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The voyage from Colchis to Taengea had been smooth sailing. Quite literally. The water had been clear and still, the skies had stayed open and blue. There had been a moment in which storm clouds on the horizon had threatened but they curved around the fleet's passage, flickering nearer to Athenia and then on to their homeland without disturbing their own voyage. Soon, Colchis would have the hurricanes and storms that it was most used to at this time and year. Yet the men of the land were safe aboard their ships. The only true risk had been that of sunburn, under the hot late summer skies.
The journey from Taengea to Egypt was a little less even. The sea was deeper in these parts, spreading from the Aegean into the Mediterranean as they headed further south. Deeper waters meant more danger in stormy weather - there was more of the depths to sway back and forth and risk upsetting the vessels. In general, the weather held and they were saved from any disasters. But almost the entire journey was set against the flow of the wind.
There as much work to be done by the crews of each ship, as the booms and sails shifted back and forth to try and find even the smallest of breezes and catch the wind at its very edge. The rest of the men were forced to take up oars and force the boats along the way. It was a hard-pressed choice on the part of the commanding officers and the captains of the ships. Ride hard and reach their Taengean brothers in arms faster, but with men exhausted from seawork. Or take a little more time and have them more equipped for gruelling combat.
For combat was more and more likely of what they would find.
The further they sailed to the south, the more the tension on board each craft grew. For, if King Achilleas had succeeded in his plans to debilitate the Egyptian ships quietly, then they would have seen him sailing towards them in the other direction. There was no possible way in which the fleet could miss several large military vessels heading back to Taengea. And the fact that no such structures appeared on the horizon ahead of them only cemented the realisation that Colchis was going to be needed in this war. That they would make it all the way to Egypt and be required to stand strong side by side with their southern neighbours.
Vangelis had no concerns regarding this. Despite the hope that the King of Taengea would be victorious in his aims, for the sake of many and the lack of bloodshed, Vangelis never left his native lands without the understanding and acceptance that he might not see them again. With the acceptance that he would be fighting for his life before he was lucky enough to return. He had been expecting war. So, the growing tension of his men was of no concern to him. They could adjust their expectations as they wished. So long as they were ready to fight the African forces once they got there.
It was this 'readiness' that Vangelis had in mind as he walked the lengths of his ship, looking upon his men with a discerning eye. He noted the ones that were sailors, the ones that were soldiers and made sure that the former took the brunt of the oarsmen work. He noted the way that the Captain ordered every effort upon ever change of wind to use the sails to their biggest advantage. He watched the eyes of those that would fight the Egyptians with a stare that was uncompromising and intuitive as to the spirit within.
Vangelis might not have been a man that was particularly cunning or noticing of the slights and subtleties of man in the Courts. He didn't play the social etiquette game or understand the looks and emotions of ladies. But he knew, looking into the eyes of a man in armour, whether or not he would hold fast on the battlefield or come apart under the fear and pressure. It was neither a gift nor a level of intelligence that gave him such an ability. But pure experience. He had seen the men that had fallen and he had seen those that literally soldiered on. He knew the difference.
Coming up towards the front of the vessel, Vangelis spotted Silanos who had been taking a turn at the oars that afternoon under a hot sun and noted the colour in his pallor. The man had been sick to his stomach between Colchis and Taengea and the waters were a little harder here, the ship swaying more greatly due to the changes in sails and wind. They moved in an almost meandering path despite it being the fastest possible route.
"If you need to cease for a moment, Silanos, admit it and allow someone else to take your place." Vangelis said, Silanos' seat just below the walkway on which Vangelis walked. The man's head was level with the prince's knee.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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The voyage from Colchis to Taengea had been smooth sailing. Quite literally. The water had been clear and still, the skies had stayed open and blue. There had been a moment in which storm clouds on the horizon had threatened but they curved around the fleet's passage, flickering nearer to Athenia and then on to their homeland without disturbing their own voyage. Soon, Colchis would have the hurricanes and storms that it was most used to at this time and year. Yet the men of the land were safe aboard their ships. The only true risk had been that of sunburn, under the hot late summer skies.
The journey from Taengea to Egypt was a little less even. The sea was deeper in these parts, spreading from the Aegean into the Mediterranean as they headed further south. Deeper waters meant more danger in stormy weather - there was more of the depths to sway back and forth and risk upsetting the vessels. In general, the weather held and they were saved from any disasters. But almost the entire journey was set against the flow of the wind.
There as much work to be done by the crews of each ship, as the booms and sails shifted back and forth to try and find even the smallest of breezes and catch the wind at its very edge. The rest of the men were forced to take up oars and force the boats along the way. It was a hard-pressed choice on the part of the commanding officers and the captains of the ships. Ride hard and reach their Taengean brothers in arms faster, but with men exhausted from seawork. Or take a little more time and have them more equipped for gruelling combat.
For combat was more and more likely of what they would find.
The further they sailed to the south, the more the tension on board each craft grew. For, if King Achilleas had succeeded in his plans to debilitate the Egyptian ships quietly, then they would have seen him sailing towards them in the other direction. There was no possible way in which the fleet could miss several large military vessels heading back to Taengea. And the fact that no such structures appeared on the horizon ahead of them only cemented the realisation that Colchis was going to be needed in this war. That they would make it all the way to Egypt and be required to stand strong side by side with their southern neighbours.
Vangelis had no concerns regarding this. Despite the hope that the King of Taengea would be victorious in his aims, for the sake of many and the lack of bloodshed, Vangelis never left his native lands without the understanding and acceptance that he might not see them again. With the acceptance that he would be fighting for his life before he was lucky enough to return. He had been expecting war. So, the growing tension of his men was of no concern to him. They could adjust their expectations as they wished. So long as they were ready to fight the African forces once they got there.
It was this 'readiness' that Vangelis had in mind as he walked the lengths of his ship, looking upon his men with a discerning eye. He noted the ones that were sailors, the ones that were soldiers and made sure that the former took the brunt of the oarsmen work. He noted the way that the Captain ordered every effort upon ever change of wind to use the sails to their biggest advantage. He watched the eyes of those that would fight the Egyptians with a stare that was uncompromising and intuitive as to the spirit within.
Vangelis might not have been a man that was particularly cunning or noticing of the slights and subtleties of man in the Courts. He didn't play the social etiquette game or understand the looks and emotions of ladies. But he knew, looking into the eyes of a man in armour, whether or not he would hold fast on the battlefield or come apart under the fear and pressure. It was neither a gift nor a level of intelligence that gave him such an ability. But pure experience. He had seen the men that had fallen and he had seen those that literally soldiered on. He knew the difference.
Coming up towards the front of the vessel, Vangelis spotted Silanos who had been taking a turn at the oars that afternoon under a hot sun and noted the colour in his pallor. The man had been sick to his stomach between Colchis and Taengea and the waters were a little harder here, the ship swaying more greatly due to the changes in sails and wind. They moved in an almost meandering path despite it being the fastest possible route.
"If you need to cease for a moment, Silanos, admit it and allow someone else to take your place." Vangelis said, Silanos' seat just below the walkway on which Vangelis walked. The man's head was level with the prince's knee.
The voyage from Colchis to Taengea had been smooth sailing. Quite literally. The water had been clear and still, the skies had stayed open and blue. There had been a moment in which storm clouds on the horizon had threatened but they curved around the fleet's passage, flickering nearer to Athenia and then on to their homeland without disturbing their own voyage. Soon, Colchis would have the hurricanes and storms that it was most used to at this time and year. Yet the men of the land were safe aboard their ships. The only true risk had been that of sunburn, under the hot late summer skies.
The journey from Taengea to Egypt was a little less even. The sea was deeper in these parts, spreading from the Aegean into the Mediterranean as they headed further south. Deeper waters meant more danger in stormy weather - there was more of the depths to sway back and forth and risk upsetting the vessels. In general, the weather held and they were saved from any disasters. But almost the entire journey was set against the flow of the wind.
There as much work to be done by the crews of each ship, as the booms and sails shifted back and forth to try and find even the smallest of breezes and catch the wind at its very edge. The rest of the men were forced to take up oars and force the boats along the way. It was a hard-pressed choice on the part of the commanding officers and the captains of the ships. Ride hard and reach their Taengean brothers in arms faster, but with men exhausted from seawork. Or take a little more time and have them more equipped for gruelling combat.
For combat was more and more likely of what they would find.
The further they sailed to the south, the more the tension on board each craft grew. For, if King Achilleas had succeeded in his plans to debilitate the Egyptian ships quietly, then they would have seen him sailing towards them in the other direction. There was no possible way in which the fleet could miss several large military vessels heading back to Taengea. And the fact that no such structures appeared on the horizon ahead of them only cemented the realisation that Colchis was going to be needed in this war. That they would make it all the way to Egypt and be required to stand strong side by side with their southern neighbours.
Vangelis had no concerns regarding this. Despite the hope that the King of Taengea would be victorious in his aims, for the sake of many and the lack of bloodshed, Vangelis never left his native lands without the understanding and acceptance that he might not see them again. With the acceptance that he would be fighting for his life before he was lucky enough to return. He had been expecting war. So, the growing tension of his men was of no concern to him. They could adjust their expectations as they wished. So long as they were ready to fight the African forces once they got there.
It was this 'readiness' that Vangelis had in mind as he walked the lengths of his ship, looking upon his men with a discerning eye. He noted the ones that were sailors, the ones that were soldiers and made sure that the former took the brunt of the oarsmen work. He noted the way that the Captain ordered every effort upon ever change of wind to use the sails to their biggest advantage. He watched the eyes of those that would fight the Egyptians with a stare that was uncompromising and intuitive as to the spirit within.
Vangelis might not have been a man that was particularly cunning or noticing of the slights and subtleties of man in the Courts. He didn't play the social etiquette game or understand the looks and emotions of ladies. But he knew, looking into the eyes of a man in armour, whether or not he would hold fast on the battlefield or come apart under the fear and pressure. It was neither a gift nor a level of intelligence that gave him such an ability. But pure experience. He had seen the men that had fallen and he had seen those that literally soldiered on. He knew the difference.
Coming up towards the front of the vessel, Vangelis spotted Silanos who had been taking a turn at the oars that afternoon under a hot sun and noted the colour in his pallor. The man had been sick to his stomach between Colchis and Taengea and the waters were a little harder here, the ship swaying more greatly due to the changes in sails and wind. They moved in an almost meandering path despite it being the fastest possible route.
"If you need to cease for a moment, Silanos, admit it and allow someone else to take your place." Vangelis said, Silanos' seat just below the walkway on which Vangelis walked. The man's head was level with the prince's knee.
Rowing was hard work. Repetitive, strain atop strain on the muscles in arms and shoulders, and hard on the hands where they gripped the oar. Silanos could not claim to have any affection for the work. He had not escaped taking his turn though, not on this leg of the journey, nor the one gone before, and he supposed he should not have expected anything different. If there was anything he was coming to learn about the Stone Prince, it was that he was practical and fair-minded. Or, mostly fair-minded, Sil sometimes getting the impression that the man enjoyed his discomfort a little too much.
In truth, he was not plagued by the motion of the waves. Save for that first day when it had provided a handy cover for the real reason for his illness and certainly hadn’t helped. But then he’d been left with the awkward scenario of having to give some credence to the lie, so he’d played up a little on the feeling nauseous thing. Not much, but just enough so it wasn’t like his apparent ‘seasickness’ had miraculously disappeared. So it was not that which had brought a high colour to the young Lord’s face, nor that saw his rowing becoming sluggish and a little erratic. No, Sil was instead feeling the effects of that knife wound he’d picked up in Taengea, his wrist throbbing, the knitting flesh pulling with every rotation. He’d tried to counter it by easing off with that arm, picking up the slack with the other but it wasn’t working, so much so that cool, clipped words of the Prince did not even sting his pride but more seemed a blessed relief.
“Alright,” he responded, flicking a glance up toward Vangelis, then catching the eye of one of the men who trailed him, the rough jerk of a nod enough to inform the young Lord that he would take his spot. Silanos clambered gratefully out, surreptitiously flexing the fingers of his right hand as he went. Thirsty and hot, he wanted a drink but lingered awkwardly in case Vangelis had some other purpose for him.
Silanos had been quiet since their stop in Taengea so that it might have been easy for the Pince to have thought him cowed by the impending conflict, and that wouldn’t have been an entirely incorrect assumption if it had been the earlier portion of their journey. Despite having been put through the wringer by Maleos and subsequently, by Commande Nike, Sil knew he was no soldier, not next to the men he sailed with. But such knowledge had been with him even before they left Colchis and had not seen the youth so morose, nor - and this was perhaps most jarring - so silent. Even in the presence of the stoic Vangelis, Sil had struggled to curb his need to fill quiet with chatter, but now he was oddly taciturn, just responding when he was addressed directly and even then with fewer words than might have been appropriate.
But as Sil was finding, it was hard to give a fuck about what might await them in Egypt when there was nothing to go home to. Or maybe that wasn’t it...maybe it was more the sense that he was nothing, now. Timaeus’ had made that pretty damned clear, and Sil found himself trapped in that conversation. Whenever he let his mind wander, whenever he wasn’t concentrating on something, he was there again and it made him feel hollow. What would even happen to him when word got out? This temporary punishment that saw him in Vangelis’ service would be something so far out of his reach then. No name. Nothing.
Now, he picked listlessly at the wrapping on his wrist, ostensibly waiting for whatever order would come his way next , though it was clear his attention was miles away. After a moment where no orders came, Silanos seemed to come back to himself, begrudgingly breaking the silence. “Was there something else you wanted me to do or…?”
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Rowing was hard work. Repetitive, strain atop strain on the muscles in arms and shoulders, and hard on the hands where they gripped the oar. Silanos could not claim to have any affection for the work. He had not escaped taking his turn though, not on this leg of the journey, nor the one gone before, and he supposed he should not have expected anything different. If there was anything he was coming to learn about the Stone Prince, it was that he was practical and fair-minded. Or, mostly fair-minded, Sil sometimes getting the impression that the man enjoyed his discomfort a little too much.
In truth, he was not plagued by the motion of the waves. Save for that first day when it had provided a handy cover for the real reason for his illness and certainly hadn’t helped. But then he’d been left with the awkward scenario of having to give some credence to the lie, so he’d played up a little on the feeling nauseous thing. Not much, but just enough so it wasn’t like his apparent ‘seasickness’ had miraculously disappeared. So it was not that which had brought a high colour to the young Lord’s face, nor that saw his rowing becoming sluggish and a little erratic. No, Sil was instead feeling the effects of that knife wound he’d picked up in Taengea, his wrist throbbing, the knitting flesh pulling with every rotation. He’d tried to counter it by easing off with that arm, picking up the slack with the other but it wasn’t working, so much so that cool, clipped words of the Prince did not even sting his pride but more seemed a blessed relief.
“Alright,” he responded, flicking a glance up toward Vangelis, then catching the eye of one of the men who trailed him, the rough jerk of a nod enough to inform the young Lord that he would take his spot. Silanos clambered gratefully out, surreptitiously flexing the fingers of his right hand as he went. Thirsty and hot, he wanted a drink but lingered awkwardly in case Vangelis had some other purpose for him.
Silanos had been quiet since their stop in Taengea so that it might have been easy for the Pince to have thought him cowed by the impending conflict, and that wouldn’t have been an entirely incorrect assumption if it had been the earlier portion of their journey. Despite having been put through the wringer by Maleos and subsequently, by Commande Nike, Sil knew he was no soldier, not next to the men he sailed with. But such knowledge had been with him even before they left Colchis and had not seen the youth so morose, nor - and this was perhaps most jarring - so silent. Even in the presence of the stoic Vangelis, Sil had struggled to curb his need to fill quiet with chatter, but now he was oddly taciturn, just responding when he was addressed directly and even then with fewer words than might have been appropriate.
