime.
When a young woman collapsed into a fainting spell, the affect that Nahash had sought was easy enough to witness. In Greece, the males protected their females. Saw them not as tender, fragile things but valuable assets. They were seen as equals to their menfolk but with entirely different purposes which meant that blood and violence was not something for them to be a part of - for them to witness or accept.
So, when the young woman in question, regardless of her status as a stranger to so man, collapsed to the floor, several of the other witnesses clustered around her, attempting to aid her. It was the natural instinct of human beings to help. And given that there was no helping the pathetic creature that had been torn to pieces already... the fainting girl was an easy target to readjust and redistribute a kindness otherwise lacking its opportunity.
Noticing his own opportunity in the moment, Akhmad was quick to turn tail on his current perch and move quickly over and around the rooftop of the temple's entrance. His shape disappeared quickly around a stone corner and he heard a few shouts and running footsteps that took off after him, intent, no doubt, on either capturing a killer or interrogating a witness. But the number of steps that he could hear behind him were far fewer in number than might have been if Akhmad had turned tail at any other moment. The distraction of the young Grecian woman had been a useful opportunity. And the pursuers that were left were easy enough to lose as Akhmad darted in and out of the streets and alleys of the Upper Levels and melted into the shadows of the lower city...
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.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
It was true that Akhmad was too far away for any look of warning on Nahash's face to be noticed by him atop the temple entrance. What he could see, however, were the familiar wrappings and shawls and stick that Nahash liked to favour when playing his games as a beggar on the streets. So, he knew fully well who the man was. No limp or ambling step would be able to fool him into believing the homeless man to be anything but his own superior.
Too far to read any look of warning, he might have been, but Akhmad would know Nahash's thoughts well enough. The scene was easy to read. A dead body. An assassin known for his inhuman ways (not that he had ever openly dismembered a body in service of the Sariqas before). It was an easy juxtaposition to make. And yet, Akhmad hoped that Nahash would know him to be smart enough not to linger over his own kills. Which fairly securely spelt him as innocent of this particular crime.
When a young woman collapsed into a fainting spell, the affect that Nahash had sought was easy enough to witness. In Greece, the males protected their females. Saw them not as tender, fragile things but valuable assets. They were seen as equals to their menfolk but with entirely different purposes which meant that blood and violence was not something for them to be a part of - for them to witness or accept.
So, when the young woman in question, regardless of her status as a stranger to so man, collapsed to the floor, several of the other witnesses clustered around her, attempting to aid her. It was the natural instinct of human beings to help. And given that there was no helping the pathetic creature that had been torn to pieces already... the fainting girl was an easy target to readjust and redistribute a kindness otherwise lacking its opportunity.
Noticing his own opportunity in the moment, Akhmad was quick to turn tail on his current perch and move quickly over and around the rooftop of the temple's entrance. His shape disappeared quickly around a stone corner and he heard a few shouts and running footsteps that took off after him, intent, no doubt, on either capturing a killer or interrogating a witness. But the number of steps that he could hear behind him were far fewer in number than might have been if Akhmad had turned tail at any other moment. The distraction of the young Grecian woman had been a useful opportunity. And the pursuers that were left were easy enough to lose as Akhmad darted in and out of the streets and alleys of the Upper Levels and melted into the shadows of the lower city...
It was true that Akhmad was too far away for any look of warning on Nahash's face to be noticed by him atop the temple entrance. What he could see, however, were the familiar wrappings and shawls and stick that Nahash liked to favour when playing his games as a beggar on the streets. So, he knew fully well who the man was. No limp or ambling step would be able to fool him into believing the homeless man to be anything but his own superior.
Too far to read any look of warning, he might have been, but Akhmad would know Nahash's thoughts well enough. The scene was easy to read. A dead body. An assassin known for his inhuman ways (not that he had ever openly dismembered a body in service of the Sariqas before). It was an easy juxtaposition to make. And yet, Akhmad hoped that Nahash would know him to be smart enough not to linger over his own kills. Which fairly securely spelt him as innocent of this particular crime.
When a young woman collapsed into a fainting spell, the affect that Nahash had sought was easy enough to witness. In Greece, the males protected their females. Saw them not as tender, fragile things but valuable assets. They were seen as equals to their menfolk but with entirely different purposes which meant that blood and violence was not something for them to be a part of - for them to witness or accept.
So, when the young woman in question, regardless of her status as a stranger to so man, collapsed to the floor, several of the other witnesses clustered around her, attempting to aid her. It was the natural instinct of human beings to help. And given that there was no helping the pathetic creature that had been torn to pieces already... the fainting girl was an easy target to readjust and redistribute a kindness otherwise lacking its opportunity.
Noticing his own opportunity in the moment, Akhmad was quick to turn tail on his current perch and move quickly over and around the rooftop of the temple's entrance. His shape disappeared quickly around a stone corner and he heard a few shouts and running footsteps that took off after him, intent, no doubt, on either capturing a killer or interrogating a witness. But the number of steps that he could hear behind him were far fewer in number than might have been if Akhmad had turned tail at any other moment. The distraction of the young Grecian woman had been a useful opportunity. And the pursuers that were left were easy enough to lose as Akhmad darted in and out of the streets and alleys of the Upper Levels and melted into the shadows of the lower city...