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It wasn't often that Damocles acceded to formal requests from people whom he had neither official reason or unofficial excuse to follow through. Most of the time he was simply too busy to engage in the minutia of quick, but distracting merry-making and joy-settling. His was an incessant career path, one that required the majority of his strengths and energies to see completed up to his standards.
He was a dominant manager, constantly paying attention to the inner functioning of his unit so as to stay on top of things. He liked details, he liked organization, he liked structure and he liked controls, all things he fundamentally prioritized as primary attributes of his leadership style. Yet, above all that, he liked results. To him, it didn't matter what he had to do to get things done right. As was his mindset, the ends always justified the means. The Damned were his circus and he was their ringleader, unquestionably and categorically.
Which is why this latest stint with a certain princeling was so particularly rare. Though he had often tended to the messy business that was his ambitions for greater power still, everything had been carefully calculated beforehand. Every smile had been organized, every appearance taken into account and every presentable event considered and deliberated upon by its pros and cons beforehand. While he occasionally allowed for one or two deviances in his tight schedule, it was seldom the case where he took into considerations that just sprung up at the last minute.
And yet, here he was, letting exactly just such deviation happen before him. But what was he supposed to do in such a situation? If he was honest with himself and carefully tendered a considerate rejection to the other's request, he would have probably looked before the eyes of the Court and the military as a coward. He already had too many affairs to look after, he could do without the accusation of cowardice. Though he was friendly in his acceptance to the other's invitation to a public fight, Damocles was not entirely looking forward to the occasion.
He really did have bigger fish to fry than the ego of a bored prince who could not be bothered to focus his attention on proper responsibilities and duties. Still, it might not all be a waste of time however. Prince Silas's reputation for friendliness meant that he could very much use this as an opportunity to secure closeness with the royal. Even if he was young, this princeling was well-regarded for his martial prowess. Mayhap he could take away much from this encounter after all. By his own admission, it had been quite a while since he had met someone that could match his own monstrous physical might so this could prove to be an interesting exercise in sheer, brute force. Besides, every chance he could get to beat one of those Kotas bears into submission was always a welcomed one.
Granted, though Damocles was aware that his own strength was of noteworthy proportions, honesty beckoned him to recall that for as powerful as his muscles were, he was not the most highly skilled man in the kingdom. He was of a tough constitution and an intense built, but expertise in weaponry, aside his trusty spear and shield, was not his best angle. If he was to take this challenge seriously, the silver-eyed Captain would have to rely on his defense, stamina, endurance and precision, lest that bear might overwhelm him with the mastery of a man raised inside a proper house of soldiers and militants, a privilege he had never had in the first place.
Aside from all of this however, Damocles wanted to know just why in the name of all the High Gods did Silas want to fight him? For the last couple of years he had been off fighting a war at the Northern Lands, winning a plethora of laurels and awards upon arrival. Yet, that wasn't something particular about him alone. Plenty of other men had been well-received whence they returned. Of course, given his superior military mind and prowess for all things bellicose it was only natural for the younger captain to learn and inquire about the man with the silver eyes, but Damocles doubted that had been the sole reason why he had been so blunt in his challenge. Mayhap his past with Vangelis had been the reason for this invitation to madness. Gods knew that prince in particular rubbed him the wrong way. Yet, past personal experiences aside, for as much as he could push them, he wasn't going to let some upstart best him in single combat yet.
Interestingly, it seemed that the fight had would have been done in the Archontiko Drakos, the metropolitan home of his nominal siege lords. Though he bore no particular ill-towards that bloodline in particular, they were partisans to the Crown, and so stood in the way. Just like the princeling. Of course, even if this entire thing was set around people whom he secretly wished away, the famed Captain of the Damned was not going to let his anger get the best of him. All of this could very much be a profitable venture. Moreover, despite the princeling's boldness, Damocles supposed this was all to be done in good-spirit anyways. It was just a friendly match between two men who stood equal in terms of military rank.
The black-haired man however had to confess that he wasn't exactly in the closest of levels with this princeling. He had heard of him and his achievements before, and for that it could be said that the Silver-eyed man's curiosity was peaked. Silas however was a friendly, hardy man, from what he could gather, and so Damocles saw no reason as to why he could not offer his own odd friendship to the man regardless of the circumstances that now brought them together. Oh yes, he would extend his gregarious hand to this man, after all, one could never truly have too many friends from the other side.
