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What greater, or more Taengean, way to celebrate a successful triumph against the Egyptians? After another skirmish (for there have been many over the generations) with the lands to the South, this latest battle (and the last before current time) waged for three years. But now, the soldiers have returned home and the streets of Vasiliadon are flowing with wine. King Zenon has, in his benevolence and compassion, opened by the Taengean Dikastirio and instructed for all merchants, wine-sellers and food producers to set up their stalls within its large expanse. The entire city and many of the provincial populations are attending to eat, drink and make merry in celebration of victory and having their sons and brothers home. Fine wine, fine foods and a whole lot of tears.
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What greater, or more Taengean, way to celebrate a successful triumph against the Egyptians? After another skirmish (for there have been many over the generations) with the lands to the South, this latest battle (and the last before current time) waged for three years. But now, the soldiers have returned home and the streets of Vasiliadon are flowing with wine. King Zenon has, in his benevolence and compassion, opened by the Taengean Dikastirio and instructed for all merchants, wine-sellers and food producers to set up their stalls within its large expanse. The entire city and many of the provincial populations are attending to eat, drink and make merry in celebration of victory and having their sons and brothers home. Fine wine, fine foods and a whole lot of tears.
Peace Provincial Story - Taengea
What greater, or more Taengean, way to celebrate a successful triumph against the Egyptians? After another skirmish (for there have been many over the generations) with the lands to the South, this latest battle (and the last before current time) waged for three years. But now, the soldiers have returned home and the streets of Vasiliadon are flowing with wine. King Zenon has, in his benevolence and compassion, opened by the Taengean Dikastirio and instructed for all merchants, wine-sellers and food producers to set up their stalls within its large expanse. The entire city and many of the provincial populations are attending to eat, drink and make merry in celebration of victory and having their sons and brothers home. Fine wine, fine foods and a whole lot of tears.
No sooner had the heralds announced the men of Taengea were returning home from their long-fought battles to the south did the writers of the Children of Mnemosyne begin their task. In a few short weeks, after gathering reports of the hardest fought battles and the names of the war heroes, the script was written and the key players were already staged. Costumes were modified and embellished to fit the tale, including masks painted with exaggerated black and gold eyeliner representing the Egyptians. Dances were choreographed using spears and swords in artistic battle sequences. Diogenes was more than happy to play the Pharoah, nearly constantly booming his lines from the moment he and the other players arrived.
Basilides was sent ahead of the troupe to organize the logistics, secure their location within the Arcus, and spread the word with just enough tact not to overshadow the true purpose of the celebration. His friends within the Merchant's Guild were happy to spread the word of the Children's performances as long as he ensured the performers spent their hard-earned coin only at particular stalls for the evening. Simple enough.
As the day arrive, with the crew having built their modest stage on the far end of the Arcus, their set little more than a few large, elaborate tapestries and an awning strung from overhead to keep the sun from bearing down so harshly on the players in their full garb. Given the limited space and limited time they were allotted - three performances throughout the day - it was in many ways a smaller production than they were capable of doing. However, as Bas learned from his first few years with the troupe, everyone loved a good war-story, especially after winning a victory.
The first performance had ended nearly an hour before, with another hour before the next performance would begin. As the dancers and actors rested and refreshed themselves, the musicians continued to offer music, playing several popular dances with the hope that the joy of loved ones returning mixed with music and wine could stir the people of Vasiliadon into dancing. Perhaps not so much here in the earlier hours of the day, but by night, he knew there would be plenty of wine and cheer to go around.
For the moment, he stood just under the shade of a small booth established to offer information to anyone interested in learning more about the Children and their upcoming performances. It was not the most exciting work, but did offer an opportunity to speak to many others about anything from their family returning to potential patronage.
One spectator, he noted, had been lingering around the performance space well after the show had ended. He had seen this before. There were always those with intense curiosity about traveling players, many of whom - like himself - dreamed of running off with them to travel to far away places. Some, though, simply loved to hear how it would work. Interest was interest to him, so setting down his goblet of wine, he took a moment to straighten his himation, ensuring that the crest of the Children of Mnemosyne could glitter appropriately to spark a conversation.
"Did you enjoy the performance?" he started, offering a bow and a well-crafted, charming smile, "Basilides of Acaris. I am with the Children of Mnemosyne as their producer. I cannot help but ask the question." This was what he loved. He was no player of the stage by any stretch of the imagination, but there was an element of performance and decorum in every interaction he had. No matter their station, Basilides learned very early on that a little courtesy went a long way.
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No sooner had the heralds announced the men of Taengea were returning home from their long-fought battles to the south did the writers of the Children of Mnemosyne begin their task. In a few short weeks, after gathering reports of the hardest fought battles and the names of the war heroes, the script was written and the key players were already staged. Costumes were modified and embellished to fit the tale, including masks painted with exaggerated black and gold eyeliner representing the Egyptians. Dances were choreographed using spears and swords in artistic battle sequences. Diogenes was more than happy to play the Pharoah, nearly constantly booming his lines from the moment he and the other players arrived.
Basilides was sent ahead of the troupe to organize the logistics, secure their location within the Arcus, and spread the word with just enough tact not to overshadow the true purpose of the celebration. His friends within the Merchant's Guild were happy to spread the word of the Children's performances as long as he ensured the performers spent their hard-earned coin only at particular stalls for the evening. Simple enough.
As the day arrive, with the crew having built their modest stage on the far end of the Arcus, their set little more than a few large, elaborate tapestries and an awning strung from overhead to keep the sun from bearing down so harshly on the players in their full garb. Given the limited space and limited time they were allotted - three performances throughout the day - it was in many ways a smaller production than they were capable of doing. However, as Bas learned from his first few years with the troupe, everyone loved a good war-story, especially after winning a victory.
The first performance had ended nearly an hour before, with another hour before the next performance would begin. As the dancers and actors rested and refreshed themselves, the musicians continued to offer music, playing several popular dances with the hope that the joy of loved ones returning mixed with music and wine could stir the people of Vasiliadon into dancing. Perhaps not so much here in the earlier hours of the day, but by night, he knew there would be plenty of wine and cheer to go around.
For the moment, he stood just under the shade of a small booth established to offer information to anyone interested in learning more about the Children and their upcoming performances. It was not the most exciting work, but did offer an opportunity to speak to many others about anything from their family returning to potential patronage.
One spectator, he noted, had been lingering around the performance space well after the show had ended. He had seen this before. There were always those with intense curiosity about traveling players, many of whom - like himself - dreamed of running off with them to travel to far away places. Some, though, simply loved to hear how it would work. Interest was interest to him, so setting down his goblet of wine, he took a moment to straighten his himation, ensuring that the crest of the Children of Mnemosyne could glitter appropriately to spark a conversation.
"Did you enjoy the performance?" he started, offering a bow and a well-crafted, charming smile, "Basilides of Acaris. I am with the Children of Mnemosyne as their producer. I cannot help but ask the question." This was what he loved. He was no player of the stage by any stretch of the imagination, but there was an element of performance and decorum in every interaction he had. No matter their station, Basilides learned very early on that a little courtesy went a long way.
No sooner had the heralds announced the men of Taengea were returning home from their long-fought battles to the south did the writers of the Children of Mnemosyne begin their task. In a few short weeks, after gathering reports of the hardest fought battles and the names of the war heroes, the script was written and the key players were already staged. Costumes were modified and embellished to fit the tale, including masks painted with exaggerated black and gold eyeliner representing the Egyptians. Dances were choreographed using spears and swords in artistic battle sequences. Diogenes was more than happy to play the Pharoah, nearly constantly booming his lines from the moment he and the other players arrived.
Basilides was sent ahead of the troupe to organize the logistics, secure their location within the Arcus, and spread the word with just enough tact not to overshadow the true purpose of the celebration. His friends within the Merchant's Guild were happy to spread the word of the Children's performances as long as he ensured the performers spent their hard-earned coin only at particular stalls for the evening. Simple enough.
As the day arrive, with the crew having built their modest stage on the far end of the Arcus, their set little more than a few large, elaborate tapestries and an awning strung from overhead to keep the sun from bearing down so harshly on the players in their full garb. Given the limited space and limited time they were allotted - three performances throughout the day - it was in many ways a smaller production than they were capable of doing. However, as Bas learned from his first few years with the troupe, everyone loved a good war-story, especially after winning a victory.