But as Sil was finding, it was hard to give a fuck about what might await them in Egypt when there was nothing to go home to. Or maybe that wasn’t it...maybe it was more the sense that he was nothing, now. Timaeus’ had made that pretty damned clear, and Sil found himself trapped in that conversation. Whenever he let his mind wander, whenever he wasn’t concentrating on something, he was there again and it made him feel hollow. What would even happen to him when word got out? This temporary punishment that saw him in Vangelis’ service would be something so far out of his reach then. No name. Nothing.
Now, he picked listlessly at the wrapping on his wrist, ostensibly waiting for whatever order would come his way next , though it was clear his attention was miles away. After a moment where no orders came, Silanos seemed to come back to himself, begrudgingly breaking the silence. “Was there something else you wanted me to do or…?”
Rowing was hard work. Repetitive, strain atop strain on the muscles in arms and shoulders, and hard on the hands where they gripped the oar. Silanos could not claim to have any affection for the work. He had not escaped taking his turn though, not on this leg of the journey, nor the one gone before, and he supposed he should not have expected anything different. If there was anything he was coming to learn about the Stone Prince, it was that he was practical and fair-minded. Or, mostly fair-minded, Sil sometimes getting the impression that the man enjoyed his discomfort a little too much.
In truth, he was not plagued by the motion of the waves. Save for that first day when it had provided a handy cover for the real reason for his illness and certainly hadn’t helped. But then he’d been left with the awkward scenario of having to give some credence to the lie, so he’d played up a little on the feeling nauseous thing. Not much, but just enough so it wasn’t like his apparent ‘seasickness’ had miraculously disappeared. So it was not that which had brought a high colour to the young Lord’s face, nor that saw his rowing becoming sluggish and a little erratic. No, Sil was instead feeling the effects of that knife wound he’d picked up in Taengea, his wrist throbbing, the knitting flesh pulling with every rotation. He’d tried to counter it by easing off with that arm, picking up the slack with the other but it wasn’t working, so much so that cool, clipped words of the Prince did not even sting his pride but more seemed a blessed relief.
“Alright,” he responded, flicking a glance up toward Vangelis, then catching the eye of one of the men who trailed him, the rough jerk of a nod enough to inform the young Lord that he would take his spot. Silanos clambered gratefully out, surreptitiously flexing the fingers of his right hand as he went. Thirsty and hot, he wanted a drink but lingered awkwardly in case Vangelis had some other purpose for him.
Silanos had been quiet since their stop in Taengea so that it might have been easy for the Pince to have thought him cowed by the impending conflict, and that wouldn’t have been an entirely incorrect assumption if it had been the earlier portion of their journey. Despite having been put through the wringer by Maleos and subsequently, by Commande Nike, Sil knew he was no soldier, not next to the men he sailed with. But such knowledge had been with him even before they left Colchis and had not seen the youth so morose, nor - and this was perhaps most jarring - so silent. Even in the presence of the stoic Vangelis, Sil had struggled to curb his need to fill quiet with chatter, but now he was oddly taciturn, just responding when he was addressed directly and even then with fewer words than might have been appropriate.
But as Sil was finding, it was hard to give a fuck about what might await them in Egypt when there was nothing to go home to. Or maybe that wasn’t it...maybe it was more the sense that he was nothing, now. Timaeus’ had made that pretty damned clear, and Sil found himself trapped in that conversation. Whenever he let his mind wander, whenever he wasn’t concentrating on something, he was there again and it made him feel hollow. What would even happen to him when word got out? This temporary punishment that saw him in Vangelis’ service would be something so far out of his reach then. No name. Nothing.
Now, he picked listlessly at the wrapping on his wrist, ostensibly waiting for whatever order would come his way next , though it was clear his attention was miles away. After a moment where no orders came, Silanos seemed to come back to himself, begrudgingly breaking the silence. “Was there something else you wanted me to do or…?”
Vangelis was watching Silanos with an assessing eye as he got out of the duck out in the deck of the ship that permitted the men to sit low enough to the water's edge to row effectively - the oars dipping just low enough into the water to keep them speeding forwards without too much strain on the arms of those who orchestrated the action. He could see that something ailed the man. Working day in and day out alongside men whose physical condition was the height of importance to their usefulness Vangelis had grown good at noticing the movement of a body and how it should and shouldn't be. He couldn't notice certain turns of phrases or the way a woman thought, apparently, but the shift and flex of sinew and muscle he could assess well enough. What he couldn't know, was the cause of Silanos' discomfort. Unaware of anything that had happened in Taengea, Vangelis put down Silanos' awkwardness to perhaps the aches of the oar work, or perhaps the sea sickness that had plagued him earlier in the journey. Perhaps he was just tired, unused to sleeping on a deck away from a comfy bed of nobility. When you took a man so completely out of his comfort zone, any of the differences could be what affected his step and slumped his shoulders.
Silanos' mind seemed as busy as his body was lumbering. For once, he didn't look in every direction, avoiding Vangelis' stare or his orders. He didn't shift his feet uncomfortably as if he wanted to be anywhere but where he was or wear that itchy cloak of impatience. There was an insolence and irritation in Silanos that didn't seem so present anymore. Instead, it had been replaced with a distracted sort of quiet. Vangelis frowned.
He followed Silanos the few steps away from his seat, where there was a barrel kept with fresh water for the men of the ship to help themselves. It had been Vangelis eye that ensured that no-one took more than was a fair share for their efforts and he nudged his chin in that direction. Two metal cups, melted and bent into a rough pot and handle had been knotted on the end of a rope then nailed to the mast. Easy enough to pick up, dip into the water to drink and then let hang once more. Vangelis's gesture was clear enough but it was accompanied by the single word of - "Drink". He had done the work that Silanos had been labouring under for hours now. He knew what it meant to row a war ship. His father had made sure that Vangelis and his brothers knew the efforts and work of every duty that they commanded of others.
He said nothing else until Silanos asked his question, offering himself up for a duty he might not know existed. Had he noticed, Vangelis would have found it interesting that Silanos was asking if something was needed of him. A few weeks passed he had been asking if he was permitted to now do nothing. It was a subtle difference in words that might have hinted at a subtle difference in mindset.
"I'd like you to survive the coming weeks." Vangelis stated simply. It wasn't a snide comment or a dig at the manner in which Silanos' life was in his hands, but a simple statement of fact. It almost had a little compassion in it. Silanos had turned out to be a hard worker. And when he was focused, he was useful. There was potential in him that Vangelis didn't particularly wish to see bloody and buried in the sands of Egypt.
Vangelis looked down Silanos' frame noting a few small weapons but nothing particular. Men didn't wear full armour when working below.
"What's your preferred weapon?" He asked. “I need to know where to place you when the conflict starts.” His eyes narrowed. “I have reports from your tutors from a few years back and Commander Nike and Captain Maleos’ opinions, but I’d like to know yours. What weapon do you feel most confident wielding?”
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Vangelis was watching Silanos with an assessing eye as he got out of the duck out in the deck of the ship that permitted the men to sit low enough to the water's edge to row effectively - the oars dipping just low enough into the water to keep them speeding forwards without too much strain on the arms of those who orchestrated the action. He could see that something ailed the man. Working day in and day out alongside men whose physical condition was the height of importance to their usefulness Vangelis had grown good at noticing the movement of a body and how it should and shouldn't be. He couldn't notice certain turns of phrases or the way a woman thought, apparently, but the shift and flex of sinew and muscle he could assess well enough. What he couldn't know, was the cause of Silanos' discomfort. Unaware of anything that had happened in Taengea, Vangelis put down Silanos' awkwardness to perhaps the aches of the oar work, or perhaps the sea sickness that had plagued him earlier in the journey. Perhaps he was just tired, unused to sleeping on a deck away from a comfy bed of nobility. When you took a man so completely out of his comfort zone, any of the differences could be what affected his step and slumped his shoulders.
Silanos' mind seemed as busy as his body was lumbering. For once, he didn't look in every direction, avoiding Vangelis' stare or his orders. He didn't shift his feet uncomfortably as if he wanted to be anywhere but where he was or wear that itchy cloak of impatience. There was an insolence and irritation in Silanos that didn't seem so present anymore. Instead, it had been replaced with a distracted sort of quiet. Vangelis frowned.
He followed Silanos the few steps away from his seat, where there was a barrel kept with fresh water for the men of the ship to help themselves. It had been Vangelis eye that ensured that no-one took more than was a fair share for their efforts and he nudged his chin in that direction. Two metal cups, melted and bent into a rough pot and handle had been knotted on the end of a rope then nailed to the mast. Easy enough to pick up, dip into the water to drink and then let hang once more. Vangelis's gesture was clear enough but it was accompanied by the single word of - "Drink". He had done the work that Silanos had been labouring under for hours now. He knew what it meant to row a war ship. His father had made sure that Vangelis and his brothers knew the efforts and work of every duty that they commanded of others.
He said nothing else until Silanos asked his question, offering himself up for a duty he might not know existed. Had he noticed, Vangelis would have found it interesting that Silanos was asking if something was needed of him. A few weeks passed he had been asking if he was permitted to now do nothing. It was a subtle difference in words that might have hinted at a subtle difference in mindset.
"I'd like you to survive the coming weeks." Vangelis stated simply. It wasn't a snide comment or a dig at the manner in which Silanos' life was in his hands, but a simple statement of fact. It almost had a little compassion in it. Silanos had turned out to be a hard worker. And when he was focused, he was useful. There was potential in him that Vangelis didn't particularly wish to see bloody and buried in the sands of Egypt.
Vangelis looked down Silanos' frame noting a few small weapons but nothing particular. Men didn't wear full armour when working below.
"What's your preferred weapon?" He asked. “I need to know where to place you when the conflict starts.” His eyes narrowed. “I have reports from your tutors from a few years back and Commander Nike and Captain Maleos’ opinions, but I’d like to know yours. What weapon do you feel most confident wielding?”
Vangelis was watching Silanos with an assessing eye as he got out of the duck out in the deck of the ship that permitted the men to sit low enough to the water's edge to row effectively - the oars dipping just low enough into the water to keep them speeding forwards without too much strain on the arms of those who orchestrated the action. He could see that something ailed the man. Working day in and day out alongside men whose physical condition was the height of importance to their usefulness Vangelis had grown good at noticing the movement of a body and how it should and shouldn't be. He couldn't notice certain turns of phrases or the way a woman thought, apparently, but the shift and flex of sinew and muscle he could assess well enough. What he couldn't know, was the cause of Silanos' discomfort. Unaware of anything that had happened in Taengea, Vangelis put down Silanos' awkwardness to perhaps the aches of the oar work, or perhaps the sea sickness that had plagued him earlier in the journey. Perhaps he was just tired, unused to sleeping on a deck away from a comfy bed of nobility. When you took a man so completely out of his comfort zone, any of the differences could be what affected his step and slumped his shoulders.
Silanos' mind seemed as busy as his body was lumbering. For once, he didn't look in every direction, avoiding Vangelis' stare or his orders. He didn't shift his feet uncomfortably as if he wanted to be anywhere but where he was or wear that itchy cloak of impatience. There was an insolence and irritation in Silanos that didn't seem so present anymore. Instead, it had been replaced with a distracted sort of quiet. Vangelis frowned.
He followed Silanos the few steps away from his seat, where there was a barrel kept with fresh water for the men of the ship to help themselves. It had been Vangelis eye that ensured that no-one took more than was a fair share for their efforts and he nudged his chin in that direction. Two metal cups, melted and bent into a rough pot and handle had been knotted on the end of a rope then nailed to the mast. Easy enough to pick up, dip into the water to drink and then let hang once more. Vangelis's gesture was clear enough but it was accompanied by the single word of - "Drink". He had done the work that Silanos had been labouring under for hours now. He knew what it meant to row a war ship. His father had made sure that Vangelis and his brothers knew the efforts and work of every duty that they commanded of others.
He said nothing else until Silanos asked his question, offering himself up for a duty he might not know existed. Had he noticed, Vangelis would have found it interesting that Silanos was asking if something was needed of him. A few weeks passed he had been asking if he was permitted to now do nothing. It was a subtle difference in words that might have hinted at a subtle difference in mindset.
"I'd like you to survive the coming weeks." Vangelis stated simply. It wasn't a snide comment or a dig at the manner in which Silanos' life was in his hands, but a simple statement of fact. It almost had a little compassion in it. Silanos had turned out to be a hard worker. And when he was focused, he was useful. There was potential in him that Vangelis didn't particularly wish to see bloody and buried in the sands of Egypt.
Vangelis looked down Silanos' frame noting a few small weapons but nothing particular. Men didn't wear full armour when working below.
"What's your preferred weapon?" He asked. “I need to know where to place you when the conflict starts.” His eyes narrowed. “I have reports from your tutors from a few years back and Commander Nike and Captain Maleos’ opinions, but I’d like to know yours. What weapon do you feel most confident wielding?”
Silanos didn’t wait to be told twice to take a drink. The water was cool, a cleansing balm to his dry throat and he was disappointed when it was gone but knew better than to take more than his ration. Along with many things, it was something the Lord had been forced to grow used to aboard the ship. Water was a precious commodity here.
Setting the cup back where it hung, Sil waited for some other order, and when none came he prompted it, not feeling much like being scrutinised. No such luck though.
Vangelis’ answer had him frown a little, it was unexpected, and for a moment Sil wondered if he'd missed something, if the conversation had developed without him noticing. His mind kept wandering anyway. Inhaling sharply, he tried to focus more on the Crown Prince. Survive the coming weeks? It all seemed kind of pointless now anyway, Silanos not at all sure what awaited him at home not worse than meeting his end of some sand rat’s sword. No house? He didn’t even know what that meant, what he was supposed to do. It would be a nice neat ending if he just bled out in the desert instead. Tidy.
‘What’s your preferred weapon?’ The words called him back again, and the younger man looked blank for a moment, the consideration that his former tutors would have been asked to give opinion not having occurred to him, and a bit disconcerting if he were honest. Not to mention Maleos. He didn’t need to stretch very far to imagine the man would have had little complimentary to add. Maleos had said he would end up here, hadn’t he? Nothing left. It was almost galling that the man had been right. Sil wondered if Tim had told him if Maleos had been smug to have his prediction come to fruition. Because Sil, Sil was still reeling from the shock of it. His brother had threatened before, but the thing with Kreois had been from months ago, a mistake he couldn’t very well do undo now. It cut deeper than the merchant’s knife, that his brother refused to see that he had been trying. It made everything feel pointless like he was defeated already. Why even bother with a weapon. Blinking, the younger man realised there had been a long silence, that he was supposed to be filling it.
“Short sword” he eventually offered, without much enthusiasm. Talk of where he would be put in the war effort...well he didn’t really care. Somewhere far away from Timaeus, was probably the only thing he would wish for because it was too raw...too much.
“How many days?” he asked abruptly “Until we land?”
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Silanos didn’t wait to be told twice to take a drink. The water was cool, a cleansing balm to his dry throat and he was disappointed when it was gone but knew better than to take more than his ration. Along with many things, it was something the Lord had been forced to grow used to aboard the ship. Water was a precious commodity here.
Setting the cup back where it hung, Sil waited for some other order, and when none came he prompted it, not feeling much like being scrutinised. No such luck though.
Vangelis’ answer had him frown a little, it was unexpected, and for a moment Sil wondered if he'd missed something, if the conversation had developed without him noticing. His mind kept wandering anyway. Inhaling sharply, he tried to focus more on the Crown Prince. Survive the coming weeks? It all seemed kind of pointless now anyway, Silanos not at all sure what awaited him at home not worse than meeting his end of some sand rat’s sword. No house? He didn’t even know what that meant, what he was supposed to do. It would be a nice neat ending if he just bled out in the desert instead. Tidy.