And so he arrived at the agreed upon place during the agreed upon time. For as much as he tried to resist scoffing at the sights before him, once his heavy feet landed against the exquisitely decorated floors of the estate, the colossal man felt his shoulders tense and tighten. This was not the first time he had stepped at this palatial home, but it still did not soften the wounds inside him. There was so much wealth, so much opulence, all of it dug by the cold, bloody hands of the many that he called brother and sister. It disgusted him, to see how all the jewels and metals that his kindred carved from rocks and veins just hung by the walls and ceilings nonchalantly. Alas, he had to quell his rage and let his simmering outrage pour elsewhere. Today was not meant to be a moment of tensions or hatred, and so he would try his best to suppress his temper.
Given the tone of the princeling, Damocles had found it best to satisfy each of the youth's conditions and requests. Thus, he garbed himself in real, proven metal, not that ceremonial suit that had to be donned whenever pomp and circumstanced demanded it. Rather, his armor was darkly colored and intense, with clear signs of proven use and wear. It was obviously high of quality, but it lacked the loyalty colors of either his siege, Lady Tythra, or his baron. Such fragrant sycophancy disgusted him anyways. Yet, it was obvious that, despite not donning Drakos gold, his armor still showed his nominal loyalty, as evident by the dragon motifs he sported in his black muscle cuirass, twin galeruses, greaves, bracers, Corinthian plumed helmet and, above all, large, aspis shield. The combination of dark, boiled leather and plutonian metal gave off a Stygian impression, as if the man was channeling the very darkness of Lord Hades himself, fitting, given his epithet: Damocles the Terrible.
And terrible he was. Despite his invitation to the household, the armored Captain of the Damned seemed to frighten the slaves and servants that bore witness to his appearance. It would appear that he was true to his name at least in some regard. A doru spear was firmly gripped in his hand, his weapon of choice in all instances regardless of place. Throughout the years he had trained with blades, but he did not trust that he could rely on his swordplay alone. Silas had wanted him to come at his best and most prepared, and so he would comply. A xiphos sword was still sheathed by his side, in case it ever came to pass that he would have to use it, though he wagered that would not come to pass.
Eventually, he would be led to the designated place for this mock battle to be held. It was a relatively open-space area, which he assumed one of the Drakos had ordered to be emptied in anticipation of this duel. Nevertheless, despite coming to appear when summoned, the towering man was alone in the place, save for the slave that had escorted him inside. How disappointing. Punctuality was everything, and yet, it seemed as though he had arrived earlier than expected. No matter. He was a patient man. If Silas had needed better time to prepare for their fight then he would be excused. After all, though he begrudgingly accepted the challenge, Damocles had just returned from a fierce war not long ago. Let him come when he so wished, if he even remembered to come in the first place that is.
In time, the once-empty room swelled to population, causing the resting militant to stare at the would-be spectators with curios disbelief. If he was not wrong, this entire match had been meant to be a rather private, intimate affair, void of pomp and circumstance. Despite that, therein was an audience, a group of men and women who he neither recognized or cared for. He was here for the fight with the prince, not to entertain a crowd. He held fast to his tranquil, but dismissive, state of mind, staring at the people with fierce contempt in his signature iron-colored eyes. Perhaps, they had been friends of the royal or of the Drakos house itself, people who came to provide their support to the Kotas man before his fight. And yet, he couldn't help but sigh at the sight. Was all this splendor really necessary? Did this private affair have to develop into a spectacled event? Truly the Gods had abandoned him in this hour...metaphorically he meant. There was no way they would abandon him...right?
In due course, the ladies of the Drakos household came forth in their magnificent outfits and splendid outfits. He recognized all of them, form the youngest daughter in the form of Lady Essa to their legendary matriarch, Lady Tythra herself, the chief dragon herself. At this moment, Damocles thought it wise to approach those whom owned the land he had called his home, but perhaps such a thing might be unbecoming, given his lowly status in comparison. In the end, despite his reservations, he opted to bend the knee, approaching the royal ladies without hurry or tactless hesitation to his metallic steps.