The first performance had ended nearly an hour before, with another hour before the next performance would begin. As the dancers and actors rested and refreshed themselves, the musicians continued to offer music, playing several popular dances with the hope that the joy of loved ones returning mixed with music and wine could stir the people of Vasiliadon into dancing. Perhaps not so much here in the earlier hours of the day, but by night, he knew there would be plenty of wine and cheer to go around.
For the moment, he stood just under the shade of a small booth established to offer information to anyone interested in learning more about the Children and their upcoming performances. It was not the most exciting work, but did offer an opportunity to speak to many others about anything from their family returning to potential patronage.
One spectator, he noted, had been lingering around the performance space well after the show had ended. He had seen this before. There were always those with intense curiosity about traveling players, many of whom - like himself - dreamed of running off with them to travel to far away places. Some, though, simply loved to hear how it would work. Interest was interest to him, so setting down his goblet of wine, he took a moment to straighten his himation, ensuring that the crest of the Children of Mnemosyne could glitter appropriately to spark a conversation.
"Did you enjoy the performance?" he started, offering a bow and a well-crafted, charming smile, "Basilides of Acaris. I am with the Children of Mnemosyne as their producer. I cannot help but ask the question." This was what he loved. He was no player of the stage by any stretch of the imagination, but there was an element of performance and decorum in every interaction he had. No matter their station, Basilides learned very early on that a little courtesy went a long way.
She had yet to figure out her place.
Having arrived in Colchis just a few months back, surviving on just the few drachmae she had snitched from the royal coffers out of the money she had used to pay off half of her father's debt, Zenais was nothing like the noble lady, daughter of House Alastaire, that she was back in Colchis. The only dress she owned was tattered at its seams, and her brunette locks haphazardly tied with twine on the top of her head. She had been earning her keep by cleaning and wiping table tops off a tavern-side brothel - for she refused to sell what she treasured, what was her last remainder of a good memory she had tossed away, a love she had walked away from.
Yet in the last few weeks or so, the new Kingdom she had tried to settle down upon seemed to have something else to celebrate. The streets seemed excited as wine poured from every corner. She had just walked out of her job - or should she say ex-job - for Zenais had had enough of being groped as she did a servant's work, and had lashed out, only to be tossed out on her bottom for being rude and unaccomodating to a customer.
With her last meal from the night before, and unsure of where could she put up for the night, it was much to the maiden's surprise that she found herself in the Arcus that afternoon, led there by the joy and merriment that was predominant in the Taengean capitol. It was an odd feeling she had to get used to. After years of being born and raised in Colchis where people were serious, military and hard working, the laissez-faire attitude of Taengeans unnerved her, and she had yet to acclimatize.
Buoyed by the crowd, Zenais felt thoroughly out of place amongst the celebratory crowd. Her stomach turned at the fragrance of food and wine on flow for everyone in the Arcus, the festive cheer making her fidget as she wandered. She managed to purchase herself a small flask of milk and some flatbread with figs, yet that would not solve her more pressing matter of nightly accomodation - at least not till she found another job that was preferably less demeaning on her.
Distracted by the sounds at a far stage however, a woman who loved song and music at heart (for she had been trained in many arts as a noble's daughter), Zenais soon found herself entranced by a stage performances being held. No doubt, it was a story told of the courageous victories by Taengean soldiers, and the hazel eyes held the performance with a mildly starry eyed wonder. As the show ended however, she lingered. In a way, Zenais missed the arts and being at ease with the world.
So lost was she in scrutinizing the stage and the remaining cast member's outfits however, that she almost didn't realize till the male talked. The very first syllable had Zenais jump in surprise, her eyes wide like a surprised deers as she turned to face him. A part of her lived in constant terror that the Colchian forces would find her, an angry Yiannis on their heels.
Only when she noticed the well-mannered, charming male offering a bow however, did her breathe even out. Her chest heaved, Zenais reminding herself to breathe a few more times, before a hesitant smile bloomed on her lips. "I-Apologies, sir. I was caught by surprise." she murmured, straightening her plain, faint blue chiton which had clearly seen better days. "Your... the performance was wonderful, Sir Basilides. They obviously enjoy their art and... I'm afraid I've never heard of your troupe, but I see now tis simply a shame." It was obvious from her speech that despite her outward appearance, Zenais was no street urchin as she presented herself to be, from the way she stood to the soft spoken way in which she spoke. It was a hard habit to break, and it hasn't even been that long since she left her life as a noble.
Flicking her gaze to the remainder of the stage, she couldn't help but ask, "Is this a regular thing, for celebrations like this to happen in Vasiliadon?"
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Check out their information page here.
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She had yet to figure out her place.
Having arrived in Colchis just a few months back, surviving on just the few drachmae she had snitched from the royal coffers out of the money she had used to pay off half of her father's debt, Zenais was nothing like the noble lady, daughter of House Alastaire, that she was back in Colchis. The only dress she owned was tattered at its seams, and her brunette locks haphazardly tied with twine on the top of her head. She had been earning her keep by cleaning and wiping table tops off a tavern-side brothel - for she refused to sell what she treasured, what was her last remainder of a good memory she had tossed away, a love she had walked away from.
Yet in the last few weeks or so, the new Kingdom she had tried to settle down upon seemed to have something else to celebrate. The streets seemed excited as wine poured from every corner. She had just walked out of her job - or should she say ex-job - for Zenais had had enough of being groped as she did a servant's work, and had lashed out, only to be tossed out on her bottom for being rude and unaccomodating to a customer.
With her last meal from the night before, and unsure of where could she put up for the night, it was much to the maiden's surprise that she found herself in the Arcus that afternoon, led there by the joy and merriment that was predominant in the Taengean capitol. It was an odd feeling she had to get used to. After years of being born and raised in Colchis where people were serious, military and hard working, the laissez-faire attitude of Taengeans unnerved her, and she had yet to acclimatize.
Buoyed by the crowd, Zenais felt thoroughly out of place amongst the celebratory crowd. Her stomach turned at the fragrance of food and wine on flow for everyone in the Arcus, the festive cheer making her fidget as she wandered. She managed to purchase herself a small flask of milk and some flatbread with figs, yet that would not solve her more pressing matter of nightly accomodation - at least not till she found another job that was preferably less demeaning on her.
Distracted by the sounds at a far stage however, a woman who loved song and music at heart (for she had been trained in many arts as a noble's daughter), Zenais soon found herself entranced by a stage performances being held. No doubt, it was a story told of the courageous victories by Taengean soldiers, and the hazel eyes held the performance with a mildly starry eyed wonder. As the show ended however, she lingered. In a way, Zenais missed the arts and being at ease with the world.
So lost was she in scrutinizing the stage and the remaining cast member's outfits however, that she almost didn't realize till the male talked. The very first syllable had Zenais jump in surprise, her eyes wide like a surprised deers as she turned to face him. A part of her lived in constant terror that the Colchian forces would find her, an angry Yiannis on their heels.
Only when she noticed the well-mannered, charming male offering a bow however, did her breathe even out. Her chest heaved, Zenais reminding herself to breathe a few more times, before a hesitant smile bloomed on her lips. "I-Apologies, sir. I was caught by surprise." she murmured, straightening her plain, faint blue chiton which had clearly seen better days. "Your... the performance was wonderful, Sir Basilides. They obviously enjoy their art and... I'm afraid I've never heard of your troupe, but I see now tis simply a shame." It was obvious from her speech that despite her outward appearance, Zenais was no street urchin as she presented herself to be, from the way she stood to the soft spoken way in which she spoke. It was a hard habit to break, and it hasn't even been that long since she left her life as a noble.
Flicking her gaze to the remainder of the stage, she couldn't help but ask, "Is this a regular thing, for celebrations like this to happen in Vasiliadon?"
She had yet to figure out her place.
Having arrived in Colchis just a few months back, surviving on just the few drachmae she had snitched from the royal coffers out of the money she had used to pay off half of her father's debt, Zenais was nothing like the noble lady, daughter of House Alastaire, that she was back in Colchis. The only dress she owned was tattered at its seams, and her brunette locks haphazardly tied with twine on the top of her head. She had been earning her keep by cleaning and wiping table tops off a tavern-side brothel - for she refused to sell what she treasured, what was her last remainder of a good memory she had tossed away, a love she had walked away from.