‘What’s your preferred weapon?’ The words called him back again, and the younger man looked blank for a moment, the consideration that his former tutors would have been asked to give opinion not having occurred to him, and a bit disconcerting if he were honest. Not to mention Maleos. He didn’t need to stretch very far to imagine the man would have had little complimentary to add. Maleos had said he would end up here, hadn’t he? Nothing left. It was almost galling that the man had been right. Sil wondered if Tim had told him if Maleos had been smug to have his prediction come to fruition. Because Sil, Sil was still reeling from the shock of it. His brother had threatened before, but the thing with Kreois had been from months ago, a mistake he couldn’t very well do undo now. It cut deeper than the merchant’s knife, that his brother refused to see that he had been trying. It made everything feel pointless like he was defeated already. Why even bother with a weapon. Blinking, the younger man realised there had been a long silence, that he was supposed to be filling it.
“Short sword” he eventually offered, without much enthusiasm. Talk of where he would be put in the war effort...well he didn’t really care. Somewhere far away from Timaeus, was probably the only thing he would wish for because it was too raw...too much.
“How many days?” he asked abruptly “Until we land?”
Silanos didn’t wait to be told twice to take a drink. The water was cool, a cleansing balm to his dry throat and he was disappointed when it was gone but knew better than to take more than his ration. Along with many things, it was something the Lord had been forced to grow used to aboard the ship. Water was a precious commodity here.
Setting the cup back where it hung, Sil waited for some other order, and when none came he prompted it, not feeling much like being scrutinised. No such luck though.
Vangelis’ answer had him frown a little, it was unexpected, and for a moment Sil wondered if he'd missed something, if the conversation had developed without him noticing. His mind kept wandering anyway. Inhaling sharply, he tried to focus more on the Crown Prince. Survive the coming weeks? It all seemed kind of pointless now anyway, Silanos not at all sure what awaited him at home not worse than meeting his end of some sand rat’s sword. No house? He didn’t even know what that meant, what he was supposed to do. It would be a nice neat ending if he just bled out in the desert instead. Tidy.
‘What’s your preferred weapon?’ The words called him back again, and the younger man looked blank for a moment, the consideration that his former tutors would have been asked to give opinion not having occurred to him, and a bit disconcerting if he were honest. Not to mention Maleos. He didn’t need to stretch very far to imagine the man would have had little complimentary to add. Maleos had said he would end up here, hadn’t he? Nothing left. It was almost galling that the man had been right. Sil wondered if Tim had told him if Maleos had been smug to have his prediction come to fruition. Because Sil, Sil was still reeling from the shock of it. His brother had threatened before, but the thing with Kreois had been from months ago, a mistake he couldn’t very well do undo now. It cut deeper than the merchant’s knife, that his brother refused to see that he had been trying. It made everything feel pointless like he was defeated already. Why even bother with a weapon. Blinking, the younger man realised there had been a long silence, that he was supposed to be filling it.
“Short sword” he eventually offered, without much enthusiasm. Talk of where he would be put in the war effort...well he didn’t really care. Somewhere far away from Timaeus, was probably the only thing he would wish for because it was too raw...too much.
“How many days?” he asked abruptly “Until we land?”
Vangelis allowed the man his drink and was neither off-put, nor derailed by his slowness to answer. A man of few words himself, he appreciated that some needed the time to form their thoughts into verbalisations. He would far rather wait a few moments for them to gather their thoughts and choose their words with care and deliberacy then he would listen to them ramble and find their way to their own answer slowly. Not taking a drink alongside Silanos, for he would survive a skipping of his own ration, making more for the men who were physically spent, he simply waited for Silanos to speak when he was ready.
His answer was simple and, despite the delay in it coming, seemed confident enough. He nodded in a simple acceptance of it but any further conversation on the topic was halted by Silanos' next question.
Vangelis looked out towards the horizon ahead of them, the wind tugging at the thick locks atop his head, cool around his ears where he had clipped it short. It was as if he were sensing the distance just from eyesight but such an assessment was not necessary. He studied the stars and the maps every night to ensure they were headed the fastest and most effective route to Egypt. He knew exactly where they were.
"Six." He answered, his jaw tightening. "Four perhaps if the wind finally moves with us."
Waved a quick hand, Vangelis ordered Silanos to follow him with a simple - "Come." - and took him towards the front of the ship. Whilst the men were seated in trenches down either side of the vessel, rowing their oars at a steady and powerful pace, the front prow of the boat was an open piece of decking. There, against the side of the boat, lay a khopesh. The welcome of choice for Egyptians. Vangelis already had a short sword at his hips as he did most of the time and was quick to unsheathe it with a quick up thrust of his hand. He held the weapon's hilt in his fist, blade held down, and then threw it across to Silanos. The metal of the sword glinted as it spun.
Vangelis took up the khopesh, spinning it in an arc with a flick of his wrist and handling it with surprising ease for a Greek.
"A short sword can be a disadvantage against an Egyptian unless you know how to use it." He pointed to the curving blade of the weapon he held. "The Egyptians do not wield blades like ours and you can have yours torn from your fingers or your hand removed at the wrist if not careful." He offered up beckoning fingers. "Come. Show me how you might attack. Do it slow and I'll show you openings to avoid."
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Vangelis allowed the man his drink and was neither off-put, nor derailed by his slowness to answer. A man of few words himself, he appreciated that some needed the time to form their thoughts into verbalisations. He would far rather wait a few moments for them to gather their thoughts and choose their words with care and deliberacy then he would listen to them ramble and find their way to their own answer slowly. Not taking a drink alongside Silanos, for he would survive a skipping of his own ration, making more for the men who were physically spent, he simply waited for Silanos to speak when he was ready.
His answer was simple and, despite the delay in it coming, seemed confident enough. He nodded in a simple acceptance of it but any further conversation on the topic was halted by Silanos' next question.
Vangelis looked out towards the horizon ahead of them, the wind tugging at the thick locks atop his head, cool around his ears where he had clipped it short. It was as if he were sensing the distance just from eyesight but such an assessment was not necessary. He studied the stars and the maps every night to ensure they were headed the fastest and most effective route to Egypt. He knew exactly where they were.
"Six." He answered, his jaw tightening. "Four perhaps if the wind finally moves with us."
Waved a quick hand, Vangelis ordered Silanos to follow him with a simple - "Come." - and took him towards the front of the ship. Whilst the men were seated in trenches down either side of the vessel, rowing their oars at a steady and powerful pace, the front prow of the boat was an open piece of decking. There, against the side of the boat, lay a khopesh. The welcome of choice for Egyptians. Vangelis already had a short sword at his hips as he did most of the time and was quick to unsheathe it with a quick up thrust of his hand. He held the weapon's hilt in his fist, blade held down, and then threw it across to Silanos. The metal of the sword glinted as it spun.
Vangelis took up the khopesh, spinning it in an arc with a flick of his wrist and handling it with surprising ease for a Greek.
"A short sword can be a disadvantage against an Egyptian unless you know how to use it." He pointed to the curving blade of the weapon he held. "The Egyptians do not wield blades like ours and you can have yours torn from your fingers or your hand removed at the wrist if not careful." He offered up beckoning fingers. "Come. Show me how you might attack. Do it slow and I'll show you openings to avoid."
Vangelis allowed the man his drink and was neither off-put, nor derailed by his slowness to answer. A man of few words himself, he appreciated that some needed the time to form their thoughts into verbalisations. He would far rather wait a few moments for them to gather their thoughts and choose their words with care and deliberacy then he would listen to them ramble and find their way to their own answer slowly. Not taking a drink alongside Silanos, for he would survive a skipping of his own ration, making more for the men who were physically spent, he simply waited for Silanos to speak when he was ready.
His answer was simple and, despite the delay in it coming, seemed confident enough. He nodded in a simple acceptance of it but any further conversation on the topic was halted by Silanos' next question.
Vangelis looked out towards the horizon ahead of them, the wind tugging at the thick locks atop his head, cool around his ears where he had clipped it short. It was as if he were sensing the distance just from eyesight but such an assessment was not necessary. He studied the stars and the maps every night to ensure they were headed the fastest and most effective route to Egypt. He knew exactly where they were.
"Six." He answered, his jaw tightening. "Four perhaps if the wind finally moves with us."
Waved a quick hand, Vangelis ordered Silanos to follow him with a simple - "Come." - and took him towards the front of the ship. Whilst the men were seated in trenches down either side of the vessel, rowing their oars at a steady and powerful pace, the front prow of the boat was an open piece of decking. There, against the side of the boat, lay a khopesh. The welcome of choice for Egyptians. Vangelis already had a short sword at his hips as he did most of the time and was quick to unsheathe it with a quick up thrust of his hand. He held the weapon's hilt in his fist, blade held down, and then threw it across to Silanos. The metal of the sword glinted as it spun.
Vangelis took up the khopesh, spinning it in an arc with a flick of his wrist and handling it with surprising ease for a Greek.
"A short sword can be a disadvantage against an Egyptian unless you know how to use it." He pointed to the curving blade of the weapon he held. "The Egyptians do not wield blades like ours and you can have yours torn from your fingers or your hand removed at the wrist if not careful." He offered up beckoning fingers. "Come. Show me how you might attack. Do it slow and I'll show you openings to avoid."
Four days, six days..Silanos looked out over the water and tried to imagine what awaited them in Egypt. He’d heard talk amongst the soldiers and had paid enough heed to Vangelis’ conversations to know that, had all been well, they should have met the Taengean ships on their return journey. But they had seen no warships, just a few trading vessels here and there. It wasn’t a good sign.
Did it mean they would be jumping right into open conflict? Maybe. Could Silanos make himself care about it? No.
He followed Vangelis down the length of the ship, watching the straight back of the prince as he walked in front of him and trying to find some will to do whatever was going to be asked of him. He rotated his wrist as he followed, pressed his fingers into the tender area. He almost walked into Vangelis when the man stopped, and then had to react quickly to the sword that was tossed in his direction. Sil fumbled the catch but then settled the hilt into his hand, looking dubiously at the wicked curved blade that the prince picked up.
‘A short sword can be a disadvantage against an Egyptian unless you know how to use it.’ Silanos frowned a little at that. He hadn’t fucking asked to be brought on this campaign and had never claimed to be a swordsman. He knew enough to scrape by, lessons from his younger years that had stayed with him, and more recently remembered under both Maleos’ and Commander Nike’s insistence. But it didn’t mean he felt confident in standing up against those who were expert, least of all the Crown Prince wielding whatever the fuck that sand rat sword was called. But as Vangelis went on, Silanos bit down on the defensiveness, saw it for the opportunity it was.
The man before him had fought the Egyptians before, evident in the easy manner he wielded the foreign weapon, and Sil hadn’t fought anybody. Not in a way that mattered. And funny enough, he didn't much fancy losing a hand, or any other part of himself. The idea was enough for him to feel a little less apathetic towards everything and though his expression summed up what he thought of his chances, he readied himself. Glad at least that it was his off arm that had been injured, he tested his grip on the sword and shifted his weight so he was stood side on to the prince. “Slowly then” he affirmed.
With his weight resting on the balls of his feet and his knees slightly bent, he stepped into an extremely sluggish downward strike, the blade making a slow ascent before being brought down at an angle, an attack aimed to see the sword bite into the upper arm of an opponent. It was one of several standard offensive moves that had been drilled into the young lord’s head these past weeks, not groundbreaking by any means but at least one he felt relatively confident in. The nagging feeling that confidence was about to be shattered didn’t go away.
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Four days, six days..Silanos looked out over the water and tried to imagine what awaited them in Egypt. He’d heard talk amongst the soldiers and had paid enough heed to Vangelis’ conversations to know that, had all been well, they should have met the Taengean ships on their return journey. But they had seen no warships, just a few trading vessels here and there. It wasn’t a good sign.
Did it mean they would be jumping right into open conflict? Maybe. Could Silanos make himself care about it? No.
He followed Vangelis down the length of the ship, watching the straight back of the prince as he walked in front of him and trying to find some will to do whatever was going to be asked of him. He rotated his wrist as he followed, pressed his fingers into the tender area. He almost walked into Vangelis when the man stopped, and then had to react quickly to the sword that was tossed in his direction. Sil fumbled the catch but then settled the hilt into his hand, looking dubiously at the wicked curved blade that the prince picked up.
‘A short sword can be a disadvantage against an Egyptian unless you know how to use it.’ Silanos frowned a little at that. He hadn’t fucking asked to be brought on this campaign and had never claimed to be a swordsman. He knew enough to scrape by, lessons from his younger years that had stayed with him, and more recently remembered under both Maleos’ and Commander Nike’s insistence. But it didn’t mean he felt confident in standing up against those who were expert, least of all the Crown Prince wielding whatever the fuck that sand rat sword was called. But as Vangelis went on, Silanos bit down on the defensiveness, saw it for the opportunity it was.
The man before him had fought the Egyptians before, evident in the easy manner he wielded the foreign weapon, and Sil hadn’t fought anybody. Not in a way that mattered. And funny enough, he didn't much fancy losing a hand, or any other part of himself. The idea was enough for him to feel a little less apathetic towards everything and though his expression summed up what he thought of his chances, he readied himself. Glad at least that it was his off arm that had been injured, he tested his grip on the sword and shifted his weight so he was stood side on to the prince. “Slowly then” he affirmed.
With his weight resting on the balls of his feet and his knees slightly bent, he stepped into an extremely sluggish downward strike, the blade making a slow ascent before being brought down at an angle, an attack aimed to see the sword bite into the upper arm of an opponent. It was one of several standard offensive moves that had been drilled into the young lord’s head these past weeks, not groundbreaking by any means but at least one he felt relatively confident in. The nagging feeling that confidence was about to be shattered didn’t go away.
Four days, six days..Silanos looked out over the water and tried to imagine what awaited them in Egypt. He’d heard talk amongst the soldiers and had paid enough heed to Vangelis’ conversations to know that, had all been well, they should have met the Taengean ships on their return journey. But they had seen no warships, just a few trading vessels here and there. It wasn’t a good sign.
Did it mean they would be jumping right into open conflict? Maybe. Could Silanos make himself care about it? No.
He followed Vangelis down the length of the ship, watching the straight back of the prince as he walked in front of him and trying to find some will to do whatever was going to be asked of him. He rotated his wrist as he followed, pressed his fingers into the tender area. He almost walked into Vangelis when the man stopped, and then had to react quickly to the sword that was tossed in his direction. Sil fumbled the catch but then settled the hilt into his hand, looking dubiously at the wicked curved blade that the prince picked up.
‘A short sword can be a disadvantage against an Egyptian unless you know how to use it.’ Silanos frowned a little at that. He hadn’t fucking asked to be brought on this campaign and had never claimed to be a swordsman. He knew enough to scrape by, lessons from his younger years that had stayed with him, and more recently remembered under both Maleos’ and Commander Nike’s insistence. But it didn’t mean he felt confident in standing up against those who were expert, least of all the Crown Prince wielding whatever the fuck that sand rat sword was called. But as Vangelis went on, Silanos bit down on the defensiveness, saw it for the opportunity it was.
The man before him had fought the Egyptians before, evident in the easy manner he wielded the foreign weapon, and Sil hadn’t fought anybody. Not in a way that mattered. And funny enough, he didn't much fancy losing a hand, or any other part of himself. The idea was enough for him to feel a little less apathetic towards everything and though his expression summed up what he thought of his chances, he readied himself. Glad at least that it was his off arm that had been injured, he tested his grip on the sword and shifted his weight so he was stood side on to the prince. “Slowly then” he affirmed.