"Your Most Excellent Highnesses, Princess Tythra, Lady Imeeya and Essa of Drakos..."he began, offering the customary bow of a Captain to his overlord. His features were friendly, though not overly so, stoic, though attentive, reflecting the focus and concentration that his helmed brow betrayed. "It is an honor to make your good acquaintance in this most auspicious of days. Allow me to offer you my Lord Baron and his House's warmest regards. I am sure they would have been delighted to come, but alas, business in the province compelled them to stay." continued the man as he noticed a familiar sight across the room, causing him to turn his head sideways so as to redirect his attention. "Now, I ask you forgive me, for it seems I must excuse myself so as to tend to the business at hand. Good day, your Highnesses." And with that, he left, offering another, final bow before leaving without turning his back to his superiors so as to not cause offense.
Now that he had finished with the formalities, he could go on to manage his challenger. He didn't expect that this would be an easy fight, for even if Silas of Kotas was younger than him and of an equal military rank, he was still a man of great acclaim for his abilities with the blade. He would need to focus on his strengths, while suppressing his weaknesses. His monstrous strength, his economy of movement, his precision of strike and his unyielding defense would need to be summoned so as to provide for a solid match. Mayhap, he was overthinking it all and the youth was not as brutally skilled as he was led on to believe. Surely, that would be a relief. Yet, ever the pragmatist, Damocles chose to trust his intuition and err on the side of caution. He might secretly underestimate that family of butchers at any given day, but even he had to admit that theirs was a bloodline of warriors and soldiers. Only a fool would face one of their brood with nothing but their all.
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It wasn't often that Damocles acceded to formal requests from people whom he had neither official reason or unofficial excuse to follow through. Most of the time he was simply too busy to engage in the minutia of quick, but distracting merry-making and joy-settling. His was an incessant career path, one that required the majority of his strengths and energies to see completed up to his standards.
He was a dominant manager, constantly paying attention to the inner functioning of his unit so as to stay on top of things. He liked details, he liked organization, he liked structure and he liked controls, all things he fundamentally prioritized as primary attributes of his leadership style. Yet, above all that, he liked results. To him, it didn't matter what he had to do to get things done right. As was his mindset, the ends always justified the means. The Damned were his circus and he was their ringleader, unquestionably and categorically.
Which is why this latest stint with a certain princeling was so particularly rare. Though he had often tended to the messy business that was his ambitions for greater power still, everything had been carefully calculated beforehand. Every smile had been organized, every appearance taken into account and every presentable event considered and deliberated upon by its pros and cons beforehand. While he occasionally allowed for one or two deviances in his tight schedule, it was seldom the case where he took into considerations that just sprung up at the last minute.
And yet, here he was, letting exactly just such deviation happen before him. But what was he supposed to do in such a situation? If he was honest with himself and carefully tendered a considerate rejection to the other's request, he would have probably looked before the eyes of the Court and the military as a coward. He already had too many affairs to look after, he could do without the accusation of cowardice. Though he was friendly in his acceptance to the other's invitation to a public fight, Damocles was not entirely looking forward to the occasion.
He really did have bigger fish to fry than the ego of a bored prince who could not be bothered to focus his attention on proper responsibilities and duties. Still, it might not all be a waste of time however. Prince Silas's reputation for friendliness meant that he could very much use this as an opportunity to secure closeness with the royal. Even if he was young, this princeling was well-regarded for his martial prowess. Mayhap he could take away much from this encounter after all. By his own admission, it had been quite a while since he had met someone that could match his own monstrous physical might so this could prove to be an interesting exercise in sheer, brute force. Besides, every chance he could get to beat one of those Kotas bears into submission was always a welcomed one.
Granted, though Damocles was aware that his own strength was of noteworthy proportions, honesty beckoned him to recall that for as powerful as his muscles were, he was not the most highly skilled man in the kingdom. He was of a tough constitution and an intense built, but expertise in weaponry, aside his trusty spear and shield, was not his best angle. If he was to take this challenge seriously, the silver-eyed Captain would have to rely on his defense, stamina, endurance and precision, lest that bear might overwhelm him with the mastery of a man raised inside a proper house of soldiers and militants, a privilege he had never had in the first place.