Yet in the last few weeks or so, the new Kingdom she had tried to settle down upon seemed to have something else to celebrate. The streets seemed excited as wine poured from every corner. She had just walked out of her job - or should she say ex-job - for Zenais had had enough of being groped as she did a servant's work, and had lashed out, only to be tossed out on her bottom for being rude and unaccomodating to a customer.
With her last meal from the night before, and unsure of where could she put up for the night, it was much to the maiden's surprise that she found herself in the Arcus that afternoon, led there by the joy and merriment that was predominant in the Taengean capitol. It was an odd feeling she had to get used to. After years of being born and raised in Colchis where people were serious, military and hard working, the laissez-faire attitude of Taengeans unnerved her, and she had yet to acclimatize.
Buoyed by the crowd, Zenais felt thoroughly out of place amongst the celebratory crowd. Her stomach turned at the fragrance of food and wine on flow for everyone in the Arcus, the festive cheer making her fidget as she wandered. She managed to purchase herself a small flask of milk and some flatbread with figs, yet that would not solve her more pressing matter of nightly accomodation - at least not till she found another job that was preferably less demeaning on her.
Distracted by the sounds at a far stage however, a woman who loved song and music at heart (for she had been trained in many arts as a noble's daughter), Zenais soon found herself entranced by a stage performances being held. No doubt, it was a story told of the courageous victories by Taengean soldiers, and the hazel eyes held the performance with a mildly starry eyed wonder. As the show ended however, she lingered. In a way, Zenais missed the arts and being at ease with the world.
So lost was she in scrutinizing the stage and the remaining cast member's outfits however, that she almost didn't realize till the male talked. The very first syllable had Zenais jump in surprise, her eyes wide like a surprised deers as she turned to face him. A part of her lived in constant terror that the Colchian forces would find her, an angry Yiannis on their heels.
Only when she noticed the well-mannered, charming male offering a bow however, did her breathe even out. Her chest heaved, Zenais reminding herself to breathe a few more times, before a hesitant smile bloomed on her lips. "I-Apologies, sir. I was caught by surprise." she murmured, straightening her plain, faint blue chiton which had clearly seen better days. "Your... the performance was wonderful, Sir Basilides. They obviously enjoy their art and... I'm afraid I've never heard of your troupe, but I see now tis simply a shame." It was obvious from her speech that despite her outward appearance, Zenais was no street urchin as she presented herself to be, from the way she stood to the soft spoken way in which she spoke. It was a hard habit to break, and it hasn't even been that long since she left her life as a noble.
Flicking her gaze to the remainder of the stage, she couldn't help but ask, "Is this a regular thing, for celebrations like this to happen in Vasiliadon?"
Basilides raised his brows in sincere, silent apology as he watched her reaction to his arrival. Between his height, low voice, and distinct features, he supposed he could catch someone so demure a bit off guard. He made sure to slide a half-step back so as not to be terribly intimidating - that does nothing for ticket sales. Still, a brief, amusing thought crossed his min - 'wait until she meets Herodes' - and it just added to his soft smile as she spoke. Perhaps a foreign merchant's daughter? It would explain the height of her speech compared to the wear of her clothes. Never the matter.
While he was no artist on the stage, Basilides could do a fair job of reading people as they spoke, and he had to admit that her inflection was...different. She was not from Taengea, that was certain. Something about her poise and complexion. There was a looseness in Taengea that was ever apparent in the way Taengeans walked, talked, and moved, as if they were trying to lazily move through water. It was in their blood. Bas would know.
"We are a small troupe by many standards, but ever growing." he started, trying to deftly pick through the more interesting bits of their biography, "We travel from kingdom to kingdom seasonally, so if the timing is just wrong, we are easy to miss. I don't hold it against you." Bas added a small wink and a shrug at the end of his statement, glancing back around the Arcus as she asked another question.
"Oh, Taengeans find a reason to celebrate near anything," he said, almost flipping a hand about at the various vendors, "Particularly if it involves wine. For this, though, they have recently returned victorious from war in Egypt. Makes for a good story, no? Romantic, brash - all of the best elements of a grand tale." His eyebrows pinched together as he spoke, making a realization about her in that moment.
"So, you do not have family returning from the war?"
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Basilides raised his brows in sincere, silent apology as he watched her reaction to his arrival. Between his height, low voice, and distinct features, he supposed he could catch someone so demure a bit off guard. He made sure to slide a half-step back so as not to be terribly intimidating - that does nothing for ticket sales. Still, a brief, amusing thought crossed his min - 'wait until she meets Herodes' - and it just added to his soft smile as she spoke. Perhaps a foreign merchant's daughter? It would explain the height of her speech compared to the wear of her clothes. Never the matter.
While he was no artist on the stage, Basilides could do a fair job of reading people as they spoke, and he had to admit that her inflection was...different. She was not from Taengea, that was certain. Something about her poise and complexion. There was a looseness in Taengea that was ever apparent in the way Taengeans walked, talked, and moved, as if they were trying to lazily move through water. It was in their blood. Bas would know.
"We are a small troupe by many standards, but ever growing." he started, trying to deftly pick through the more interesting bits of their biography, "We travel from kingdom to kingdom seasonally, so if the timing is just wrong, we are easy to miss. I don't hold it against you." Bas added a small wink and a shrug at the end of his statement, glancing back around the Arcus as she asked another question.
"Oh, Taengeans find a reason to celebrate near anything," he said, almost flipping a hand about at the various vendors, "Particularly if it involves wine. For this, though, they have recently returned victorious from war in Egypt. Makes for a good story, no? Romantic, brash - all of the best elements of a grand tale." His eyebrows pinched together as he spoke, making a realization about her in that moment.
"So, you do not have family returning from the war?"
Basilides raised his brows in sincere, silent apology as he watched her reaction to his arrival. Between his height, low voice, and distinct features, he supposed he could catch someone so demure a bit off guard. He made sure to slide a half-step back so as not to be terribly intimidating - that does nothing for ticket sales. Still, a brief, amusing thought crossed his min - 'wait until she meets Herodes' - and it just added to his soft smile as she spoke. Perhaps a foreign merchant's daughter? It would explain the height of her speech compared to the wear of her clothes. Never the matter.
While he was no artist on the stage, Basilides could do a fair job of reading people as they spoke, and he had to admit that her inflection was...different. She was not from Taengea, that was certain. Something about her poise and complexion. There was a looseness in Taengea that was ever apparent in the way Taengeans walked, talked, and moved, as if they were trying to lazily move through water. It was in their blood. Bas would know.
"We are a small troupe by many standards, but ever growing." he started, trying to deftly pick through the more interesting bits of their biography, "We travel from kingdom to kingdom seasonally, so if the timing is just wrong, we are easy to miss. I don't hold it against you." Bas added a small wink and a shrug at the end of his statement, glancing back around the Arcus as she asked another question.
"Oh, Taengeans find a reason to celebrate near anything," he said, almost flipping a hand about at the various vendors, "Particularly if it involves wine. For this, though, they have recently returned victorious from war in Egypt. Makes for a good story, no? Romantic, brash - all of the best elements of a grand tale." His eyebrows pinched together as he spoke, making a realization about her in that moment.
"So, you do not have family returning from the war?"
Finally, the Taengean military triumphed. Over the last three years, the lands to the south had descended into a blood shed of skirmishes between Taengea and the Egyptians. During this time, the kingdom had been in a constant state of restlessness. Mothers losing sons, wives losing husbands, daughters losing fathers... Those years had wrought irreversible damage and heartache among the people. Even in the wake of a great victory, the underlying truth of what that victory had cost weighed heavily on the hearts of the people.
But, today, their warriors were coming home. King Zenon had compassionately opened up the Dikastirio for a welcome celebration, inviting all of Taengea to participate. This celebration would breathe life back into the people and inspire hope once more. The arcus was soon flooded by the proud Taengeans, ever loyal to their king and country, desperate for comradery after such dark days. Stalls were set up in the arena and along the spiral pathway. Merchants from afar came in to sell their finest things. Charms for protection, personal statues of the Gods, and weapons of steel were among the many goods being offered.