With his weight resting on the balls of his feet and his knees slightly bent, he stepped into an extremely sluggish downward strike, the blade making a slow ascent before being brought down at an angle, an attack aimed to see the sword bite into the upper arm of an opponent. It was one of several standard offensive moves that had been drilled into the young lord’s head these past weeks, not groundbreaking by any means but at least one he felt relatively confident in. The nagging feeling that confidence was about to be shattered didn’t go away.
Vangelis nodded in confirmation when Silanos checked his words back to him. They would progress slowly, in an attempt to show him where he would have to adjust what little fighting training that he had to make it the most useful against an Egyptian foe. If they moved too quickly, Vangelis would have the boy beaten and humiliated but none the wiser. Whilst it would see his muscles grow and his efforts double (any trainer might hope) it wouldn't make him fight smarter. Which, with only a little under a week until they faced the Egyptians was now the only opportunity to the kid.
As Silanos strode forwards, his feet sure but his arms a little uncertain, he brought the short sword down in an upward strike. Vangelis allowed him to approach and make his attack, not defending himself until the last minute. Instead of using the sword to parry, he reached up and took the blade of Silanos' slow moving sword in his hand, pincering it between his fingers and thumb. He held the boy there in position.
His voice was neither chastising nor commanding as he spoke. Just stating of simple facts and the education of fighting technique.
"The Egyptian's use a khopesh." He stated, the sword in his hand bouncing in gesture. He moved the blade towards Silanos and the tip easily reached the boy's exposed abdomen without Vangelis having to straighten his arm. The bent blade of the Egyptians was longer than Silanos' short sword which meant he could be gutted before he got close enough for an upward cut to find its target.
"It's longer than your weapon so a frontal assault could get you stabbed. Alternatively..." He reached the khopesh up so that the short swords blade sat in the crescent curve of the weapon. Getting his other hand out of the way, Vangelis applied a light pressure to the sword and there was a keening sound of metal on metal as he hooked the khopesh around the Grecian iron. "...if you get caught in a parry, the khopesh can catch on your blame. It's unlikely to break through. Egyptians fight with bronze - Colchians with iron. Your sword is stronger than theirs. But it doesn't stop it from being wrenched from your grip-" He pushed on the sword and Silanos's wrist was forced to twist a little in a way that would clearly be uncomfortable to sustain. "-or if done fast enough, them breaking your wrist."
Disengaging the blades, Vangelis took a step back.
"Because of the curve of the blade, an Egyptian's aim and swing comes from their left, through their right hand." He swung the blade to be clear, then held it extended post-swing. "It's at this point that they are vulnerable. It is harder for them to change direction than you and the curve to their blade is of no use if they cannot hook yours in. "A faint works well for this."
He gestured with an open hand.
"Attack me again but be quicker on your feet. Come in for the kill, but with a low attack. It will force me to parry with an open swing." If Silanos was smart, he would then work out that he needed to dodge Vangelis' open swing, and then approach with a side or downward strike from Vangelis' left.
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Vangelis nodded in confirmation when Silanos checked his words back to him. They would progress slowly, in an attempt to show him where he would have to adjust what little fighting training that he had to make it the most useful against an Egyptian foe. If they moved too quickly, Vangelis would have the boy beaten and humiliated but none the wiser. Whilst it would see his muscles grow and his efforts double (any trainer might hope) it wouldn't make him fight smarter. Which, with only a little under a week until they faced the Egyptians was now the only opportunity to the kid.
As Silanos strode forwards, his feet sure but his arms a little uncertain, he brought the short sword down in an upward strike. Vangelis allowed him to approach and make his attack, not defending himself until the last minute. Instead of using the sword to parry, he reached up and took the blade of Silanos' slow moving sword in his hand, pincering it between his fingers and thumb. He held the boy there in position.
His voice was neither chastising nor commanding as he spoke. Just stating of simple facts and the education of fighting technique.
"The Egyptian's use a khopesh." He stated, the sword in his hand bouncing in gesture. He moved the blade towards Silanos and the tip easily reached the boy's exposed abdomen without Vangelis having to straighten his arm. The bent blade of the Egyptians was longer than Silanos' short sword which meant he could be gutted before he got close enough for an upward cut to find its target.
"It's longer than your weapon so a frontal assault could get you stabbed. Alternatively..." He reached the khopesh up so that the short swords blade sat in the crescent curve of the weapon. Getting his other hand out of the way, Vangelis applied a light pressure to the sword and there was a keening sound of metal on metal as he hooked the khopesh around the Grecian iron. "...if you get caught in a parry, the khopesh can catch on your blame. It's unlikely to break through. Egyptians fight with bronze - Colchians with iron. Your sword is stronger than theirs. But it doesn't stop it from being wrenched from your grip-" He pushed on the sword and Silanos's wrist was forced to twist a little in a way that would clearly be uncomfortable to sustain. "-or if done fast enough, them breaking your wrist."
Disengaging the blades, Vangelis took a step back.
"Because of the curve of the blade, an Egyptian's aim and swing comes from their left, through their right hand." He swung the blade to be clear, then held it extended post-swing. "It's at this point that they are vulnerable. It is harder for them to change direction than you and the curve to their blade is of no use if they cannot hook yours in. "A faint works well for this."
He gestured with an open hand.
"Attack me again but be quicker on your feet. Come in for the kill, but with a low attack. It will force me to parry with an open swing." If Silanos was smart, he would then work out that he needed to dodge Vangelis' open swing, and then approach with a side or downward strike from Vangelis' left.
Vangelis nodded in confirmation when Silanos checked his words back to him. They would progress slowly, in an attempt to show him where he would have to adjust what little fighting training that he had to make it the most useful against an Egyptian foe. If they moved too quickly, Vangelis would have the boy beaten and humiliated but none the wiser. Whilst it would see his muscles grow and his efforts double (any trainer might hope) it wouldn't make him fight smarter. Which, with only a little under a week until they faced the Egyptians was now the only opportunity to the kid.
As Silanos strode forwards, his feet sure but his arms a little uncertain, he brought the short sword down in an upward strike. Vangelis allowed him to approach and make his attack, not defending himself until the last minute. Instead of using the sword to parry, he reached up and took the blade of Silanos' slow moving sword in his hand, pincering it between his fingers and thumb. He held the boy there in position.
His voice was neither chastising nor commanding as he spoke. Just stating of simple facts and the education of fighting technique.
"The Egyptian's use a khopesh." He stated, the sword in his hand bouncing in gesture. He moved the blade towards Silanos and the tip easily reached the boy's exposed abdomen without Vangelis having to straighten his arm. The bent blade of the Egyptians was longer than Silanos' short sword which meant he could be gutted before he got close enough for an upward cut to find its target.
"It's longer than your weapon so a frontal assault could get you stabbed. Alternatively..." He reached the khopesh up so that the short swords blade sat in the crescent curve of the weapon. Getting his other hand out of the way, Vangelis applied a light pressure to the sword and there was a keening sound of metal on metal as he hooked the khopesh around the Grecian iron. "...if you get caught in a parry, the khopesh can catch on your blame. It's unlikely to break through. Egyptians fight with bronze - Colchians with iron. Your sword is stronger than theirs. But it doesn't stop it from being wrenched from your grip-" He pushed on the sword and Silanos's wrist was forced to twist a little in a way that would clearly be uncomfortable to sustain. "-or if done fast enough, them breaking your wrist."
Disengaging the blades, Vangelis took a step back.
"Because of the curve of the blade, an Egyptian's aim and swing comes from their left, through their right hand." He swung the blade to be clear, then held it extended post-swing. "It's at this point that they are vulnerable. It is harder for them to change direction than you and the curve to their blade is of no use if they cannot hook yours in. "A faint works well for this."
He gestured with an open hand.
"Attack me again but be quicker on your feet. Come in for the kill, but with a low attack. It will force me to parry with an open swing." If Silanos was smart, he would then work out that he needed to dodge Vangelis' open swing, and then approach with a side or downward strike from Vangelis' left.
t wasn’t as if Silanos had expected to make contact: he’d been moving at about the pace of a turtle hauling itself up the beach. But he still didn't know what to make of it when the Prince seized the iron between finger and thumb, arresting the strike and leaving Sil nonplussed as to the why. Or at least, he until Vangelis demonstrated the reach of the...khopesh, arcing it out so it just caught the fabric of the linothorax he wore. The younger man followed it with his gaze frowning as he appreciated the greater reach of the weapon just as the Crown Prince pointed out the same thing. That was fucking great then. Whatever thoughts he might have had beyond that initial grim realisation would have to be considered later, for there was apparently more for him to know, and this time, Vangelis used the curve of the Egyptian weapon to somehow snare the shortsword, so that a slight twist had a strain put upon Silanos’ grip, on his wrist and the Valaoritis was further discouraged.
What fucking chance was he going to stand in this stupid war? He was just going to get hacked to pieces his first day on the sand and honestly that was a depressing thought. He hadn't even done anything yet..and he'd die with no name to call his own, no House. Just some rootless, faceless…
‘Because of the curve of the blade, an Egyptian's aim and swing comes from their left, through their right hand’
Wrenching his gaze back to the Crown Prince as the man continued speaking, Silanos found himself suddenly very keen to hear what the Vangelis had to tell him and he nodded mutely to show he was listening. From their left, through their right. Open at the end point he tried to commit the words to memory, but everything felt sort of disconnected and vague. Had done since they’d left Taengea.
‘Attack me again but be quicker on your feet. Come in for the kill, but with a low attack. It will force me to parry with an open swing’
“Yeah ok. Yes,” He tried to focus and pulled back the shortsword, swallowed and readjusted his grip. He eyed Vangelis up and down, flickered his glance over the curved sword again. Fast and low.
This time, he tried to remember what he’d practised, shifted his feet so his weight was light upon them, and he was quicker this time, looking for an upwards strike that if it found its mark would bury the blade in the other man’s guts. He was ready to pull out of it though because it was a feint like the Prince had instructed. Wait for the swing, move out of the fucking way and then go, back in with an arcing blow meant to slice into the thigh of the other. There were rich veins there, where a man would die quickly. He pulled the strike again, not going to risk any disaster because he’d assumed Vangelis would counter. That would be a fuck up he wasn’t sure he’d recover from.
To say Silanos had been a reluctant study initially would have been an understatement. He’d done his damnedest all the way along this journey to try and make first Timaeus change his mind about his ridiculous idea that Silanos should be a soldier, and then to convincing the man before him that there was zero point in taking him to Egypt. He’d failed in both endeavours but had done enough damage then and before for his brother to wash his hands of him. It was a thing that made Silanos acutely more aware of how expendable he was to the man before him, a man who’d threatened his life already. And yet he’d just said he didn't want him dead. It was confusing, but comforting too after a fashion. As he stepped back from the man, the Valaoritis Lord called back the Prince’s earlier words. “Where to put me? Do you even know what we’ll be walking in to?”
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t wasn’t as if Silanos had expected to make contact: he’d been moving at about the pace of a turtle hauling itself up the beach. But he still didn't know what to make of it when the Prince seized the iron between finger and thumb, arresting the strike and leaving Sil nonplussed as to the why. Or at least, he until Vangelis demonstrated the reach of the...khopesh, arcing it out so it just caught the fabric of the linothorax he wore. The younger man followed it with his gaze frowning as he appreciated the greater reach of the weapon just as the Crown Prince pointed out the same thing. That was fucking great then. Whatever thoughts he might have had beyond that initial grim realisation would have to be considered later, for there was apparently more for him to know, and this time, Vangelis used the curve of the Egyptian weapon to somehow snare the shortsword, so that a slight twist had a strain put upon Silanos’ grip, on his wrist and the Valaoritis was further discouraged.
What fucking chance was he going to stand in this stupid war? He was just going to get hacked to pieces his first day on the sand and honestly that was a depressing thought. He hadn't even done anything yet..and he'd die with no name to call his own, no House. Just some rootless, faceless…
‘Because of the curve of the blade, an Egyptian's aim and swing comes from their left, through their right hand’
Wrenching his gaze back to the Crown Prince as the man continued speaking, Silanos found himself suddenly very keen to hear what the Vangelis had to tell him and he nodded mutely to show he was listening. From their left, through their right. Open at the end point he tried to commit the words to memory, but everything felt sort of disconnected and vague. Had done since they’d left Taengea.
‘Attack me again but be quicker on your feet. Come in for the kill, but with a low attack. It will force me to parry with an open swing’
“Yeah ok. Yes,” He tried to focus and pulled back the shortsword, swallowed and readjusted his grip. He eyed Vangelis up and down, flickered his glance over the curved sword again. Fast and low.
This time, he tried to remember what he’d practised, shifted his feet so his weight was light upon them, and he was quicker this time, looking for an upwards strike that if it found its mark would bury the blade in the other man’s guts. He was ready to pull out of it though because it was a feint like the Prince had instructed. Wait for the swing, move out of the fucking way and then go, back in with an arcing blow meant to slice into the thigh of the other. There were rich veins there, where a man would die quickly. He pulled the strike again, not going to risk any disaster because he’d assumed Vangelis would counter. That would be a fuck up he wasn’t sure he’d recover from.
To say Silanos had been a reluctant study initially would have been an understatement. He’d done his damnedest all the way along this journey to try and make first Timaeus change his mind about his ridiculous idea that Silanos should be a soldier, and then to convincing the man before him that there was zero point in taking him to Egypt. He’d failed in both endeavours but had done enough damage then and before for his brother to wash his hands of him. It was a thing that made Silanos acutely more aware of how expendable he was to the man before him, a man who’d threatened his life already. And yet he’d just said he didn't want him dead. It was confusing, but comforting too after a fashion. As he stepped back from the man, the Valaoritis Lord called back the Prince’s earlier words. “Where to put me? Do you even know what we’ll be walking in to?”
t wasn’t as if Silanos had expected to make contact: he’d been moving at about the pace of a turtle hauling itself up the beach. But he still didn't know what to make of it when the Prince seized the iron between finger and thumb, arresting the strike and leaving Sil nonplussed as to the why. Or at least, he until Vangelis demonstrated the reach of the...khopesh, arcing it out so it just caught the fabric of the linothorax he wore. The younger man followed it with his gaze frowning as he appreciated the greater reach of the weapon just as the Crown Prince pointed out the same thing. That was fucking great then. Whatever thoughts he might have had beyond that initial grim realisation would have to be considered later, for there was apparently more for him to know, and this time, Vangelis used the curve of the Egyptian weapon to somehow snare the shortsword, so that a slight twist had a strain put upon Silanos’ grip, on his wrist and the Valaoritis was further discouraged.
What fucking chance was he going to stand in this stupid war? He was just going to get hacked to pieces his first day on the sand and honestly that was a depressing thought. He hadn't even done anything yet..and he'd die with no name to call his own, no House. Just some rootless, faceless…
‘Because of the curve of the blade, an Egyptian's aim and swing comes from their left, through their right hand’
Wrenching his gaze back to the Crown Prince as the man continued speaking, Silanos found himself suddenly very keen to hear what the Vangelis had to tell him and he nodded mutely to show he was listening. From their left, through their right. Open at the end point he tried to commit the words to memory, but everything felt sort of disconnected and vague. Had done since they’d left Taengea.
‘Attack me again but be quicker on your feet. Come in for the kill, but with a low attack. It will force me to parry with an open swing’
“Yeah ok. Yes,” He tried to focus and pulled back the shortsword, swallowed and readjusted his grip. He eyed Vangelis up and down, flickered his glance over the curved sword again. Fast and low.
This time, he tried to remember what he’d practised, shifted his feet so his weight was light upon them, and he was quicker this time, looking for an upwards strike that if it found its mark would bury the blade in the other man’s guts. He was ready to pull out of it though because it was a feint like the Prince had instructed. Wait for the swing, move out of the fucking way and then go, back in with an arcing blow meant to slice into the thigh of the other. There were rich veins there, where a man would die quickly. He pulled the strike again, not going to risk any disaster because he’d assumed Vangelis would counter. That would be a fuck up he wasn’t sure he’d recover from.