Aside from all of this however, Damocles wanted to know just why in the name of all the High Gods did Silas want to fight him? For the last couple of years he had been off fighting a war at the Northern Lands, winning a plethora of laurels and awards upon arrival. Yet, that wasn't something particular about him alone. Plenty of other men had been well-received whence they returned. Of course, given his superior military mind and prowess for all things bellicose it was only natural for the younger captain to learn and inquire about the man with the silver eyes, but Damocles doubted that had been the sole reason why he had been so blunt in his challenge. Mayhap his past with Vangelis had been the reason for this invitation to madness. Gods knew that prince in particular rubbed him the wrong way. Yet, past personal experiences aside, for as much as he could push them, he wasn't going to let some upstart best him in single combat yet.
Interestingly, it seemed that the fight had would have been done in the Archontiko Drakos, the metropolitan home of his nominal siege lords. Though he bore no particular ill-towards that bloodline in particular, they were partisans to the Crown, and so stood in the way. Just like the princeling. Of course, even if this entire thing was set around people whom he secretly wished away, the famed Captain of the Damned was not going to let his anger get the best of him. All of this could very much be a profitable venture. Moreover, despite the princeling's boldness, Damocles supposed this was all to be done in good-spirit anyways. It was just a friendly match between two men who stood equal in terms of military rank.
The black-haired man however had to confess that he wasn't exactly in the closest of levels with this princeling. He had heard of him and his achievements before, and for that it could be said that the Silver-eyed man's curiosity was peaked. Silas however was a friendly, hardy man, from what he could gather, and so Damocles saw no reason as to why he could not offer his own odd friendship to the man regardless of the circumstances that now brought them together. Oh yes, he would extend his gregarious hand to this man, after all, one could never truly have too many friends from the other side.
And so he arrived at the agreed upon place during the agreed upon time. For as much as he tried to resist scoffing at the sights before him, once his heavy feet landed against the exquisitely decorated floors of the estate, the colossal man felt his shoulders tense and tighten. This was not the first time he had stepped at this palatial home, but it still did not soften the wounds inside him. There was so much wealth, so much opulence, all of it dug by the cold, bloody hands of the many that he called brother and sister. It disgusted him, to see how all the jewels and metals that his kindred carved from rocks and veins just hung by the walls and ceilings nonchalantly. Alas, he had to quell his rage and let his simmering outrage pour elsewhere. Today was not meant to be a moment of tensions or hatred, and so he would try his best to suppress his temper.
Given the tone of the princeling, Damocles had found it best to satisfy each of the youth's conditions and requests. Thus, he garbed himself in real, proven metal, not that ceremonial suit that had to be donned whenever pomp and circumstanced demanded it. Rather, his armor was darkly colored and intense, with clear signs of proven use and wear. It was obviously high of quality, but it lacked the loyalty colors of either his siege, Lady Tythra, or his baron. Such fragrant sycophancy disgusted him anyways. Yet, it was obvious that, despite not donning Drakos gold, his armor still showed his nominal loyalty, as evident by the dragon motifs he sported in his black muscle cuirass, twin galeruses, greaves, bracers, Corinthian plumed helmet and, above all, large, aspis shield. The combination of dark, boiled leather and plutonian metal gave off a Stygian impression, as if the man was channeling the very darkness of Lord Hades himself, fitting, given his epithet: Damocles the Terrible.
And terrible he was. Despite his invitation to the household, the armored Captain of the Damned seemed to frighten the slaves and servants that bore witness to his appearance. It would appear that he was true to his name at least in some regard. A doru spear was firmly gripped in his hand, his weapon of choice in all instances regardless of place. Throughout the years he had trained with blades, but he did not trust that he could rely on his swordplay alone. Silas had wanted him to come at his best and most prepared, and so he would comply. A xiphos sword was still sheathed by his side, in case it ever came to pass that he would have to use it, though he wagered that would not come to pass.
Eventually, he would be led to the designated place for this mock battle to be held. It was a relatively open-space area, which he assumed one of the Drakos had ordered to be emptied in anticipation of this duel. Nevertheless, despite coming to appear when summoned, the towering man was alone in the place, save for the slave that had escorted him inside. How disappointing. Punctuality was everything, and yet, it seemed as though he had arrived earlier than expected. No matter. He was a patient man. If Silas had needed better time to prepare for their fight then he would be excused. After all, though he begrudgingly accepted the challenge, Damocles had just returned from a fierce war not long ago. Let him come when he so wished, if he even remembered to come in the first place that is.