An emotional melody of the battle won began to hum within some in the crowd, the metric rising and falling with the chorus. Each sorrowful verse would seamlessly transition into sweet refrain, thanking the Gods for delivering the enemy into their hands and returning the sons of Taengea. Interwoven into the anguished lyrics, were words in honor of the fallen. A bitter-sweet joy hung in the air and a wail swept through the crowd, young and old, as families were finally reunited with their loved ones. Tears streamed down the cheeks of many as they embraced their soldiers. Even those heavily marred by the war could not help but exhale in relief at being home.
A young, slender woman would make her way along the perimeter of the crowd, her movements fluid and swift. The cream chiton that she wore was held at her shoulders and cinched tightly at her upper waist, better revealing the soft shape of her bosom and prominent dip into her waist. A lavender himation hung over, fastened at her right shoulder and pinned with an ornate golden fibula. Along the trim of the himation were strands of glass beads and precious metal, clinking and glittering with each step she took. Her dark curls were set atop her head and held in place with a pearl diadem. Her features were apathetic, only the suggestion of worry flickering through her umber eyes before withdrawing once more behind a blank slate.
Following in her shadow were two small girls, one was blonde and the other - brunette. They were both wearing simple tunics, only their bangles giving away their status. The youngest child, Sara, reached out to grasp her mother’s hand. Her dark hair was woven into a braid and Meena reached down to brush back the unruly pieces before tucking the child’s hand into her own. Her eldest daughter, Tasia, clung to her other hip while scrutinizing the crowd, her probing, dark eyes the very reflection of her mother’s. “Will he be here?” Sara asked hopefully, peering up to her mother.
Meena considered the plea within her daughter’s innocent, blue eyes. “I do not know, love.” she finally answered truthfully while pulling the girls towards a stall and out of the way of passing horses. “But we will watch the next performance whenever it begins.” she continued in effort to distract them. Just at the end of the Arcus was a stage where the story of the battle had been colorfully retold through actors and dancers. They’d already missed the first showing, but Meena knew that there would be at least one more before sunset. She’d hoped that, between the enthralling battle story and the lure of various trinkets and toys, her daughters would be preoccupied enough to forget about their father.
When she’d heard word of his safe arrival through the servants, her burden of anxiety finally fell away. He was among those returning that day. However, the general of the Taengean armies was bound to be a focus of attention. Having led the soldiers into a brave victory, Meena knew that he would most likely be at his brother’s side celebrating and drinking with the men into the night. Even though she recognized how vital it was for him to play his role, she despised it at times like these. Even Myrto, much to her annoyance, had made an appearance to officially greet her husband. However, Meena didn’t suspect that she would be there for long.
The scent of freshly baked bread wafted through the air and she realized how long it had been since their last meal. “Come, are you hungry?” Meena inquired while ushering the girls away from the reuniting families and towards a vendor along the edge. A woman was selling fresh loaves of bread along with small fig cakes and flasks of milk. “Get whatever you please.” She instructed to her daughters with a polite smile and a cordial nod to the vendor.
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Finally, the Taengean military triumphed. Over the last three years, the lands to the south had descended into a blood shed of skirmishes between Taengea and the Egyptians. During this time, the kingdom had been in a constant state of restlessness. Mothers losing sons, wives losing husbands, daughters losing fathers... Those years had wrought irreversible damage and heartache among the people. Even in the wake of a great victory, the underlying truth of what that victory had cost weighed heavily on the hearts of the people.
But, today, their warriors were coming home. King Zenon had compassionately opened up the Dikastirio for a welcome celebration, inviting all of Taengea to participate. This celebration would breathe life back into the people and inspire hope once more. The arcus was soon flooded by the proud Taengeans, ever loyal to their king and country, desperate for comradery after such dark days. Stalls were set up in the arena and along the spiral pathway. Merchants from afar came in to sell their finest things. Charms for protection, personal statues of the Gods, and weapons of steel were among the many goods being offered.
An emotional melody of the battle won began to hum within some in the crowd, the metric rising and falling with the chorus. Each sorrowful verse would seamlessly transition into sweet refrain, thanking the Gods for delivering the enemy into their hands and returning the sons of Taengea. Interwoven into the anguished lyrics, were words in honor of the fallen. A bitter-sweet joy hung in the air and a wail swept through the crowd, young and old, as families were finally reunited with their loved ones. Tears streamed down the cheeks of many as they embraced their soldiers. Even those heavily marred by the war could not help but exhale in relief at being home.
A young, slender woman would make her way along the perimeter of the crowd, her movements fluid and swift. The cream chiton that she wore was held at her shoulders and cinched tightly at her upper waist, better revealing the soft shape of her bosom and prominent dip into her waist. A lavender himation hung over, fastened at her right shoulder and pinned with an ornate golden fibula. Along the trim of the himation were strands of glass beads and precious metal, clinking and glittering with each step she took. Her dark curls were set atop her head and held in place with a pearl diadem. Her features were apathetic, only the suggestion of worry flickering through her umber eyes before withdrawing once more behind a blank slate.
Following in her shadow were two small girls, one was blonde and the other - brunette. They were both wearing simple tunics, only their bangles giving away their status. The youngest child, Sara, reached out to grasp her mother’s hand. Her dark hair was woven into a braid and Meena reached down to brush back the unruly pieces before tucking the child’s hand into her own. Her eldest daughter, Tasia, clung to her other hip while scrutinizing the crowd, her probing, dark eyes the very reflection of her mother’s. “Will he be here?” Sara asked hopefully, peering up to her mother.
Meena considered the plea within her daughter’s innocent, blue eyes. “I do not know, love.” she finally answered truthfully while pulling the girls towards a stall and out of the way of passing horses. “But we will watch the next performance whenever it begins.” she continued in effort to distract them. Just at the end of the Arcus was a stage where the story of the battle had been colorfully retold through actors and dancers. They’d already missed the first showing, but Meena knew that there would be at least one more before sunset. She’d hoped that, between the enthralling battle story and the lure of various trinkets and toys, her daughters would be preoccupied enough to forget about their father.
When she’d heard word of his safe arrival through the servants, her burden of anxiety finally fell away. He was among those returning that day. However, the general of the Taengean armies was bound to be a focus of attention. Having led the soldiers into a brave victory, Meena knew that he would most likely be at his brother’s side celebrating and drinking with the men into the night. Even though she recognized how vital it was for him to play his role, she despised it at times like these. Even Myrto, much to her annoyance, had made an appearance to officially greet her husband. However, Meena didn’t suspect that she would be there for long.
The scent of freshly baked bread wafted through the air and she realized how long it had been since their last meal. “Come, are you hungry?” Meena inquired while ushering the girls away from the reuniting families and towards a vendor along the edge. A woman was selling fresh loaves of bread along with small fig cakes and flasks of milk. “Get whatever you please.” She instructed to her daughters with a polite smile and a cordial nod to the vendor.
Finally, the Taengean military triumphed. Over the last three years, the lands to the south had descended into a blood shed of skirmishes between Taengea and the Egyptians. During this time, the kingdom had been in a constant state of restlessness. Mothers losing sons, wives losing husbands, daughters losing fathers... Those years had wrought irreversible damage and heartache among the people. Even in the wake of a great victory, the underlying truth of what that victory had cost weighed heavily on the hearts of the people.
But, today, their warriors were coming home. King Zenon had compassionately opened up the Dikastirio for a welcome celebration, inviting all of Taengea to participate. This celebration would breathe life back into the people and inspire hope once more. The arcus was soon flooded by the proud Taengeans, ever loyal to their king and country, desperate for comradery after such dark days. Stalls were set up in the arena and along the spiral pathway. Merchants from afar came in to sell their finest things. Charms for protection, personal statues of the Gods, and weapons of steel were among the many goods being offered.
An emotional melody of the battle won began to hum within some in the crowd, the metric rising and falling with the chorus. Each sorrowful verse would seamlessly transition into sweet refrain, thanking the Gods for delivering the enemy into their hands and returning the sons of Taengea. Interwoven into the anguished lyrics, were words in honor of the fallen. A bitter-sweet joy hung in the air and a wail swept through the crowd, young and old, as families were finally reunited with their loved ones. Tears streamed down the cheeks of many as they embraced their soldiers. Even those heavily marred by the war could not help but exhale in relief at being home.