To say Silanos had been a reluctant study initially would have been an understatement. He’d done his damnedest all the way along this journey to try and make first Timaeus change his mind about his ridiculous idea that Silanos should be a soldier, and then to convincing the man before him that there was zero point in taking him to Egypt. He’d failed in both endeavours but had done enough damage then and before for his brother to wash his hands of him. It was a thing that made Silanos acutely more aware of how expendable he was to the man before him, a man who’d threatened his life already. And yet he’d just said he didn't want him dead. It was confusing, but comforting too after a fashion. As he stepped back from the man, the Valaoritis Lord called back the Prince’s earlier words. “Where to put me? Do you even know what we’ll be walking in to?”
Vangelis followed the dance of blades that he had already predetermined with the young lord. As Silanos moved forwards in a feinted attack, Vangelis behaved as an Egyptian would, forced to protect his torso from the Greek's blade. His swing went wide, as was often the case when handling a larger, heavy blade, which then left his non-dominant side entirely open for attack. Silanos was quick to change his direction and make a strike for Vangelis' thigh - a good target because it was both large and held veins and muscle that would be fatal if damaged correctly. Vangelis allowed the blade to brush with the faintest touch against his leg, showing Silanos that his aim would have been a true and clean hit.
When the man backed off again, and spoke of where Vangelis would assign him to fight, the question the young lord made was a valid one. Whilst Vangelis was rarely ever questions or doubted that he knew what he was doing upon a battlefield, Silanos had been in his company for a long while now, allowing just a few of those formal boundaries to disintegrate a little. This allowed his natural nerves as a first-time soldier to bubble to the surface and seek reassurance that his leader knew what they were approaching when they reached the Egyptians sands.
"I do." Vangelis stated with simple confidence. The words were, in some ways, a lie. But it was impossible to tell upon his stony features. "I have studied Egyptian warfare almost as much as my own."
This was perfectly true. Vangelis had always been taught that to beat an enemy was to know how an enemy fought. In the same way that a hunter might approach a deer, reading the forestry and landscape to see which way the animal might run if it heard their approach, Vangelis learnt how enemy Generals thought and how enemy soldiers moved. It allowed him to adjust his own forces and work with methods that would increase the chances of victory with the least risk of mortality to his own men. In that sense, Vangelis would know exactly what they were walking into when they arrived in Egypt.
On the flip side of this, Vangelis knew nothing of the terrain in the area until they arrived. Egypt was mostly made of sand, which meant their land and altitudes changed with every strong wind. He hadn't been on Egyptian territory in over ten years and was hardly likely to know the exact forms and shapes that the battlefield would take. On top of this, he had no knowledge of what King Achilleas had achieved, how he was fighting, or what he would need in terms of support. This was not a war that could be pre-planned to that extent and Vangelis would be forced to think on his feet when they arrived. They had an intended plan, as discussed with the leaders of his militia back in Colchis. But it wouldn't be until they arrived that Vangelis could determine the best way to carry it out.
"As soon as we arrive, I'll be able to assess our troops and alter any plans we already have to best fit the scenario King Achilleas may be in. Our primary purpose is not to fight the Egyptians but to secure the escape of the Taengeans. It is simply a fact of combat that one will involve the other."
With a wave of his hand Vangelis instructed Silanos to attack him again, repeating the technique of feinting and striking at Vangelis' exposed side. Once he had the boy in position, he spoke again.
"The Egyptians do not often run with shields. Their charioteers will occasionally be able to handle one but their infantry is built for offense not defence. They wear no armour and they hold no shield. Instead..." Vangelis plucked one of the knives he kept in the back of his belt from its sheath and held it, blade down. He shifted his hand to use the blade to parry against Silanos' sword. "...they keep a second blade in the band of their skirts. They like to keep their dagger in reserve so that they have two hands to wield the khopesh if they can." It was a heavy blade and big swings and strikes required a double grip. "But if an enemy gets close, they will bring out the second blade. So, watch for it."
"In this situation, however, you have them prostrate." Vangelis shifted his arms to make clear his position - two blades, both at full extension on either side of him, either beyond easy control or parrying with a blade. "The simplest way to overcome a man with his weapons too extended is to get in his face. Use your own knife to attack the torso, or simply shove with your shoulder and knock your opponent to the ground. If you can get within the circle of an Egyptian's arms their primary weapon becomes a cursed weight instead of a powerful tool."
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Vangelis followed the dance of blades that he had already predetermined with the young lord. As Silanos moved forwards in a feinted attack, Vangelis behaved as an Egyptian would, forced to protect his torso from the Greek's blade. His swing went wide, as was often the case when handling a larger, heavy blade, which then left his non-dominant side entirely open for attack. Silanos was quick to change his direction and make a strike for Vangelis' thigh - a good target because it was both large and held veins and muscle that would be fatal if damaged correctly. Vangelis allowed the blade to brush with the faintest touch against his leg, showing Silanos that his aim would have been a true and clean hit.
When the man backed off again, and spoke of where Vangelis would assign him to fight, the question the young lord made was a valid one. Whilst Vangelis was rarely ever questions or doubted that he knew what he was doing upon a battlefield, Silanos had been in his company for a long while now, allowing just a few of those formal boundaries to disintegrate a little. This allowed his natural nerves as a first-time soldier to bubble to the surface and seek reassurance that his leader knew what they were approaching when they reached the Egyptians sands.
"I do." Vangelis stated with simple confidence. The words were, in some ways, a lie. But it was impossible to tell upon his stony features. "I have studied Egyptian warfare almost as much as my own."
This was perfectly true. Vangelis had always been taught that to beat an enemy was to know how an enemy fought. In the same way that a hunter might approach a deer, reading the forestry and landscape to see which way the animal might run if it heard their approach, Vangelis learnt how enemy Generals thought and how enemy soldiers moved. It allowed him to adjust his own forces and work with methods that would increase the chances of victory with the least risk of mortality to his own men. In that sense, Vangelis would know exactly what they were walking into when they arrived in Egypt.
On the flip side of this, Vangelis knew nothing of the terrain in the area until they arrived. Egypt was mostly made of sand, which meant their land and altitudes changed with every strong wind. He hadn't been on Egyptian territory in over ten years and was hardly likely to know the exact forms and shapes that the battlefield would take. On top of this, he had no knowledge of what King Achilleas had achieved, how he was fighting, or what he would need in terms of support. This was not a war that could be pre-planned to that extent and Vangelis would be forced to think on his feet when they arrived. They had an intended plan, as discussed with the leaders of his militia back in Colchis. But it wouldn't be until they arrived that Vangelis could determine the best way to carry it out.
"As soon as we arrive, I'll be able to assess our troops and alter any plans we already have to best fit the scenario King Achilleas may be in. Our primary purpose is not to fight the Egyptians but to secure the escape of the Taengeans. It is simply a fact of combat that one will involve the other."
With a wave of his hand Vangelis instructed Silanos to attack him again, repeating the technique of feinting and striking at Vangelis' exposed side. Once he had the boy in position, he spoke again.
"The Egyptians do not often run with shields. Their charioteers will occasionally be able to handle one but their infantry is built for offense not defence. They wear no armour and they hold no shield. Instead..." Vangelis plucked one of the knives he kept in the back of his belt from its sheath and held it, blade down. He shifted his hand to use the blade to parry against Silanos' sword. "...they keep a second blade in the band of their skirts. They like to keep their dagger in reserve so that they have two hands to wield the khopesh if they can." It was a heavy blade and big swings and strikes required a double grip. "But if an enemy gets close, they will bring out the second blade. So, watch for it."
"In this situation, however, you have them prostrate." Vangelis shifted his arms to make clear his position - two blades, both at full extension on either side of him, either beyond easy control or parrying with a blade. "The simplest way to overcome a man with his weapons too extended is to get in his face. Use your own knife to attack the torso, or simply shove with your shoulder and knock your opponent to the ground. If you can get within the circle of an Egyptian's arms their primary weapon becomes a cursed weight instead of a powerful tool."
Vangelis followed the dance of blades that he had already predetermined with the young lord. As Silanos moved forwards in a feinted attack, Vangelis behaved as an Egyptian would, forced to protect his torso from the Greek's blade. His swing went wide, as was often the case when handling a larger, heavy blade, which then left his non-dominant side entirely open for attack. Silanos was quick to change his direction and make a strike for Vangelis' thigh - a good target because it was both large and held veins and muscle that would be fatal if damaged correctly. Vangelis allowed the blade to brush with the faintest touch against his leg, showing Silanos that his aim would have been a true and clean hit.
When the man backed off again, and spoke of where Vangelis would assign him to fight, the question the young lord made was a valid one. Whilst Vangelis was rarely ever questions or doubted that he knew what he was doing upon a battlefield, Silanos had been in his company for a long while now, allowing just a few of those formal boundaries to disintegrate a little. This allowed his natural nerves as a first-time soldier to bubble to the surface and seek reassurance that his leader knew what they were approaching when they reached the Egyptians sands.
"I do." Vangelis stated with simple confidence. The words were, in some ways, a lie. But it was impossible to tell upon his stony features. "I have studied Egyptian warfare almost as much as my own."
This was perfectly true. Vangelis had always been taught that to beat an enemy was to know how an enemy fought. In the same way that a hunter might approach a deer, reading the forestry and landscape to see which way the animal might run if it heard their approach, Vangelis learnt how enemy Generals thought and how enemy soldiers moved. It allowed him to adjust his own forces and work with methods that would increase the chances of victory with the least risk of mortality to his own men. In that sense, Vangelis would know exactly what they were walking into when they arrived in Egypt.
On the flip side of this, Vangelis knew nothing of the terrain in the area until they arrived. Egypt was mostly made of sand, which meant their land and altitudes changed with every strong wind. He hadn't been on Egyptian territory in over ten years and was hardly likely to know the exact forms and shapes that the battlefield would take. On top of this, he had no knowledge of what King Achilleas had achieved, how he was fighting, or what he would need in terms of support. This was not a war that could be pre-planned to that extent and Vangelis would be forced to think on his feet when they arrived. They had an intended plan, as discussed with the leaders of his militia back in Colchis. But it wouldn't be until they arrived that Vangelis could determine the best way to carry it out.
"As soon as we arrive, I'll be able to assess our troops and alter any plans we already have to best fit the scenario King Achilleas may be in. Our primary purpose is not to fight the Egyptians but to secure the escape of the Taengeans. It is simply a fact of combat that one will involve the other."
With a wave of his hand Vangelis instructed Silanos to attack him again, repeating the technique of feinting and striking at Vangelis' exposed side. Once he had the boy in position, he spoke again.
"The Egyptians do not often run with shields. Their charioteers will occasionally be able to handle one but their infantry is built for offense not defence. They wear no armour and they hold no shield. Instead..." Vangelis plucked one of the knives he kept in the back of his belt from its sheath and held it, blade down. He shifted his hand to use the blade to parry against Silanos' sword. "...they keep a second blade in the band of their skirts. They like to keep their dagger in reserve so that they have two hands to wield the khopesh if they can." It was a heavy blade and big swings and strikes required a double grip. "But if an enemy gets close, they will bring out the second blade. So, watch for it."
"In this situation, however, you have them prostrate." Vangelis shifted his arms to make clear his position - two blades, both at full extension on either side of him, either beyond easy control or parrying with a blade. "The simplest way to overcome a man with his weapons too extended is to get in his face. Use your own knife to attack the torso, or simply shove with your shoulder and knock your opponent to the ground. If you can get within the circle of an Egyptian's arms their primary weapon becomes a cursed weight instead of a powerful tool."
The prince’s answer was confident enough that Sil had no idea of the room for doubt that it covered. After being subjected to just a taste of Vangelis’ appetite for studying warfare, he didn’t have to reach too far to imagine that the Blood General had read every text available on Egyptian warfare. That was something, he supposed.
He listened to Vangelis explain the premise of their role in the conflict, shuffling back into position at the wave of the man’s hand, nodding to show he’d heard. He was trying to make himself pay attention because, rationally, he knew that he needed all the help he could get in preparing for what lay ahead. It was the less rational part that was distracting - the part that couldn’t stop replaying the words with Timaeus, as if hoping that they might suddenly become less damning, less final the next time around. It hadn’t worked so far.
‘..second blade in the band of their skirts..’
Vangelis had produced a second knife from somewhere and now Sil was frowning because how the fuck was he supposed to get around that. And Vangelis’ instruction to step inside the open arms brandishing blades to either side was hardly appealing. The younger man glanced between the two weapons and then back up to the face of the man who wielded them.
It was all beginning to feel a little too real, and too stacked against him. The sword in his hand felt insubstantial, he didn’t’ know enough, and there wasn’t time to learn. He shook his head.
“I’m fucked” Silanos said, the words laced with bitterness as he let the sword drop from his hand with a clatter. “You think a couple of fake run-throughs on the deck of a ship is going to help? It's not. You want me to stay alive? You should have left me in Colchis.” His voice, raised slightly, sharp-edged with defiance that had seemingly sprung from nowhere was enough to draw the eyes of some of the other men aboard, but Sil was too busy glaring daggers at the Prince to notice.
If he’d stayed in Colchis, Taengea would never happened. He wouldn’t have seen Kreois again, there would have been no conversation between Damocles and his brother, he wouldn’t be standing here like some kid squaring up against trained soldiers and finding it hard to give a shit if one of them just ran him through because he had nothing fucking left.
At that moment, it felt like he’d found someone else to blame for where he found himself, and if that wasn’t a relief. That his anger wasn’t anger at all but a mixture of fear and hopelessness, and certainly not wise to direct at the man before him didn't seem to register with the younger man, who had never been able to claim prudence as a virtue. “If you’d left me in Colchis…” he repeated tightly.
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The prince’s answer was confident enough that Sil had no idea of the room for doubt that it covered. After being subjected to just a taste of Vangelis’ appetite for studying warfare, he didn’t have to reach too far to imagine that the Blood General had read every text available on Egyptian warfare. That was something, he supposed.
He listened to Vangelis explain the premise of their role in the conflict, shuffling back into position at the wave of the man’s hand, nodding to show he’d heard. He was trying to make himself pay attention because, rationally, he knew that he needed all the help he could get in preparing for what lay ahead. It was the less rational part that was distracting - the part that couldn’t stop replaying the words with Timaeus, as if hoping that they might suddenly become less damning, less final the next time around. It hadn’t worked so far.
‘..second blade in the band of their skirts..’
Vangelis had produced a second knife from somewhere and now Sil was frowning because how the fuck was he supposed to get around that. And Vangelis’ instruction to step inside the open arms brandishing blades to either side was hardly appealing. The younger man glanced between the two weapons and then back up to the face of the man who wielded them.
It was all beginning to feel a little too real, and too stacked against him. The sword in his hand felt insubstantial, he didn’t’ know enough, and there wasn’t time to learn. He shook his head.
“I’m fucked” Silanos said, the words laced with bitterness as he let the sword drop from his hand with a clatter. “You think a couple of fake run-throughs on the deck of a ship is going to help? It's not. You want me to stay alive? You should have left me in Colchis.” His voice, raised slightly, sharp-edged with defiance that had seemingly sprung from nowhere was enough to draw the eyes of some of the other men aboard, but Sil was too busy glaring daggers at the Prince to notice.
If he’d stayed in Colchis, Taengea would never happened. He wouldn’t have seen Kreois again, there would have been no conversation between Damocles and his brother, he wouldn’t be standing here like some kid squaring up against trained soldiers and finding it hard to give a shit if one of them just ran him through because he had nothing fucking left.