In time, the once-empty room swelled to population, causing the resting militant to stare at the would-be spectators with curios disbelief. If he was not wrong, this entire match had been meant to be a rather private, intimate affair, void of pomp and circumstance. Despite that, therein was an audience, a group of men and women who he neither recognized or cared for. He was here for the fight with the prince, not to entertain a crowd. He held fast to his tranquil, but dismissive, state of mind, staring at the people with fierce contempt in his signature iron-colored eyes. Perhaps, they had been friends of the royal or of the Drakos house itself, people who came to provide their support to the Kotas man before his fight. And yet, he couldn't help but sigh at the sight. Was all this splendor really necessary? Did this private affair have to develop into a spectacled event? Truly the Gods had abandoned him in this hour...metaphorically he meant. There was no way they would abandon him...right?
In due course, the ladies of the Drakos household came forth in their magnificent outfits and splendid outfits. He recognized all of them, form the youngest daughter in the form of Lady Essa to their legendary matriarch, Lady Tythra herself, the chief dragon herself. At this moment, Damocles thought it wise to approach those whom owned the land he had called his home, but perhaps such a thing might be unbecoming, given his lowly status in comparison. In the end, despite his reservations, he opted to bend the knee, approaching the royal ladies without hurry or tactless hesitation to his metallic steps.
"Your Most Excellent Highnesses, Princess Tythra, Lady Imeeya and Essa of Drakos..."he began, offering the customary bow of a Captain to his overlord. His features were friendly, though not overly so, stoic, though attentive, reflecting the focus and concentration that his helmed brow betrayed. "It is an honor to make your good acquaintance in this most auspicious of days. Allow me to offer you my Lord Baron and his House's warmest regards. I am sure they would have been delighted to come, but alas, business in the province compelled them to stay." continued the man as he noticed a familiar sight across the room, causing him to turn his head sideways so as to redirect his attention. "Now, I ask you forgive me, for it seems I must excuse myself so as to tend to the business at hand. Good day, your Highnesses." And with that, he left, offering another, final bow before leaving without turning his back to his superiors so as to not cause offense.
Now that he had finished with the formalities, he could go on to manage his challenger. He didn't expect that this would be an easy fight, for even if Silas of Kotas was younger than him and of an equal military rank, he was still a man of great acclaim for his abilities with the blade. He would need to focus on his strengths, while suppressing his weaknesses. His monstrous strength, his economy of movement, his precision of strike and his unyielding defense would need to be summoned so as to provide for a solid match. Mayhap, he was overthinking it all and the youth was not as brutally skilled as he was led on to believe. Surely, that would be a relief. Yet, ever the pragmatist, Damocles chose to trust his intuition and err on the side of caution. He might secretly underestimate that family of butchers at any given day, but even he had to admit that theirs was a bloodline of warriors and soldiers. Only a fool would face one of their brood with nothing but their all.
It wasn't often that Damocles acceded to formal requests from people whom he had neither official reason or unofficial excuse to follow through. Most of the time he was simply too busy to engage in the minutia of quick, but distracting merry-making and joy-settling. His was an incessant career path, one that required the majority of his strengths and energies to see completed up to his standards.
He was a dominant manager, constantly paying attention to the inner functioning of his unit so as to stay on top of things. He liked details, he liked organization, he liked structure and he liked controls, all things he fundamentally prioritized as primary attributes of his leadership style. Yet, above all that, he liked results. To him, it didn't matter what he had to do to get things done right. As was his mindset, the ends always justified the means. The Damned were his circus and he was their ringleader, unquestionably and categorically.
Which is why this latest stint with a certain princeling was so particularly rare. Though he had often tended to the messy business that was his ambitions for greater power still, everything had been carefully calculated beforehand. Every smile had been organized, every appearance taken into account and every presentable event considered and deliberated upon by its pros and cons beforehand. While he occasionally allowed for one or two deviances in his tight schedule, it was seldom the case where he took into considerations that just sprung up at the last minute.
And yet, here he was, letting exactly just such deviation happen before him. But what was he supposed to do in such a situation? If he was honest with himself and carefully tendered a considerate rejection to the other's request, he would have probably looked before the eyes of the Court and the military as a coward. He already had too many affairs to look after, he could do without the accusation of cowardice. Though he was friendly in his acceptance to the other's invitation to a public fight, Damocles was not entirely looking forward to the occasion.