A young, slender woman would make her way along the perimeter of the crowd, her movements fluid and swift. The cream chiton that she wore was held at her shoulders and cinched tightly at her upper waist, better revealing the soft shape of her bosom and prominent dip into her waist. A lavender himation hung over, fastened at her right shoulder and pinned with an ornate golden fibula. Along the trim of the himation were strands of glass beads and precious metal, clinking and glittering with each step she took. Her dark curls were set atop her head and held in place with a pearl diadem. Her features were apathetic, only the suggestion of worry flickering through her umber eyes before withdrawing once more behind a blank slate.
Following in her shadow were two small girls, one was blonde and the other - brunette. They were both wearing simple tunics, only their bangles giving away their status. The youngest child, Sara, reached out to grasp her mother’s hand. Her dark hair was woven into a braid and Meena reached down to brush back the unruly pieces before tucking the child’s hand into her own. Her eldest daughter, Tasia, clung to her other hip while scrutinizing the crowd, her probing, dark eyes the very reflection of her mother’s. “Will he be here?” Sara asked hopefully, peering up to her mother.
Meena considered the plea within her daughter’s innocent, blue eyes. “I do not know, love.” she finally answered truthfully while pulling the girls towards a stall and out of the way of passing horses. “But we will watch the next performance whenever it begins.” she continued in effort to distract them. Just at the end of the Arcus was a stage where the story of the battle had been colorfully retold through actors and dancers. They’d already missed the first showing, but Meena knew that there would be at least one more before sunset. She’d hoped that, between the enthralling battle story and the lure of various trinkets and toys, her daughters would be preoccupied enough to forget about their father.
When she’d heard word of his safe arrival through the servants, her burden of anxiety finally fell away. He was among those returning that day. However, the general of the Taengean armies was bound to be a focus of attention. Having led the soldiers into a brave victory, Meena knew that he would most likely be at his brother’s side celebrating and drinking with the men into the night. Even though she recognized how vital it was for him to play his role, she despised it at times like these. Even Myrto, much to her annoyance, had made an appearance to officially greet her husband. However, Meena didn’t suspect that she would be there for long.
The scent of freshly baked bread wafted through the air and she realized how long it had been since their last meal. “Come, are you hungry?” Meena inquired while ushering the girls away from the reuniting families and towards a vendor along the edge. A woman was selling fresh loaves of bread along with small fig cakes and flasks of milk. “Get whatever you please.” She instructed to her daughters with a polite smile and a cordial nod to the vendor.
Celebrations were always a thing in the city of Vasiliadon, and most of Taengea really. To see the streets of the capitol sloshed with the finest wine from the Condos vineyards, drunken fools staggering around, loud music and a general boisterous air in the area was nothing new, but it still brought a smile to Evelli's lips nontheless. While she would not know the joy a mother would feel of her son returning from a dangerous war (for all she had were daughters, her two youngest of which by her side as the carriage bearing the Leventi crest rumbled through the streets), she knew how it felt at least, to see one's husband safely home. While her marriage to Georgios was no lavish love affair, she and her husband shared a steady, soft kind of love, but that did not mean Evelli enjoyed it anymore whenever Georgios was summoned off on official duty for the family and House.
With her three elder daughters preoccupied with their own matters, Evelli now only had Imma and Nana in tow. The elder of the two balked at following their mother, but at only eleven, Nana had one year to go before she could officially be allowed to join her sisters on the more official jaunts to visit seamstresses and meet others, and as such, the woman was clear and firm on her second youngest when they came along. Luckily for Evelli, Imma put up less of a fight - but then again, she had never been as outspoken as Nana had been. Imma had always been one who wanted to be left alone, something which Evelli found sorely disappointing, for she planned grand, lavish weddings for all her offspring. Georgios doted on his youngest, but Evelli still carried the hope that the now-six year old would one day bloom into a graceful, poised young lady as her elder sisters were.
In a way, her bringing Imma along to the festival was a part of that. Evelli had taken to bringing her youngest out with her as often as she could now, hoping Imma would learn from example, to watch other Taengean nobilities in their actions and perhaps learn from them. It was a far-fetched idea to be sure, but when the most recent governess for Imma came to express her concerns about the youngest of the Leventi brood, Evelli knew she had to take matters in her own hands.
As the carriage rolled to a stop at the entrance of the Dikastirio, the footmen were quick to open the doors of the carriage, offering Evelli a hand to descent. The maids and caretakers of the two young girls were quick to hurry to their side, one for each, and a spare to watch over them. Dressed in a dress of pastel pink and white, her brunette curls piled on her head, the eyes of Evelli were sharp as she surveyed the area, and then a smile appeared when she saw the far stage erected, no doubt to host a performance by a troupe.
Nana was quick to dart there, much to her governesses dismay. Evelli only gave a nod of her head, and the governess was quick to follow, the spare right on their heels. Imma did not need as much handling, simply someone to keep her out of harm's way as she followed after Evelli, who headed to get herself a chalice of the finest wine. Buying some pieces of halva for Imma as she led them to the stage area as people prepared for the second showing of the grand battle, Evelli found herself caught up in greeting the nobles who recognized who she was, exchanging pleasantries.
What the woman did not notice however, was her own young six-year old caught up in nibbling on the sweet confection, that she did not realize she was walking headlong into another young girl next to a vendor selling fig cakes and bread. What Evelli did hear however, was a small squeal as Imma collided into the other young girl who had been clinging on to her mother's chiton, and when Evelli finally turned, it was to see a tangle of limbs of the two children.
The Leventi matriarch's eyes widened, before her servants jumped to her bidding, quickly running forward to untangle and assist the two girls to their feet. Evelli's eyes sought the mother's however, and an apologetic smile appeared. "Sorry, it appears our daughters were distracted by the enticement of a meal." Evelli offered congenially, noting with a tinge of wry dismay that the halva was now covered in dust on the ground. Stooping to Imma's height, Evelli also turned to the other girl she had collided with and asked the two gently, "Perhaps you would like a fig cake and some goat's milk?"
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Celebrations were always a thing in the city of Vasiliadon, and most of Taengea really. To see the streets of the capitol sloshed with the finest wine from the Condos vineyards, drunken fools staggering around, loud music and a general boisterous air in the area was nothing new, but it still brought a smile to Evelli's lips nontheless. While she would not know the joy a mother would feel of her son returning from a dangerous war (for all she had were daughters, her two youngest of which by her side as the carriage bearing the Leventi crest rumbled through the streets), she knew how it felt at least, to see one's husband safely home. While her marriage to Georgios was no lavish love affair, she and her husband shared a steady, soft kind of love, but that did not mean Evelli enjoyed it anymore whenever Georgios was summoned off on official duty for the family and House.
With her three elder daughters preoccupied with their own matters, Evelli now only had Imma and Nana in tow. The elder of the two balked at following their mother, but at only eleven, Nana had one year to go before she could officially be allowed to join her sisters on the more official jaunts to visit seamstresses and meet others, and as such, the woman was clear and firm on her second youngest when they came along. Luckily for Evelli, Imma put up less of a fight - but then again, she had never been as outspoken as Nana had been. Imma had always been one who wanted to be left alone, something which Evelli found sorely disappointing, for she planned grand, lavish weddings for all her offspring. Georgios doted on his youngest, but Evelli still carried the hope that the now-six year old would one day bloom into a graceful, poised young lady as her elder sisters were.
In a way, her bringing Imma along to the festival was a part of that. Evelli had taken to bringing her youngest out with her as often as she could now, hoping Imma would learn from example, to watch other Taengean nobilities in their actions and perhaps learn from them. It was a far-fetched idea to be sure, but when the most recent governess for Imma came to express her concerns about the youngest of the Leventi brood, Evelli knew she had to take matters in her own hands.
As the carriage rolled to a stop at the entrance of the Dikastirio, the footmen were quick to open the doors of the carriage, offering Evelli a hand to descent. The maids and caretakers of the two young girls were quick to hurry to their side, one for each, and a spare to watch over them. Dressed in a dress of pastel pink and white, her brunette curls piled on her head, the eyes of Evelli were sharp as she surveyed the area, and then a smile appeared when she saw the far stage erected, no doubt to host a performance by a troupe.