At that moment, it felt like he’d found someone else to blame for where he found himself, and if that wasn’t a relief. That his anger wasn’t anger at all but a mixture of fear and hopelessness, and certainly not wise to direct at the man before him didn't seem to register with the younger man, who had never been able to claim prudence as a virtue. “If you’d left me in Colchis…” he repeated tightly.
The prince’s answer was confident enough that Sil had no idea of the room for doubt that it covered. After being subjected to just a taste of Vangelis’ appetite for studying warfare, he didn’t have to reach too far to imagine that the Blood General had read every text available on Egyptian warfare. That was something, he supposed.
He listened to Vangelis explain the premise of their role in the conflict, shuffling back into position at the wave of the man’s hand, nodding to show he’d heard. He was trying to make himself pay attention because, rationally, he knew that he needed all the help he could get in preparing for what lay ahead. It was the less rational part that was distracting - the part that couldn’t stop replaying the words with Timaeus, as if hoping that they might suddenly become less damning, less final the next time around. It hadn’t worked so far.
‘..second blade in the band of their skirts..’
Vangelis had produced a second knife from somewhere and now Sil was frowning because how the fuck was he supposed to get around that. And Vangelis’ instruction to step inside the open arms brandishing blades to either side was hardly appealing. The younger man glanced between the two weapons and then back up to the face of the man who wielded them.
It was all beginning to feel a little too real, and too stacked against him. The sword in his hand felt insubstantial, he didn’t’ know enough, and there wasn’t time to learn. He shook his head.
“I’m fucked” Silanos said, the words laced with bitterness as he let the sword drop from his hand with a clatter. “You think a couple of fake run-throughs on the deck of a ship is going to help? It's not. You want me to stay alive? You should have left me in Colchis.” His voice, raised slightly, sharp-edged with defiance that had seemingly sprung from nowhere was enough to draw the eyes of some of the other men aboard, but Sil was too busy glaring daggers at the Prince to notice.
If he’d stayed in Colchis, Taengea would never happened. He wouldn’t have seen Kreois again, there would have been no conversation between Damocles and his brother, he wouldn’t be standing here like some kid squaring up against trained soldiers and finding it hard to give a shit if one of them just ran him through because he had nothing fucking left.
At that moment, it felt like he’d found someone else to blame for where he found himself, and if that wasn’t a relief. That his anger wasn’t anger at all but a mixture of fear and hopelessness, and certainly not wise to direct at the man before him didn't seem to register with the younger man, who had never been able to claim prudence as a virtue. “If you’d left me in Colchis…” he repeated tightly.
Vangelis was a hard man to offend. Whilst he held all the pride and honour of his kingdom and of his family and would kill and die in their name, he wasn't particularly easy to offend on a personal level. You could steal from him, insult him, be annoying in his company and, in truth, Vangelis did not feel the need to scream and fight back. Perhaps it was the security he held in his birth, in the strength of his position. He knew that he had the power to order anyone's death so long as he had good reason so perhaps the words of insult thrown by others just... fell a little flat upon his ears.
What Vangelis was aware of was what it meant to be scared before battle. He remembered being young, he remembered his first experience on the battlefield clear as day. He knew what it was like to hold that anxiety in your belly and worry whether or not you would ever see home again. It had been lost to him over the years and Vangelis couldn't remember the last time he had actually felt that fear. But he certainly remembered the first.
So, when Silanos stopped listening, backed away and threw out words of fear, blaming Vangelis for his current state of affairs, Vangelis understood it, even if he was ignorant of half the things swirling around inside Silanos' head.
However, just because he wasn't offended by Silanos' words, didn't mean that he was going to pander to them either. He wasn't about to let the boy wallow in self-pity and fear to the point where he practically walked into the blade of an Egyptian. And he definitely wasn't going to let him diminish the path that he could be on, if he so chose.
"If I'd left you in Colchis..." Vangelis repeated back to him, finishing the boy's sentence. "You would be at the end of someone else's blade after messing with their family or toeing the wrong line. Your name would mean nothing, your family's loyalties tested and you'd have no honour to your existence."
Vangelis took a step closer to Silanos, his height looming as he kept his balance on the bouncing and rolling of the ship.
"You identified armour issues in Colchis on a handful of soldiers. You've helped with the oar work to see us to Egypt faster and shave off hours of battle in which King Achilleas would have to fight alone. Four weeks as my aide and you've already saved at least a dozen or so lives. Maybe more."
"Perhaps you should start looking at the future as a chance to protect others rather than simply a risk to your own skin. I was fourteen when I first saw battle..." Vangelis grabbed hold of Silanos' wrist and pulled him back into a ready stance. "Prove to your name that you're more of a man than you are an embarrassment."
And Vangelis took a step back to play Egyptian once more in their little tango of training...
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Vangelis was a hard man to offend. Whilst he held all the pride and honour of his kingdom and of his family and would kill and die in their name, he wasn't particularly easy to offend on a personal level. You could steal from him, insult him, be annoying in his company and, in truth, Vangelis did not feel the need to scream and fight back. Perhaps it was the security he held in his birth, in the strength of his position. He knew that he had the power to order anyone's death so long as he had good reason so perhaps the words of insult thrown by others just... fell a little flat upon his ears.
What Vangelis was aware of was what it meant to be scared before battle. He remembered being young, he remembered his first experience on the battlefield clear as day. He knew what it was like to hold that anxiety in your belly and worry whether or not you would ever see home again. It had been lost to him over the years and Vangelis couldn't remember the last time he had actually felt that fear. But he certainly remembered the first.
So, when Silanos stopped listening, backed away and threw out words of fear, blaming Vangelis for his current state of affairs, Vangelis understood it, even if he was ignorant of half the things swirling around inside Silanos' head.
However, just because he wasn't offended by Silanos' words, didn't mean that he was going to pander to them either. He wasn't about to let the boy wallow in self-pity and fear to the point where he practically walked into the blade of an Egyptian. And he definitely wasn't going to let him diminish the path that he could be on, if he so chose.
"If I'd left you in Colchis..." Vangelis repeated back to him, finishing the boy's sentence. "You would be at the end of someone else's blade after messing with their family or toeing the wrong line. Your name would mean nothing, your family's loyalties tested and you'd have no honour to your existence."
Vangelis took a step closer to Silanos, his height looming as he kept his balance on the bouncing and rolling of the ship.
"You identified armour issues in Colchis on a handful of soldiers. You've helped with the oar work to see us to Egypt faster and shave off hours of battle in which King Achilleas would have to fight alone. Four weeks as my aide and you've already saved at least a dozen or so lives. Maybe more."
"Perhaps you should start looking at the future as a chance to protect others rather than simply a risk to your own skin. I was fourteen when I first saw battle..." Vangelis grabbed hold of Silanos' wrist and pulled him back into a ready stance. "Prove to your name that you're more of a man than you are an embarrassment."
And Vangelis took a step back to play Egyptian once more in their little tango of training...
Vangelis was a hard man to offend. Whilst he held all the pride and honour of his kingdom and of his family and would kill and die in their name, he wasn't particularly easy to offend on a personal level. You could steal from him, insult him, be annoying in his company and, in truth, Vangelis did not feel the need to scream and fight back. Perhaps it was the security he held in his birth, in the strength of his position. He knew that he had the power to order anyone's death so long as he had good reason so perhaps the words of insult thrown by others just... fell a little flat upon his ears.
What Vangelis was aware of was what it meant to be scared before battle. He remembered being young, he remembered his first experience on the battlefield clear as day. He knew what it was like to hold that anxiety in your belly and worry whether or not you would ever see home again. It had been lost to him over the years and Vangelis couldn't remember the last time he had actually felt that fear. But he certainly remembered the first.
So, when Silanos stopped listening, backed away and threw out words of fear, blaming Vangelis for his current state of affairs, Vangelis understood it, even if he was ignorant of half the things swirling around inside Silanos' head.
However, just because he wasn't offended by Silanos' words, didn't mean that he was going to pander to them either. He wasn't about to let the boy wallow in self-pity and fear to the point where he practically walked into the blade of an Egyptian. And he definitely wasn't going to let him diminish the path that he could be on, if he so chose.
"If I'd left you in Colchis..." Vangelis repeated back to him, finishing the boy's sentence. "You would be at the end of someone else's blade after messing with their family or toeing the wrong line. Your name would mean nothing, your family's loyalties tested and you'd have no honour to your existence."
Vangelis took a step closer to Silanos, his height looming as he kept his balance on the bouncing and rolling of the ship.
"You identified armour issues in Colchis on a handful of soldiers. You've helped with the oar work to see us to Egypt faster and shave off hours of battle in which King Achilleas would have to fight alone. Four weeks as my aide and you've already saved at least a dozen or so lives. Maybe more."
"Perhaps you should start looking at the future as a chance to protect others rather than simply a risk to your own skin. I was fourteen when I first saw battle..." Vangelis grabbed hold of Silanos' wrist and pulled him back into a ready stance. "Prove to your name that you're more of a man than you are an embarrassment."
And Vangelis took a step back to play Egyptian once more in their little tango of training...
Silanos watched with wary eyes as the Prince answered him. He was very good at pushing buttons when he needed to, it had become almost second nature and was a useful device in turning attention away from whatever was troubling him.
The Stone Prince however, was proving no such easy mark. He didn’t lose his temper or send Silanos from his presence, rather just corrected him quietly, matter-of-factly. It didn’t give Sil anywhere else to go with his protests: he could hardly deny what Vangelis said, it was after all, how he’d ended up here in the first place. And when the man advanced on him, the younger man remained in place, his own stubbornness preventing him moving again.The prince’s words did not roll off unheeded. Sil blinking as he followed the man’s logic.
He hadn’t translated the menial tasks that he’d been given into the impact they might have had, and hearing it was gratifying in some small way. Truthfully, there wasn’t much Silanos could claim to have done that offered such postice impact on anyone other than himself, and it had never bothered him. He looked after himself and his friends and that was enough. He’d never understood the need, the motivation in doing what Timaeus did or why he considered his choices so superior to Silanos’. Maybe there was an inkling of understanding beginning to creep in though. As Vangelis caught hold of his wrist the younger man led himself be manoeuvred back Into position, stooping to retrieve the sword he had dropped.
It was the Prince’s final words that had Silanos look up at him sharply because they were almost too on the nose, and for a moment he thought that the man knew something. And if he did that was fucking hilarious, wasn’t it. Who knew the Blood General had a sense of humour even if it was a dickies one. As he stood back up to his full height Sil gave a dismissive snort. “ Yeah well I don’t have a name do I, so that not exactly the best motivation.Unless that’s your piss-poor attempt at a joke” He tried to pass it off with a mocking sort of nonchalance but, unusually for the young lord, failed entirely, the bleakness overwhelming his bluster and he wished immediately he hadn’t said anything. It was a feeling that only intensified when there was no sign of recognition on the Prince’s face and Silanos realised he'd unwittingly revealed more than he would have wanted to.
Fuck! What did that even mean? If he had no House behind him then what was the motivation for Vangelis to stay his temper and do anything other than what he’d threatened back in Colchis? Sil had no more clout than that slave who Zanon had despatched so carelessly in front of him and the Prince had made it clear that it was only respect for the history between their two houses that had stayed his hand and made him more lenient with Silanos. Now he had no reason to uphold such a courtesy and the younger man faltered as it dawned on him what a gaffe he’d just made.
“ I...thought you knew.”
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Silanos watched with wary eyes as the Prince answered him. He was very good at pushing buttons when he needed to, it had become almost second nature and was a useful device in turning attention away from whatever was troubling him.
The Stone Prince however, was proving no such easy mark. He didn’t lose his temper or send Silanos from his presence, rather just corrected him quietly, matter-of-factly. It didn’t give Sil anywhere else to go with his protests: he could hardly deny what Vangelis said, it was after all, how he’d ended up here in the first place. And when the man advanced on him, the younger man remained in place, his own stubbornness preventing him moving again.The prince’s words did not roll off unheeded. Sil blinking as he followed the man’s logic.
He hadn’t translated the menial tasks that he’d been given into the impact they might have had, and hearing it was gratifying in some small way. Truthfully, there wasn’t much Silanos could claim to have done that offered such postice impact on anyone other than himself, and it had never bothered him. He looked after himself and his friends and that was enough. He’d never understood the need, the motivation in doing what Timaeus did or why he considered his choices so superior to Silanos’. Maybe there was an inkling of understanding beginning to creep in though. As Vangelis caught hold of his wrist the younger man led himself be manoeuvred back Into position, stooping to retrieve the sword he had dropped.
It was the Prince’s final words that had Silanos look up at him sharply because they were almost too on the nose, and for a moment he thought that the man knew something. And if he did that was fucking hilarious, wasn’t it. Who knew the Blood General had a sense of humour even if it was a dickies one. As he stood back up to his full height Sil gave a dismissive snort. “ Yeah well I don’t have a name do I, so that not exactly the best motivation.Unless that’s your piss-poor attempt at a joke” He tried to pass it off with a mocking sort of nonchalance but, unusually for the young lord, failed entirely, the bleakness overwhelming his bluster and he wished immediately he hadn’t said anything. It was a feeling that only intensified when there was no sign of recognition on the Prince’s face and Silanos realised he'd unwittingly revealed more than he would have wanted to.
Fuck! What did that even mean? If he had no House behind him then what was the motivation for Vangelis to stay his temper and do anything other than what he’d threatened back in Colchis? Sil had no more clout than that slave who Zanon had despatched so carelessly in front of him and the Prince had made it clear that it was only respect for the history between their two houses that had stayed his hand and made him more lenient with Silanos. Now he had no reason to uphold such a courtesy and the younger man faltered as it dawned on him what a gaffe he’d just made.
“ I...thought you knew.”
Silanos watched with wary eyes as the Prince answered him. He was very good at pushing buttons when he needed to, it had become almost second nature and was a useful device in turning attention away from whatever was troubling him.
The Stone Prince however, was proving no such easy mark. He didn’t lose his temper or send Silanos from his presence, rather just corrected him quietly, matter-of-factly. It didn’t give Sil anywhere else to go with his protests: he could hardly deny what Vangelis said, it was after all, how he’d ended up here in the first place. And when the man advanced on him, the younger man remained in place, his own stubbornness preventing him moving again.The prince’s words did not roll off unheeded. Sil blinking as he followed the man’s logic.
He hadn’t translated the menial tasks that he’d been given into the impact they might have had, and hearing it was gratifying in some small way. Truthfully, there wasn’t much Silanos could claim to have done that offered such postice impact on anyone other than himself, and it had never bothered him. He looked after himself and his friends and that was enough. He’d never understood the need, the motivation in doing what Timaeus did or why he considered his choices so superior to Silanos’. Maybe there was an inkling of understanding beginning to creep in though. As Vangelis caught hold of his wrist the younger man led himself be manoeuvred back Into position, stooping to retrieve the sword he had dropped.
It was the Prince’s final words that had Silanos look up at him sharply because they were almost too on the nose, and for a moment he thought that the man knew something. And if he did that was fucking hilarious, wasn’t it. Who knew the Blood General had a sense of humour even if it was a dickies one. As he stood back up to his full height Sil gave a dismissive snort. “ Yeah well I don’t have a name do I, so that not exactly the best motivation.Unless that’s your piss-poor attempt at a joke” He tried to pass it off with a mocking sort of nonchalance but, unusually for the young lord, failed entirely, the bleakness overwhelming his bluster and he wished immediately he hadn’t said anything. It was a feeling that only intensified when there was no sign of recognition on the Prince’s face and Silanos realised he'd unwittingly revealed more than he would have wanted to.