He really did have bigger fish to fry than the ego of a bored prince who could not be bothered to focus his attention on proper responsibilities and duties. Still, it might not all be a waste of time however. Prince Silas's reputation for friendliness meant that he could very much use this as an opportunity to secure closeness with the royal. Even if he was young, this princeling was well-regarded for his martial prowess. Mayhap he could take away much from this encounter after all. By his own admission, it had been quite a while since he had met someone that could match his own monstrous physical might so this could prove to be an interesting exercise in sheer, brute force. Besides, every chance he could get to beat one of those Kotas bears into submission was always a welcomed one.
Granted, though Damocles was aware that his own strength was of noteworthy proportions, honesty beckoned him to recall that for as powerful as his muscles were, he was not the most highly skilled man in the kingdom. He was of a tough constitution and an intense built, but expertise in weaponry, aside his trusty spear and shield, was not his best angle. If he was to take this challenge seriously, the silver-eyed Captain would have to rely on his defense, stamina, endurance and precision, lest that bear might overwhelm him with the mastery of a man raised inside a proper house of soldiers and militants, a privilege he had never had in the first place.
Aside from all of this however, Damocles wanted to know just why in the name of all the High Gods did Silas want to fight him? For the last couple of years he had been off fighting a war at the Northern Lands, winning a plethora of laurels and awards upon arrival. Yet, that wasn't something particular about him alone. Plenty of other men had been well-received whence they returned. Of course, given his superior military mind and prowess for all things bellicose it was only natural for the younger captain to learn and inquire about the man with the silver eyes, but Damocles doubted that had been the sole reason why he had been so blunt in his challenge. Mayhap his past with Vangelis had been the reason for this invitation to madness. Gods knew that prince in particular rubbed him the wrong way. Yet, past personal experiences aside, for as much as he could push them, he wasn't going to let some upstart best him in single combat yet.
Interestingly, it seemed that the fight had would have been done in the Archontiko Drakos, the metropolitan home of his nominal siege lords. Though he bore no particular ill-towards that bloodline in particular, they were partisans to the Crown, and so stood in the way. Just like the princeling. Of course, even if this entire thing was set around people whom he secretly wished away, the famed Captain of the Damned was not going to let his anger get the best of him. All of this could very much be a profitable venture. Moreover, despite the princeling's boldness, Damocles supposed this was all to be done in good-spirit anyways. It was just a friendly match between two men who stood equal in terms of military rank.
The black-haired man however had to confess that he wasn't exactly in the closest of levels with this princeling. He had heard of him and his achievements before, and for that it could be said that the Silver-eyed man's curiosity was peaked. Silas however was a friendly, hardy man, from what he could gather, and so Damocles saw no reason as to why he could not offer his own odd friendship to the man regardless of the circumstances that now brought them together. Oh yes, he would extend his gregarious hand to this man, after all, one could never truly have too many friends from the other side.
And so he arrived at the agreed upon place during the agreed upon time. For as much as he tried to resist scoffing at the sights before him, once his heavy feet landed against the exquisitely decorated floors of the estate, the colossal man felt his shoulders tense and tighten. This was not the first time he had stepped at this palatial home, but it still did not soften the wounds inside him. There was so much wealth, so much opulence, all of it dug by the cold, bloody hands of the many that he called brother and sister. It disgusted him, to see how all the jewels and metals that his kindred carved from rocks and veins just hung by the walls and ceilings nonchalantly. Alas, he had to quell his rage and let his simmering outrage pour elsewhere. Today was not meant to be a moment of tensions or hatred, and so he would try his best to suppress his temper.
Given the tone of the princeling, Damocles had found it best to satisfy each of the youth's conditions and requests. Thus, he garbed himself in real, proven metal, not that ceremonial suit that had to be donned whenever pomp and circumstanced demanded it. Rather, his armor was darkly colored and intense, with clear signs of proven use and wear. It was obviously high of quality, but it lacked the loyalty colors of either his siege, Lady Tythra, or his baron. Such fragrant sycophancy disgusted him anyways. Yet, it was obvious that, despite not donning Drakos gold, his armor still showed his nominal loyalty, as evident by the dragon motifs he sported in his black muscle cuirass, twin galeruses, greaves, bracers, Corinthian plumed helmet and, above all, large, aspis shield. The combination of dark, boiled leather and plutonian metal gave off a Stygian impression, as if the man was channeling the very darkness of Lord Hades himself, fitting, given his epithet: Damocles the Terrible.