Nana was quick to dart there, much to her governesses dismay. Evelli only gave a nod of her head, and the governess was quick to follow, the spare right on their heels. Imma did not need as much handling, simply someone to keep her out of harm's way as she followed after Evelli, who headed to get herself a chalice of the finest wine. Buying some pieces of halva for Imma as she led them to the stage area as people prepared for the second showing of the grand battle, Evelli found herself caught up in greeting the nobles who recognized who she was, exchanging pleasantries.
What the woman did not notice however, was her own young six-year old caught up in nibbling on the sweet confection, that she did not realize she was walking headlong into another young girl next to a vendor selling fig cakes and bread. What Evelli did hear however, was a small squeal as Imma collided into the other young girl who had been clinging on to her mother's chiton, and when Evelli finally turned, it was to see a tangle of limbs of the two children.
The Leventi matriarch's eyes widened, before her servants jumped to her bidding, quickly running forward to untangle and assist the two girls to their feet. Evelli's eyes sought the mother's however, and an apologetic smile appeared. "Sorry, it appears our daughters were distracted by the enticement of a meal." Evelli offered congenially, noting with a tinge of wry dismay that the halva was now covered in dust on the ground. Stooping to Imma's height, Evelli also turned to the other girl she had collided with and asked the two gently, "Perhaps you would like a fig cake and some goat's milk?"
Celebrations were always a thing in the city of Vasiliadon, and most of Taengea really. To see the streets of the capitol sloshed with the finest wine from the Condos vineyards, drunken fools staggering around, loud music and a general boisterous air in the area was nothing new, but it still brought a smile to Evelli's lips nontheless. While she would not know the joy a mother would feel of her son returning from a dangerous war (for all she had were daughters, her two youngest of which by her side as the carriage bearing the Leventi crest rumbled through the streets), she knew how it felt at least, to see one's husband safely home. While her marriage to Georgios was no lavish love affair, she and her husband shared a steady, soft kind of love, but that did not mean Evelli enjoyed it anymore whenever Georgios was summoned off on official duty for the family and House.
With her three elder daughters preoccupied with their own matters, Evelli now only had Imma and Nana in tow. The elder of the two balked at following their mother, but at only eleven, Nana had one year to go before she could officially be allowed to join her sisters on the more official jaunts to visit seamstresses and meet others, and as such, the woman was clear and firm on her second youngest when they came along. Luckily for Evelli, Imma put up less of a fight - but then again, she had never been as outspoken as Nana had been. Imma had always been one who wanted to be left alone, something which Evelli found sorely disappointing, for she planned grand, lavish weddings for all her offspring. Georgios doted on his youngest, but Evelli still carried the hope that the now-six year old would one day bloom into a graceful, poised young lady as her elder sisters were.
In a way, her bringing Imma along to the festival was a part of that. Evelli had taken to bringing her youngest out with her as often as she could now, hoping Imma would learn from example, to watch other Taengean nobilities in their actions and perhaps learn from them. It was a far-fetched idea to be sure, but when the most recent governess for Imma came to express her concerns about the youngest of the Leventi brood, Evelli knew she had to take matters in her own hands.
As the carriage rolled to a stop at the entrance of the Dikastirio, the footmen were quick to open the doors of the carriage, offering Evelli a hand to descent. The maids and caretakers of the two young girls were quick to hurry to their side, one for each, and a spare to watch over them. Dressed in a dress of pastel pink and white, her brunette curls piled on her head, the eyes of Evelli were sharp as she surveyed the area, and then a smile appeared when she saw the far stage erected, no doubt to host a performance by a troupe.
Nana was quick to dart there, much to her governesses dismay. Evelli only gave a nod of her head, and the governess was quick to follow, the spare right on their heels. Imma did not need as much handling, simply someone to keep her out of harm's way as she followed after Evelli, who headed to get herself a chalice of the finest wine. Buying some pieces of halva for Imma as she led them to the stage area as people prepared for the second showing of the grand battle, Evelli found herself caught up in greeting the nobles who recognized who she was, exchanging pleasantries.
What the woman did not notice however, was her own young six-year old caught up in nibbling on the sweet confection, that she did not realize she was walking headlong into another young girl next to a vendor selling fig cakes and bread. What Evelli did hear however, was a small squeal as Imma collided into the other young girl who had been clinging on to her mother's chiton, and when Evelli finally turned, it was to see a tangle of limbs of the two children.
The Leventi matriarch's eyes widened, before her servants jumped to her bidding, quickly running forward to untangle and assist the two girls to their feet. Evelli's eyes sought the mother's however, and an apologetic smile appeared. "Sorry, it appears our daughters were distracted by the enticement of a meal." Evelli offered congenially, noting with a tinge of wry dismay that the halva was now covered in dust on the ground. Stooping to Imma's height, Evelli also turned to the other girl she had collided with and asked the two gently, "Perhaps you would like a fig cake and some goat's milk?"
Nikolias, had he known it, tended to agree with Basilides.The Taengeans wanted an excuse to celebrate anything, especially with wine. Never one to overindulge as it made his own body far too acidic to keep anything down if he did so, he nonetheless appreciated the robust flavor of the one he was currently sampling.
The performances, too, had been better than average, and he wondered what exactly the acting troupe had been paid. It had probably been far less than they deserved.
However, he was most interested in Meena of Vasiliadon's two daughters. Court could often not be considered to be a suitable place for children, and he saw them rarely enough. Usually, it would only be when he visited Irakles at his home, and sometimes not even then.
His heart broke a little as he realized the children would probably want to see their father. In particular, probably the youngest daughter missed him. Thank the gods he'd never been so focused on anything else, including the glory his father had wanted him to bring to the Condos line. Not even estate matters compared to his children and their relative happiness, safety, and well- being. He supposed being someone who led soldiers to victory would have led to different responsibilities, but there were times he wondered how much wine was really necessary for camaraderie. But then, Nikolias' military training- what little he'd had, had not gone well, so he'd never really thought about leading any soldiers to victory himself.
He may as well greet Meena and her children, though, if no one else, though he'd already spied Evelli of Leventi talking to Meena, too. He'd wait a few minutes. In the meantime, he focused on eating as much as he could, which was really the only bonus that came with being invited to events with large crowds, in his opinion.
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Nikolias, had he known it, tended to agree with Basilides.The Taengeans wanted an excuse to celebrate anything, especially with wine. Never one to overindulge as it made his own body far too acidic to keep anything down if he did so, he nonetheless appreciated the robust flavor of the one he was currently sampling.
The performances, too, had been better than average, and he wondered what exactly the acting troupe had been paid. It had probably been far less than they deserved.
However, he was most interested in Meena of Vasiliadon's two daughters. Court could often not be considered to be a suitable place for children, and he saw them rarely enough. Usually, it would only be when he visited Irakles at his home, and sometimes not even then.
His heart broke a little as he realized the children would probably want to see their father. In particular, probably the youngest daughter missed him. Thank the gods he'd never been so focused on anything else, including the glory his father had wanted him to bring to the Condos line. Not even estate matters compared to his children and their relative happiness, safety, and well- being. He supposed being someone who led soldiers to victory would have led to different responsibilities, but there were times he wondered how much wine was really necessary for camaraderie. But then, Nikolias' military training- what little he'd had, had not gone well, so he'd never really thought about leading any soldiers to victory himself.
He may as well greet Meena and her children, though, if no one else, though he'd already spied Evelli of Leventi talking to Meena, too. He'd wait a few minutes. In the meantime, he focused on eating as much as he could, which was really the only bonus that came with being invited to events with large crowds, in his opinion.
Nikolias, had he known it, tended to agree with Basilides.The Taengeans wanted an excuse to celebrate anything, especially with wine. Never one to overindulge as it made his own body far too acidic to keep anything down if he did so, he nonetheless appreciated the robust flavor of the one he was currently sampling.
The performances, too, had been better than average, and he wondered what exactly the acting troupe had been paid. It had probably been far less than they deserved.
However, he was most interested in Meena of Vasiliadon's two daughters. Court could often not be considered to be a suitable place for children, and he saw them rarely enough. Usually, it would only be when he visited Irakles at his home, and sometimes not even then.