Fuck! What did that even mean? If he had no House behind him then what was the motivation for Vangelis to stay his temper and do anything other than what he’d threatened back in Colchis? Sil had no more clout than that slave who Zanon had despatched so carelessly in front of him and the Prince had made it clear that it was only respect for the history between their two houses that had stayed his hand and made him more lenient with Silanos. Now he had no reason to uphold such a courtesy and the younger man faltered as it dawned on him what a gaffe he’d just made.
“ I...thought you knew.”
As he settled back on his heels, Vangelis was ready to assume the position of Egyptian to Silanos' Greek. It didn't matter to him that the boy was trying to train in the eleventh hour. Vangelis remembered times where he had been witness to something or had a small revelation in the tactics of a battle the moment the fighting had begun and it had still then led to saving his own skin at a critical moment. As far as he was concerned, it was more or less luck and the will of the Gods that saw you through war. There were so many chances for your death, so many happenstances in which your skin was at risk of blade or illness or wound. It was near impossible to survive for as many years as Vangelis had on so many battlefields. Which meant that luck and the favour of the Gods was all that had seen him through so unscathed.
And how was luck and favour to be claimed? By working your hardest. Every moment, of every day. Vangelis trained, he planned, he prepared... He did absolutely everything in his power during every moment that he was awake, to increase every possible chance and opportunity he had for survival. And in doing so, he hoped that he pleased the Gods @ares and @athena. That they would see him through such wars simply for the dedication he gave them and the respect he gave the dangers that they held. After that, there was nothing more than he could do.
But, to Vangelis, it was these hours, minutes and seconds of dedication that, in some indirect way, saved his life time and again out on Ares' dancefloor.
And it was men who refused to try that would see themselves fall foul of the Gods' favour or lose that opportunity for the last shred of luck they might have been able to harbour. Vangelis wasn't about to let anyone walk that path - regardless of his personal feelings towards them - if he could help it. All soldiers that served under him were Colchians. And Colchians were his men and his people. Those that he protected and served as their future ruler.
As Silanos picked up his weapon and came forward, he seemed ready to take Vangelis at his advice and get back to work, but the prince's last determination seemed to strike a strange chord with him. The boy frowned, stilled and looked at Vangelis with a gaze of suspicion. His tone was acrid and dissatisfied as he spat his words back at the crown prince, assuring him that he had no name to make proud.
Vangelis' expression remained clear and without his internal thoughts turning his features into a frown but apparently the blankness of his eyes revealed his ignorance of the topic at hand... Which was a true ignorance. Just what had happened that saw Silanos without a name?
Only Timaeus could strip Silanos of his title as a Valaoritis and the two of them were journeying on separate boats... The only crossover of connections had been in Taengea. And they had only been there less than twenty-four hours. Just what had happened in so small a time period that Silanos had been suddenly debunked from his family lineage?
As the realisation that Vangelis knew nothing of these matters seemed to settle upon the other man, he noted a flicker of fear in Silanos' gaze. His voice was slow and quiet, and his words a little doubtful as he mused aloud that he thought Vangelis had already known of his disgrace. The man watched Vangelis with great care, clearly unsure what to do with the situation he had created for himself.
Vangelis could understand the fear in Silanos' face. It had been the connection of the Valaoritis that had seen his hand stayed when he had been ready to run this man through for kissing his brother's wife and his little sister. He had been determined to see the man punished, bathed in his own blood and even now still felt a burning sense of anger over the events that had led Silanos to this.
But, it had been just over a month since their agreement had been struck, and longer still since he had first learnt of Silanos' crimes against the Kotas name. Three months since that anger had first burnt at its hottest. The rage and familial wrath had subsided somewhat since then.
Lowering the khopesh, Vangelis' frown finally settled into place.
"I know nothing of any arrangement that would see you without name." Vangelis stated simply.
Now was the opportunity in which he could exercise his right for Silanos’ life. Or insist that he get down with the slaves that rowed for their speed. Or tossed him to the waters in order to remove another mouth to feed from their rations. There would be no consequence or repercussions because the man was of no family.
Perhaps surprisingly, Vangelis did none of these things. He simply encouraged Silanos back to the matter at hand, using the name that would now apply to his new position of standing...
"...But I still think your time between now and our arrival in Egypt is better spent training than belly-aching... Silanos of Eubocris."
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As he settled back on his heels, Vangelis was ready to assume the position of Egyptian to Silanos' Greek. It didn't matter to him that the boy was trying to train in the eleventh hour. Vangelis remembered times where he had been witness to something or had a small revelation in the tactics of a battle the moment the fighting had begun and it had still then led to saving his own skin at a critical moment. As far as he was concerned, it was more or less luck and the will of the Gods that saw you through war. There were so many chances for your death, so many happenstances in which your skin was at risk of blade or illness or wound. It was near impossible to survive for as many years as Vangelis had on so many battlefields. Which meant that luck and the favour of the Gods was all that had seen him through so unscathed.
And how was luck and favour to be claimed? By working your hardest. Every moment, of every day. Vangelis trained, he planned, he prepared... He did absolutely everything in his power during every moment that he was awake, to increase every possible chance and opportunity he had for survival. And in doing so, he hoped that he pleased the Gods @ares and @athena. That they would see him through such wars simply for the dedication he gave them and the respect he gave the dangers that they held. After that, there was nothing more than he could do.
But, to Vangelis, it was these hours, minutes and seconds of dedication that, in some indirect way, saved his life time and again out on Ares' dancefloor.
And it was men who refused to try that would see themselves fall foul of the Gods' favour or lose that opportunity for the last shred of luck they might have been able to harbour. Vangelis wasn't about to let anyone walk that path - regardless of his personal feelings towards them - if he could help it. All soldiers that served under him were Colchians. And Colchians were his men and his people. Those that he protected and served as their future ruler.
As Silanos picked up his weapon and came forward, he seemed ready to take Vangelis at his advice and get back to work, but the prince's last determination seemed to strike a strange chord with him. The boy frowned, stilled and looked at Vangelis with a gaze of suspicion. His tone was acrid and dissatisfied as he spat his words back at the crown prince, assuring him that he had no name to make proud.
Vangelis' expression remained clear and without his internal thoughts turning his features into a frown but apparently the blankness of his eyes revealed his ignorance of the topic at hand... Which was a true ignorance. Just what had happened that saw Silanos without a name?
Only Timaeus could strip Silanos of his title as a Valaoritis and the two of them were journeying on separate boats... The only crossover of connections had been in Taengea. And they had only been there less than twenty-four hours. Just what had happened in so small a time period that Silanos had been suddenly debunked from his family lineage?
As the realisation that Vangelis knew nothing of these matters seemed to settle upon the other man, he noted a flicker of fear in Silanos' gaze. His voice was slow and quiet, and his words a little doubtful as he mused aloud that he thought Vangelis had already known of his disgrace. The man watched Vangelis with great care, clearly unsure what to do with the situation he had created for himself.
Vangelis could understand the fear in Silanos' face. It had been the connection of the Valaoritis that had seen his hand stayed when he had been ready to run this man through for kissing his brother's wife and his little sister. He had been determined to see the man punished, bathed in his own blood and even now still felt a burning sense of anger over the events that had led Silanos to this.
But, it had been just over a month since their agreement had been struck, and longer still since he had first learnt of Silanos' crimes against the Kotas name. Three months since that anger had first burnt at its hottest. The rage and familial wrath had subsided somewhat since then.
Lowering the khopesh, Vangelis' frown finally settled into place.
"I know nothing of any arrangement that would see you without name." Vangelis stated simply.
Now was the opportunity in which he could exercise his right for Silanos’ life. Or insist that he get down with the slaves that rowed for their speed. Or tossed him to the waters in order to remove another mouth to feed from their rations. There would be no consequence or repercussions because the man was of no family.
Perhaps surprisingly, Vangelis did none of these things. He simply encouraged Silanos back to the matter at hand, using the name that would now apply to his new position of standing...
"...But I still think your time between now and our arrival in Egypt is better spent training than belly-aching... Silanos of Eubocris."
As he settled back on his heels, Vangelis was ready to assume the position of Egyptian to Silanos' Greek. It didn't matter to him that the boy was trying to train in the eleventh hour. Vangelis remembered times where he had been witness to something or had a small revelation in the tactics of a battle the moment the fighting had begun and it had still then led to saving his own skin at a critical moment. As far as he was concerned, it was more or less luck and the will of the Gods that saw you through war. There were so many chances for your death, so many happenstances in which your skin was at risk of blade or illness or wound. It was near impossible to survive for as many years as Vangelis had on so many battlefields. Which meant that luck and the favour of the Gods was all that had seen him through so unscathed.
And how was luck and favour to be claimed? By working your hardest. Every moment, of every day. Vangelis trained, he planned, he prepared... He did absolutely everything in his power during every moment that he was awake, to increase every possible chance and opportunity he had for survival. And in doing so, he hoped that he pleased the Gods @ares and @athena. That they would see him through such wars simply for the dedication he gave them and the respect he gave the dangers that they held. After that, there was nothing more than he could do.
But, to Vangelis, it was these hours, minutes and seconds of dedication that, in some indirect way, saved his life time and again out on Ares' dancefloor.
And it was men who refused to try that would see themselves fall foul of the Gods' favour or lose that opportunity for the last shred of luck they might have been able to harbour. Vangelis wasn't about to let anyone walk that path - regardless of his personal feelings towards them - if he could help it. All soldiers that served under him were Colchians. And Colchians were his men and his people. Those that he protected and served as their future ruler.
As Silanos picked up his weapon and came forward, he seemed ready to take Vangelis at his advice and get back to work, but the prince's last determination seemed to strike a strange chord with him. The boy frowned, stilled and looked at Vangelis with a gaze of suspicion. His tone was acrid and dissatisfied as he spat his words back at the crown prince, assuring him that he had no name to make proud.
Vangelis' expression remained clear and without his internal thoughts turning his features into a frown but apparently the blankness of his eyes revealed his ignorance of the topic at hand... Which was a true ignorance. Just what had happened that saw Silanos without a name?
Only Timaeus could strip Silanos of his title as a Valaoritis and the two of them were journeying on separate boats... The only crossover of connections had been in Taengea. And they had only been there less than twenty-four hours. Just what had happened in so small a time period that Silanos had been suddenly debunked from his family lineage?
As the realisation that Vangelis knew nothing of these matters seemed to settle upon the other man, he noted a flicker of fear in Silanos' gaze. His voice was slow and quiet, and his words a little doubtful as he mused aloud that he thought Vangelis had already known of his disgrace. The man watched Vangelis with great care, clearly unsure what to do with the situation he had created for himself.
Vangelis could understand the fear in Silanos' face. It had been the connection of the Valaoritis that had seen his hand stayed when he had been ready to run this man through for kissing his brother's wife and his little sister. He had been determined to see the man punished, bathed in his own blood and even now still felt a burning sense of anger over the events that had led Silanos to this.
But, it had been just over a month since their agreement had been struck, and longer still since he had first learnt of Silanos' crimes against the Kotas name. Three months since that anger had first burnt at its hottest. The rage and familial wrath had subsided somewhat since then.
Lowering the khopesh, Vangelis' frown finally settled into place.
"I know nothing of any arrangement that would see you without name." Vangelis stated simply.
Now was the opportunity in which he could exercise his right for Silanos’ life. Or insist that he get down with the slaves that rowed for their speed. Or tossed him to the waters in order to remove another mouth to feed from their rations. There would be no consequence or repercussions because the man was of no family.
Perhaps surprisingly, Vangelis did none of these things. He simply encouraged Silanos back to the matter at hand, using the name that would now apply to his new position of standing...
"...But I still think your time between now and our arrival in Egypt is better spent training than belly-aching... Silanos of Eubocris."
Someday he would grow into learning to keep his mouth shut, Sil thought grimly, watching the crown prince with more than a little wariness. His tendency to speak first think later had gotten him into trouble with almost alarming regularity, and of all the people, Vangelis was not one that he needed to antagonise.
He thought they’d settled into...some kind of mutual tolerance at least. Sil did what he was told and the prince didn’t stab him. It was a balance, of sorts.
Which was why the unintentional reveal of his change in circumstances had his mouth dry and his fingers tighten where they gripped the sword hilt. There was no reason to preserve that balance now, nothing to encourage the prince to hold true to the arrangement he’d outlined to Timaeus. There wasn’t anyone is Sil’s corner anymore, the thought jarring.
‘I know nothing of any arrangement that would see you without name.’ came the confirmation that Silanos had just handed the man the justification to dispose of him however he wanted to, and the younger man held the unflinching gaze of the Kotas royal. There was no clue as to what the man was thinking and it only added to the dread that curled in Sil’s stomach, cold and heavy.
Should he say something? Explain or..plead for mercy? Sil looked around, wet his dry lips with his tongue and opened his mouth with no idea what he planned on saying but Vangelis got there first.
‘...But I still think your time between now and our arrival in Egypt is better spent training than belly-aching... Silanos of Eubocris.’
He blinked and shut his mouth with a snap. That was it? He blurted out that he’d been disowned by his own blood and was literally no more than the slave he’d been pretending to be and that was it? Admittedly, Silanos of Eubocris was like a blow, no one had addressed him as such before and it felt all wrong, but there was nothing more in the prince’s words. Just an instruction to continue as if the picture hadn’t just shifted entirely.
Sil stared at Vangelis for a moment, questions on the end of his tongue as to what this meant but he set his teeth on them because it would be spectacularly stupid wouldn’t it,?To point out that there was no need for the prince to hold to his words of before.
“ It wasn’t…” he began to defend himself because he hadn’t been bellyaching, but in the end, Sil bit down on that too. He should get his head in the game. He supposed the fucking Egyptians wouldn’t care what his name was anyway. With an uneasy glance around them to ensure no one else had learned of his shame, Sil swallowed and tried to focus on the techniques Vangelis had been trying to impart. Go in low, don’t let them hook your blade, watch for a second knife It rattled around in his head and Silanos moved in again with a blow aimed toward the gut, watching for the moment the prince had indicated, when the khopesh was on the backswing and the man’s torso left unguarded.
He kept his concentration for a couple more run-throughs, each time his awareness of the way the prince utilised the Egyptian blade growing. It was different, and Sil didn’t like to think about what he might have ended up doing had the Vangelis not decided on this little demonstration.
That he had, and the peculiar words of earlier - that the man would rather Sil lived, left the younger man feeling off-kilter. Rejected by his own brother in a manner so definite only to be shown not kindness but...consideration maybe, from one who’d threatened his life before. It was all backwards and Silanos didn’t know what to make of it. His petulant outburst of earlier felt churlish and almost he went to apologise or something but those words were harder to find and it hardly seemed the right time as they repeated the same dance of attack and defence. He had to stop eventually, breaking off to rub at his wrist and darting a glance over to Vangelis.
“ I didn’t do anything in Taengea” he found himself saying like it mattered. Because it did, didn’t it? He suddenly cared that the prince didn’t think he’d been off misbehaving on his watch. “Timaeus, the thing...it was about something from before.”
It made it seem almost more unfair, that one-time Silanos had played by the rules, he’d been sideswiped by something he couldn’t undo. “Just, you know, I wasn’t fucking around or anything when we were there” he finished, looking anywhere but at Vangelis because he didn’t wear humble well.
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Someday he would grow into learning to keep his mouth shut, Sil thought grimly, watching the crown prince with more than a little wariness. His tendency to speak first think later had gotten him into trouble with almost alarming regularity, and of all the people, Vangelis was not one that he needed to antagonise.
He thought they’d settled into...some kind of mutual tolerance at least. Sil did what he was told and the prince didn’t stab him. It was a balance, of sorts.
Which was why the unintentional reveal of his change in circumstances had his mouth dry and his fingers tighten where they gripped the sword hilt. There was no reason to preserve that balance now, nothing to encourage the prince to hold true to the arrangement he’d outlined to Timaeus. There wasn’t anyone is Sil’s corner anymore, the thought jarring.