And terrible he was. Despite his invitation to the household, the armored Captain of the Damned seemed to frighten the slaves and servants that bore witness to his appearance. It would appear that he was true to his name at least in some regard. A doru spear was firmly gripped in his hand, his weapon of choice in all instances regardless of place. Throughout the years he had trained with blades, but he did not trust that he could rely on his swordplay alone. Silas had wanted him to come at his best and most prepared, and so he would comply. A xiphos sword was still sheathed by his side, in case it ever came to pass that he would have to use it, though he wagered that would not come to pass.
Eventually, he would be led to the designated place for this mock battle to be held. It was a relatively open-space area, which he assumed one of the Drakos had ordered to be emptied in anticipation of this duel. Nevertheless, despite coming to appear when summoned, the towering man was alone in the place, save for the slave that had escorted him inside. How disappointing. Punctuality was everything, and yet, it seemed as though he had arrived earlier than expected. No matter. He was a patient man. If Silas had needed better time to prepare for their fight then he would be excused. After all, though he begrudgingly accepted the challenge, Damocles had just returned from a fierce war not long ago. Let him come when he so wished, if he even remembered to come in the first place that is.
In time, the once-empty room swelled to population, causing the resting militant to stare at the would-be spectators with curios disbelief. If he was not wrong, this entire match had been meant to be a rather private, intimate affair, void of pomp and circumstance. Despite that, therein was an audience, a group of men and women who he neither recognized or cared for. He was here for the fight with the prince, not to entertain a crowd. He held fast to his tranquil, but dismissive, state of mind, staring at the people with fierce contempt in his signature iron-colored eyes. Perhaps, they had been friends of the royal or of the Drakos house itself, people who came to provide their support to the Kotas man before his fight. And yet, he couldn't help but sigh at the sight. Was all this splendor really necessary? Did this private affair have to develop into a spectacled event? Truly the Gods had abandoned him in this hour...metaphorically he meant. There was no way they would abandon him...right?
In due course, the ladies of the Drakos household came forth in their magnificent outfits and splendid outfits. He recognized all of them, form the youngest daughter in the form of Lady Essa to their legendary matriarch, Lady Tythra herself, the chief dragon herself. At this moment, Damocles thought it wise to approach those whom owned the land he had called his home, but perhaps such a thing might be unbecoming, given his lowly status in comparison. In the end, despite his reservations, he opted to bend the knee, approaching the royal ladies without hurry or tactless hesitation to his metallic steps.
"Your Most Excellent Highnesses, Princess Tythra, Lady Imeeya and Essa of Drakos..."he began, offering the customary bow of a Captain to his overlord. His features were friendly, though not overly so, stoic, though attentive, reflecting the focus and concentration that his helmed brow betrayed. "It is an honor to make your good acquaintance in this most auspicious of days. Allow me to offer you my Lord Baron and his House's warmest regards. I am sure they would have been delighted to come, but alas, business in the province compelled them to stay." continued the man as he noticed a familiar sight across the room, causing him to turn his head sideways so as to redirect his attention. "Now, I ask you forgive me, for it seems I must excuse myself so as to tend to the business at hand. Good day, your Highnesses." And with that, he left, offering another, final bow before leaving without turning his back to his superiors so as to not cause offense.
Now that he had finished with the formalities, he could go on to manage his challenger. He didn't expect that this would be an easy fight, for even if Silas of Kotas was younger than him and of an equal military rank, he was still a man of great acclaim for his abilities with the blade. He would need to focus on his strengths, while suppressing his weaknesses. His monstrous strength, his economy of movement, his precision of strike and his unyielding defense would need to be summoned so as to provide for a solid match. Mayhap, he was overthinking it all and the youth was not as brutally skilled as he was led on to believe. Surely, that would be a relief. Yet, ever the pragmatist, Damocles chose to trust his intuition and err on the side of caution. He might secretly underestimate that family of butchers at any given day, but even he had to admit that theirs was a bloodline of warriors and soldiers. Only a fool would face one of their brood with nothing but their all.