His heart broke a little as he realized the children would probably want to see their father. In particular, probably the youngest daughter missed him. Thank the gods he'd never been so focused on anything else, including the glory his father had wanted him to bring to the Condos line. Not even estate matters compared to his children and their relative happiness, safety, and well- being. He supposed being someone who led soldiers to victory would have led to different responsibilities, but there were times he wondered how much wine was really necessary for camaraderie. But then, Nikolias' military training- what little he'd had, had not gone well, so he'd never really thought about leading any soldiers to victory himself.
He may as well greet Meena and her children, though, if no one else, though he'd already spied Evelli of Leventi talking to Meena, too. He'd wait a few minutes. In the meantime, he focused on eating as much as he could, which was really the only bonus that came with being invited to events with large crowds, in his opinion.
For a girl who had technically been hiding from being detected, while her aim was not hard to achieve, Zenais was still exceptionally jumpy and skittish, not unlike a deer in the woods. But she knew that much of her skittishness was due to her own past and actions, and as such she simply brushed the apology aside, and then offered her own apologetic, slightly shy smile, nodding as he explained the nature of his work. His words made sense, and with how often Zenais kept to herself, it isn't at all surprising she would've missed a travelling troupe of performers.
A soft laugh escaped her, but she saw his logic.Just in the short time she's been here, Zenais had bore witness to few celebrations, some of which she wondered upon the necessity of. But it would seem Taengeans differed vastly from the Colchians she had grown up with, for Zenais had never seen celebrations of this degree back in her home kingdom. "Very much so. I assume they return victorious then?" she asked politely, never one privy to such news, especially when she had greater concerns of recent months. But the word war did spark her interest though, and for the most briefest of moments, Zenais wondered if Yiannis had taken part in the war.
Perhaps the hardest part of her actions, was the fact that she would have to live without knowledge of his survival or health. Word did not travel far and fast between the kingdoms, and her actively seeking out information only made her an easier target. Zenais had to lay low, and laying low meant she couldn't ask. The question lingered, always, at the back of her throat, to ask on the wellbeing of the third prince of Colchis... yet she never could do so.
The performer's question made her shake her head, a gentle motion that seemed more demure then would be done by someone who was not a noble - yet if you knew of her upbringing, it would make sense. "No, I am not from Vasiliadon, I'm afraid. I just happened across this joyous occasion. And you?" she murmured, before her stomach suddenly rolled, and Zenais had to blush when it audibly grumbled. "Ah, my apologies. I think I may have forgotten to have my morning meal. Perhaps you could join me for a repast?"
Waiting for a response, the brunette would eventually find herself, upon making her way through the crowds, at a stall just as another arrived for fresh loaves of bread and fig cakes. Her hands landed on a small fig cake just as the other young girl's did, and Zenais froze for a moment, before smiling. Just as she was about to invite the young girl to have the fig cake she had been eyeing however, a sharp collision made her turn, just in time to see two girls land in a heap on the ground, with another elder lady hurrying up to handle the two that had fell.
Throwing a glance down at the girl who had spied the same piece of fig cake as her, and offered a kind, gentle smile. "Would you like the fig cake? And once we've had our fill, we can see if this nice man would allow us to watch the performance of him and his friends?"
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For a girl who had technically been hiding from being detected, while her aim was not hard to achieve, Zenais was still exceptionally jumpy and skittish, not unlike a deer in the woods. But she knew that much of her skittishness was due to her own past and actions, and as such she simply brushed the apology aside, and then offered her own apologetic, slightly shy smile, nodding as he explained the nature of his work. His words made sense, and with how often Zenais kept to herself, it isn't at all surprising she would've missed a travelling troupe of performers.
A soft laugh escaped her, but she saw his logic.Just in the short time she's been here, Zenais had bore witness to few celebrations, some of which she wondered upon the necessity of. But it would seem Taengeans differed vastly from the Colchians she had grown up with, for Zenais had never seen celebrations of this degree back in her home kingdom. "Very much so. I assume they return victorious then?" she asked politely, never one privy to such news, especially when she had greater concerns of recent months. But the word war did spark her interest though, and for the most briefest of moments, Zenais wondered if Yiannis had taken part in the war.
Perhaps the hardest part of her actions, was the fact that she would have to live without knowledge of his survival or health. Word did not travel far and fast between the kingdoms, and her actively seeking out information only made her an easier target. Zenais had to lay low, and laying low meant she couldn't ask. The question lingered, always, at the back of her throat, to ask on the wellbeing of the third prince of Colchis... yet she never could do so.
The performer's question made her shake her head, a gentle motion that seemed more demure then would be done by someone who was not a noble - yet if you knew of her upbringing, it would make sense. "No, I am not from Vasiliadon, I'm afraid. I just happened across this joyous occasion. And you?" she murmured, before her stomach suddenly rolled, and Zenais had to blush when it audibly grumbled. "Ah, my apologies. I think I may have forgotten to have my morning meal. Perhaps you could join me for a repast?"
Waiting for a response, the brunette would eventually find herself, upon making her way through the crowds, at a stall just as another arrived for fresh loaves of bread and fig cakes. Her hands landed on a small fig cake just as the other young girl's did, and Zenais froze for a moment, before smiling. Just as she was about to invite the young girl to have the fig cake she had been eyeing however, a sharp collision made her turn, just in time to see two girls land in a heap on the ground, with another elder lady hurrying up to handle the two that had fell.
Throwing a glance down at the girl who had spied the same piece of fig cake as her, and offered a kind, gentle smile. "Would you like the fig cake? And once we've had our fill, we can see if this nice man would allow us to watch the performance of him and his friends?"
For a girl who had technically been hiding from being detected, while her aim was not hard to achieve, Zenais was still exceptionally jumpy and skittish, not unlike a deer in the woods. But she knew that much of her skittishness was due to her own past and actions, and as such she simply brushed the apology aside, and then offered her own apologetic, slightly shy smile, nodding as he explained the nature of his work. His words made sense, and with how often Zenais kept to herself, it isn't at all surprising she would've missed a travelling troupe of performers.
A soft laugh escaped her, but she saw his logic.Just in the short time she's been here, Zenais had bore witness to few celebrations, some of which she wondered upon the necessity of. But it would seem Taengeans differed vastly from the Colchians she had grown up with, for Zenais had never seen celebrations of this degree back in her home kingdom. "Very much so. I assume they return victorious then?" she asked politely, never one privy to such news, especially when she had greater concerns of recent months. But the word war did spark her interest though, and for the most briefest of moments, Zenais wondered if Yiannis had taken part in the war.
Perhaps the hardest part of her actions, was the fact that she would have to live without knowledge of his survival or health. Word did not travel far and fast between the kingdoms, and her actively seeking out information only made her an easier target. Zenais had to lay low, and laying low meant she couldn't ask. The question lingered, always, at the back of her throat, to ask on the wellbeing of the third prince of Colchis... yet she never could do so.
The performer's question made her shake her head, a gentle motion that seemed more demure then would be done by someone who was not a noble - yet if you knew of her upbringing, it would make sense. "No, I am not from Vasiliadon, I'm afraid. I just happened across this joyous occasion. And you?" she murmured, before her stomach suddenly rolled, and Zenais had to blush when it audibly grumbled. "Ah, my apologies. I think I may have forgotten to have my morning meal. Perhaps you could join me for a repast?"
Waiting for a response, the brunette would eventually find herself, upon making her way through the crowds, at a stall just as another arrived for fresh loaves of bread and fig cakes. Her hands landed on a small fig cake just as the other young girl's did, and Zenais froze for a moment, before smiling. Just as she was about to invite the young girl to have the fig cake she had been eyeing however, a sharp collision made her turn, just in time to see two girls land in a heap on the ground, with another elder lady hurrying up to handle the two that had fell.
Throwing a glance down at the girl who had spied the same piece of fig cake as her, and offered a kind, gentle smile. "Would you like the fig cake? And once we've had our fill, we can see if this nice man would allow us to watch the performance of him and his friends?"
Basilides kept his soft, cordial smile measured and polite. It was his favorite mask, and if seen by the troupe, would be noted to be such a far cry from his usual, mildly-annoyed yet pensive expression. Being as wrapped up in the paper curse of the Producer, it was nice for a bit to be among the people instead of staring down numbers and figures, fitting them into a never-ending puzzle that benefits the troupe.