‘I know nothing of any arrangement that would see you without name.’ came the confirmation that Silanos had just handed the man the justification to dispose of him however he wanted to, and the younger man held the unflinching gaze of the Kotas royal. There was no clue as to what the man was thinking and it only added to the dread that curled in Sil’s stomach, cold and heavy.
Should he say something? Explain or..plead for mercy? Sil looked around, wet his dry lips with his tongue and opened his mouth with no idea what he planned on saying but Vangelis got there first.
‘...But I still think your time between now and our arrival in Egypt is better spent training than belly-aching... Silanos of Eubocris.’
He blinked and shut his mouth with a snap. That was it? He blurted out that he’d been disowned by his own blood and was literally no more than the slave he’d been pretending to be and that was it? Admittedly, Silanos of Eubocris was like a blow, no one had addressed him as such before and it felt all wrong, but there was nothing more in the prince’s words. Just an instruction to continue as if the picture hadn’t just shifted entirely.
Sil stared at Vangelis for a moment, questions on the end of his tongue as to what this meant but he set his teeth on them because it would be spectacularly stupid wouldn’t it,?To point out that there was no need for the prince to hold to his words of before.
“ It wasn’t…” he began to defend himself because he hadn’t been bellyaching, but in the end, Sil bit down on that too. He should get his head in the game. He supposed the fucking Egyptians wouldn’t care what his name was anyway. With an uneasy glance around them to ensure no one else had learned of his shame, Sil swallowed and tried to focus on the techniques Vangelis had been trying to impart. Go in low, don’t let them hook your blade, watch for a second knife It rattled around in his head and Silanos moved in again with a blow aimed toward the gut, watching for the moment the prince had indicated, when the khopesh was on the backswing and the man’s torso left unguarded.
He kept his concentration for a couple more run-throughs, each time his awareness of the way the prince utilised the Egyptian blade growing. It was different, and Sil didn’t like to think about what he might have ended up doing had the Vangelis not decided on this little demonstration.
That he had, and the peculiar words of earlier - that the man would rather Sil lived, left the younger man feeling off-kilter. Rejected by his own brother in a manner so definite only to be shown not kindness but...consideration maybe, from one who’d threatened his life before. It was all backwards and Silanos didn’t know what to make of it. His petulant outburst of earlier felt churlish and almost he went to apologise or something but those words were harder to find and it hardly seemed the right time as they repeated the same dance of attack and defence. He had to stop eventually, breaking off to rub at his wrist and darting a glance over to Vangelis.
“ I didn’t do anything in Taengea” he found himself saying like it mattered. Because it did, didn’t it? He suddenly cared that the prince didn’t think he’d been off misbehaving on his watch. “Timaeus, the thing...it was about something from before.”
It made it seem almost more unfair, that one-time Silanos had played by the rules, he’d been sideswiped by something he couldn’t undo. “Just, you know, I wasn’t fucking around or anything when we were there” he finished, looking anywhere but at Vangelis because he didn’t wear humble well.
Someday he would grow into learning to keep his mouth shut, Sil thought grimly, watching the crown prince with more than a little wariness. His tendency to speak first think later had gotten him into trouble with almost alarming regularity, and of all the people, Vangelis was not one that he needed to antagonise.
He thought they’d settled into...some kind of mutual tolerance at least. Sil did what he was told and the prince didn’t stab him. It was a balance, of sorts.
Which was why the unintentional reveal of his change in circumstances had his mouth dry and his fingers tighten where they gripped the sword hilt. There was no reason to preserve that balance now, nothing to encourage the prince to hold true to the arrangement he’d outlined to Timaeus. There wasn’t anyone is Sil’s corner anymore, the thought jarring.
‘I know nothing of any arrangement that would see you without name.’ came the confirmation that Silanos had just handed the man the justification to dispose of him however he wanted to, and the younger man held the unflinching gaze of the Kotas royal. There was no clue as to what the man was thinking and it only added to the dread that curled in Sil’s stomach, cold and heavy.
Should he say something? Explain or..plead for mercy? Sil looked around, wet his dry lips with his tongue and opened his mouth with no idea what he planned on saying but Vangelis got there first.
‘...But I still think your time between now and our arrival in Egypt is better spent training than belly-aching... Silanos of Eubocris.’
He blinked and shut his mouth with a snap. That was it? He blurted out that he’d been disowned by his own blood and was literally no more than the slave he’d been pretending to be and that was it? Admittedly, Silanos of Eubocris was like a blow, no one had addressed him as such before and it felt all wrong, but there was nothing more in the prince’s words. Just an instruction to continue as if the picture hadn’t just shifted entirely.
Sil stared at Vangelis for a moment, questions on the end of his tongue as to what this meant but he set his teeth on them because it would be spectacularly stupid wouldn’t it,?To point out that there was no need for the prince to hold to his words of before.
“ It wasn’t…” he began to defend himself because he hadn’t been bellyaching, but in the end, Sil bit down on that too. He should get his head in the game. He supposed the fucking Egyptians wouldn’t care what his name was anyway. With an uneasy glance around them to ensure no one else had learned of his shame, Sil swallowed and tried to focus on the techniques Vangelis had been trying to impart. Go in low, don’t let them hook your blade, watch for a second knife It rattled around in his head and Silanos moved in again with a blow aimed toward the gut, watching for the moment the prince had indicated, when the khopesh was on the backswing and the man’s torso left unguarded.
He kept his concentration for a couple more run-throughs, each time his awareness of the way the prince utilised the Egyptian blade growing. It was different, and Sil didn’t like to think about what he might have ended up doing had the Vangelis not decided on this little demonstration.
That he had, and the peculiar words of earlier - that the man would rather Sil lived, left the younger man feeling off-kilter. Rejected by his own brother in a manner so definite only to be shown not kindness but...consideration maybe, from one who’d threatened his life before. It was all backwards and Silanos didn’t know what to make of it. His petulant outburst of earlier felt churlish and almost he went to apologise or something but those words were harder to find and it hardly seemed the right time as they repeated the same dance of attack and defence. He had to stop eventually, breaking off to rub at his wrist and darting a glance over to Vangelis.
“ I didn’t do anything in Taengea” he found himself saying like it mattered. Because it did, didn’t it? He suddenly cared that the prince didn’t think he’d been off misbehaving on his watch. “Timaeus, the thing...it was about something from before.”
It made it seem almost more unfair, that one-time Silanos had played by the rules, he’d been sideswiped by something he couldn’t undo. “Just, you know, I wasn’t fucking around or anything when we were there” he finished, looking anywhere but at Vangelis because he didn’t wear humble well.
Vangelis watched as the young Valaoritis lord - no, the now citizen of Eubocris - naturally went to defend himself. Barely two words escaped his lips before he managed to cut back and swallow his objection. Vangelis said nothing over it but he approved. A little self restraint would be a skill valuable to Silanos and he could see it slowly coming into effect. It would serve him well, whether he remained in the military after his indentured servitude to Vangelis or not.
As they worked the swords back and forth following the run throughs and techniques, Vangelis fought with a sturdy slowness that allowed Silanos to learn the movements he would need. Gradually, he increased the pace, forcing Silanos to move faster and faster with each repetition. Occasionally he jumped the speed momentarily, forcing Silanos to think on his feet and testing his reflexes. In such moments, Silanos could only rely on the memory of his lesson and Vangelis was pleased to note that his instinct was to follow through with the tutored steps that Vangelis had given him. If he was caught unawares on the battlefield, he would fall back on the patterns of attack that Vangelis had shown him.
When they were done, sweat was rolling off of Silanos and he rubbed at his wrist. Vangelis remembered that feeling and knew how hard it was to hold onto a weapon you weren't used to for so long. For his own part, a heat had set up at his temples and between his shoulder blades. In each place his skin was damp with the beginnings of sweat. He was in better shape than the other man, but that didn't mean that the work out had been light.
As the two of them stopped, Vangelis set aside the khopesh and shrugged out of his tunic. He allowed the garment to pool around his waist, allowing the wind of the sea to cool his chest and back. He kept his bracers in place, patting one with his other hand.
"You have a set of armour assigned to you. The bracers will help with the ache." He didn't draw huge attention to the soreness in the boy's wrists. He just told him how to see it avoided.
Vangelis moved to the water bucket and used the cup that Silanos had taken from earlier. He sipped the cool water as the boy tried to explain what had happened in Taengea. Their eyes met over the rim of the little wooden bowl and Vangelis was quick to discard the piece, licking at his lips as he stepped back towards Silanos. His entire gait seemed disregarding of Silanos' admittance.
"I know." He said simply. His massive shoulders rolled in a shrug. "You are many things Silanos but you are neither suicidal nor an idiot." Breaking with his regulations during this period of punishment would be the equivalent of the man signing his own death warrant and placing Vangelis' blade at his neck. The crown prince didn't think that such a motivation would have been appealing to the boy.
"I'm not interested in whatever seedy mistakes you've made in your past Silanos. You dishonour me now by disregarding your assignment with me and I'll kill you. You hold to it and I'll not judge you by your past actions."
Vangelis delivered both sides of that promise with a simple and casual statement of fact, despite the violence detailed. His chin nodded towards the sword.
"Practice that for an hour three times a day." He instructed. "I'm going to go row."
And as if that was all that mattered in the world, Vangelis turned on his heel and headed down the deck towards one of the oarsmen at the far back. They had been the ones working the longest and would be the most tired. It was one of the larger looking men that he tapped on the shoulder and ordered to take a break. He replaced him behind the oar and took the rod of wood into hand. And, as he had done several times before on multiple campaigns, Vangelis set to with his men and rowed for Egypt...
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Vangelis watched as the young Valaoritis lord - no, the now citizen of Eubocris - naturally went to defend himself. Barely two words escaped his lips before he managed to cut back and swallow his objection. Vangelis said nothing over it but he approved. A little self restraint would be a skill valuable to Silanos and he could see it slowly coming into effect. It would serve him well, whether he remained in the military after his indentured servitude to Vangelis or not.
As they worked the swords back and forth following the run throughs and techniques, Vangelis fought with a sturdy slowness that allowed Silanos to learn the movements he would need. Gradually, he increased the pace, forcing Silanos to move faster and faster with each repetition. Occasionally he jumped the speed momentarily, forcing Silanos to think on his feet and testing his reflexes. In such moments, Silanos could only rely on the memory of his lesson and Vangelis was pleased to note that his instinct was to follow through with the tutored steps that Vangelis had given him. If he was caught unawares on the battlefield, he would fall back on the patterns of attack that Vangelis had shown him.
When they were done, sweat was rolling off of Silanos and he rubbed at his wrist. Vangelis remembered that feeling and knew how hard it was to hold onto a weapon you weren't used to for so long. For his own part, a heat had set up at his temples and between his shoulder blades. In each place his skin was damp with the beginnings of sweat. He was in better shape than the other man, but that didn't mean that the work out had been light.
As the two of them stopped, Vangelis set aside the khopesh and shrugged out of his tunic. He allowed the garment to pool around his waist, allowing the wind of the sea to cool his chest and back. He kept his bracers in place, patting one with his other hand.
"You have a set of armour assigned to you. The bracers will help with the ache." He didn't draw huge attention to the soreness in the boy's wrists. He just told him how to see it avoided.
Vangelis moved to the water bucket and used the cup that Silanos had taken from earlier. He sipped the cool water as the boy tried to explain what had happened in Taengea. Their eyes met over the rim of the little wooden bowl and Vangelis was quick to discard the piece, licking at his lips as he stepped back towards Silanos. His entire gait seemed disregarding of Silanos' admittance.
"I know." He said simply. His massive shoulders rolled in a shrug. "You are many things Silanos but you are neither suicidal nor an idiot." Breaking with his regulations during this period of punishment would be the equivalent of the man signing his own death warrant and placing Vangelis' blade at his neck. The crown prince didn't think that such a motivation would have been appealing to the boy.
"I'm not interested in whatever seedy mistakes you've made in your past Silanos. You dishonour me now by disregarding your assignment with me and I'll kill you. You hold to it and I'll not judge you by your past actions."
Vangelis delivered both sides of that promise with a simple and casual statement of fact, despite the violence detailed. His chin nodded towards the sword.
"Practice that for an hour three times a day." He instructed. "I'm going to go row."
And as if that was all that mattered in the world, Vangelis turned on his heel and headed down the deck towards one of the oarsmen at the far back. They had been the ones working the longest and would be the most tired. It was one of the larger looking men that he tapped on the shoulder and ordered to take a break. He replaced him behind the oar and took the rod of wood into hand. And, as he had done several times before on multiple campaigns, Vangelis set to with his men and rowed for Egypt...
Vangelis watched as the young Valaoritis lord - no, the now citizen of Eubocris - naturally went to defend himself. Barely two words escaped his lips before he managed to cut back and swallow his objection. Vangelis said nothing over it but he approved. A little self restraint would be a skill valuable to Silanos and he could see it slowly coming into effect. It would serve him well, whether he remained in the military after his indentured servitude to Vangelis or not.
As they worked the swords back and forth following the run throughs and techniques, Vangelis fought with a sturdy slowness that allowed Silanos to learn the movements he would need. Gradually, he increased the pace, forcing Silanos to move faster and faster with each repetition. Occasionally he jumped the speed momentarily, forcing Silanos to think on his feet and testing his reflexes. In such moments, Silanos could only rely on the memory of his lesson and Vangelis was pleased to note that his instinct was to follow through with the tutored steps that Vangelis had given him. If he was caught unawares on the battlefield, he would fall back on the patterns of attack that Vangelis had shown him.
When they were done, sweat was rolling off of Silanos and he rubbed at his wrist. Vangelis remembered that feeling and knew how hard it was to hold onto a weapon you weren't used to for so long. For his own part, a heat had set up at his temples and between his shoulder blades. In each place his skin was damp with the beginnings of sweat. He was in better shape than the other man, but that didn't mean that the work out had been light.
As the two of them stopped, Vangelis set aside the khopesh and shrugged out of his tunic. He allowed the garment to pool around his waist, allowing the wind of the sea to cool his chest and back. He kept his bracers in place, patting one with his other hand.
"You have a set of armour assigned to you. The bracers will help with the ache." He didn't draw huge attention to the soreness in the boy's wrists. He just told him how to see it avoided.
Vangelis moved to the water bucket and used the cup that Silanos had taken from earlier. He sipped the cool water as the boy tried to explain what had happened in Taengea. Their eyes met over the rim of the little wooden bowl and Vangelis was quick to discard the piece, licking at his lips as he stepped back towards Silanos. His entire gait seemed disregarding of Silanos' admittance.
"I know." He said simply. His massive shoulders rolled in a shrug. "You are many things Silanos but you are neither suicidal nor an idiot." Breaking with his regulations during this period of punishment would be the equivalent of the man signing his own death warrant and placing Vangelis' blade at his neck. The crown prince didn't think that such a motivation would have been appealing to the boy.
"I'm not interested in whatever seedy mistakes you've made in your past Silanos. You dishonour me now by disregarding your assignment with me and I'll kill you. You hold to it and I'll not judge you by your past actions."
Vangelis delivered both sides of that promise with a simple and casual statement of fact, despite the violence detailed. His chin nodded towards the sword.
"Practice that for an hour three times a day." He instructed. "I'm going to go row."
And as if that was all that mattered in the world, Vangelis turned on his heel and headed down the deck towards one of the oarsmen at the far back. They had been the ones working the longest and would be the most tired. It was one of the larger looking men that he tapped on the shoulder and ordered to take a break. He replaced him behind the oar and took the rod of wood into hand. And, as he had done several times before on multiple campaigns, Vangelis set to with his men and rowed for Egypt...