”According to the script, yes,” he teased, then feigning a gasp he added, ”Oh, dear, I have given away the ending. Please, do not let my loose lips deter you from seeing the show. It is quite good, especially if you enjoy music and dance.”
Basilides was just about to detail his standard origin tale - life as a merchant’s son, attending an event much like this, and running away with a troupe - when he heard the woman’s stomach grumble. His brows raised barely a few millimeters, hardly noticeable. Having spent far too much time around sharing wine with Lysistrata, one of the troupe’s writers, he could not help but wonder about the story behind the woman’s clothes, her accent, her lack of knowledge behind the event even for the day. Had she just arrived off some ship? Did she have a place to stay? Why had she not eaten at this point? The questions intrigued him...
”I’ll join you, and treat you if you will permit, as an apology for spoiling the show,” he offered, with courtesy and curiosity entwined enough to let the offer pass his lips unchecked. More than likely, she was penniless and would not be a reliable source of funding for the troupe. That being said, the more followers they had who spoke positively of the Children of Mnemosyne, the better. And beyond that, his bleeding heart was a cautiously kept secret by members of the troupe who had gone through hard times. Coming from a life as a luxury merchant’s son, he rarely wanted for anything, and had it in his nature to care for those who lacked - even if presumptively.
As they made their way to the stalls, the smell of sweet cakes warming in the sun blended with scent of wine spilled in the sand - sickeningly sweet and sharply tart. Up until this point, he had mostly kept to a morning of light beverages and a few small bites of fruit. While watching the young woman - oh gods, he never got her name! - look over the selection, he glanced about at the next wine stall, making eye contact with the vendor and nodding. The man began to pour another chalice for the Producer.
Suddenly, there was a tangle of legs and arms near his feet, between him and the wine stall, and he watched as two mothers swooped in to collect their fallen daughters. One of the faces seemed incredibly familiar, and before he could shuffle through his mind for the names, the young woman at his side offered a fig cake and to see the performance.
”Of course, right near the front if you wish,” he offered, his voice perhaps a touch over-inflected while talking to the children. To be honest, he never spent any time at all around youth younger than 16 or so. He was wholly unfamiliar with how to talk to them, and it showed.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Basilides kept his soft, cordial smile measured and polite. It was his favorite mask, and if seen by the troupe, would be noted to be such a far cry from his usual, mildly-annoyed yet pensive expression. Being as wrapped up in the paper curse of the Producer, it was nice for a bit to be among the people instead of staring down numbers and figures, fitting them into a never-ending puzzle that benefits the troupe.
”According to the script, yes,” he teased, then feigning a gasp he added, ”Oh, dear, I have given away the ending. Please, do not let my loose lips deter you from seeing the show. It is quite good, especially if you enjoy music and dance.”
Basilides was just about to detail his standard origin tale - life as a merchant’s son, attending an event much like this, and running away with a troupe - when he heard the woman’s stomach grumble. His brows raised barely a few millimeters, hardly noticeable. Having spent far too much time around sharing wine with Lysistrata, one of the troupe’s writers, he could not help but wonder about the story behind the woman’s clothes, her accent, her lack of knowledge behind the event even for the day. Had she just arrived off some ship? Did she have a place to stay? Why had she not eaten at this point? The questions intrigued him...
”I’ll join you, and treat you if you will permit, as an apology for spoiling the show,” he offered, with courtesy and curiosity entwined enough to let the offer pass his lips unchecked. More than likely, she was penniless and would not be a reliable source of funding for the troupe. That being said, the more followers they had who spoke positively of the Children of Mnemosyne, the better. And beyond that, his bleeding heart was a cautiously kept secret by members of the troupe who had gone through hard times. Coming from a life as a luxury merchant’s son, he rarely wanted for anything, and had it in his nature to care for those who lacked - even if presumptively.
As they made their way to the stalls, the smell of sweet cakes warming in the sun blended with scent of wine spilled in the sand - sickeningly sweet and sharply tart. Up until this point, he had mostly kept to a morning of light beverages and a few small bites of fruit. While watching the young woman - oh gods, he never got her name! - look over the selection, he glanced about at the next wine stall, making eye contact with the vendor and nodding. The man began to pour another chalice for the Producer.
Suddenly, there was a tangle of legs and arms near his feet, between him and the wine stall, and he watched as two mothers swooped in to collect their fallen daughters. One of the faces seemed incredibly familiar, and before he could shuffle through his mind for the names, the young woman at his side offered a fig cake and to see the performance.
”Of course, right near the front if you wish,” he offered, his voice perhaps a touch over-inflected while talking to the children. To be honest, he never spent any time at all around youth younger than 16 or so. He was wholly unfamiliar with how to talk to them, and it showed.
Basilides kept his soft, cordial smile measured and polite. It was his favorite mask, and if seen by the troupe, would be noted to be such a far cry from his usual, mildly-annoyed yet pensive expression. Being as wrapped up in the paper curse of the Producer, it was nice for a bit to be among the people instead of staring down numbers and figures, fitting them into a never-ending puzzle that benefits the troupe.
”According to the script, yes,” he teased, then feigning a gasp he added, ”Oh, dear, I have given away the ending. Please, do not let my loose lips deter you from seeing the show. It is quite good, especially if you enjoy music and dance.”
Basilides was just about to detail his standard origin tale - life as a merchant’s son, attending an event much like this, and running away with a troupe - when he heard the woman’s stomach grumble. His brows raised barely a few millimeters, hardly noticeable. Having spent far too much time around sharing wine with Lysistrata, one of the troupe’s writers, he could not help but wonder about the story behind the woman’s clothes, her accent, her lack of knowledge behind the event even for the day. Had she just arrived off some ship? Did she have a place to stay? Why had she not eaten at this point? The questions intrigued him...
”I’ll join you, and treat you if you will permit, as an apology for spoiling the show,” he offered, with courtesy and curiosity entwined enough to let the offer pass his lips unchecked. More than likely, she was penniless and would not be a reliable source of funding for the troupe. That being said, the more followers they had who spoke positively of the Children of Mnemosyne, the better. And beyond that, his bleeding heart was a cautiously kept secret by members of the troupe who had gone through hard times. Coming from a life as a luxury merchant’s son, he rarely wanted for anything, and had it in his nature to care for those who lacked - even if presumptively.
As they made their way to the stalls, the smell of sweet cakes warming in the sun blended with scent of wine spilled in the sand - sickeningly sweet and sharply tart. Up until this point, he had mostly kept to a morning of light beverages and a few small bites of fruit. While watching the young woman - oh gods, he never got her name! - look over the selection, he glanced about at the next wine stall, making eye contact with the vendor and nodding. The man began to pour another chalice for the Producer.
Suddenly, there was a tangle of legs and arms near his feet, between him and the wine stall, and he watched as two mothers swooped in to collect their fallen daughters. One of the faces seemed incredibly familiar, and before he could shuffle through his mind for the names, the young woman at his side offered a fig cake and to see the performance.
”Of course, right near the front if you wish,” he offered, his voice perhaps a touch over-inflected while talking to the children. To be honest, he never spent any time at all around youth younger than 16 or so. He was wholly unfamiliar with how to talk to them, and it showed.
She had laughed easily when Basilides offered to treat her - but did not reject it, but merely fell in to step next to the man as they weaved their way through the crowds of the busy people in the Arcus. It was a joyous, almost infectios affair as Zenais purchased her fig cake, and then conversed with the children, who were quickly whisked away by their mothers, before the brunette turned her attention back to her previous companion.
"I guess they were a little to young to enjoy your feat, I suppose." Zenais commented with a tinge of regret in her voice, as she straightened up and turned back to Basilides, holding out a fig cake to him as well.
Biting into her treat, her tongue savored the flavors, and her stomach rumbled in delight. "But do I still get the front seat, if tis just me?" Zenais tried to tease in return, laughing before following the male's lead to the show as it started. The people from the Arcus all began to fill the seats as the beginning strains of the music signalled the beginning of the show.
Bidding goodbye to her companion as he, expectedly, would have to go and prepare, Zenais found her seat, her fig cake well and consumed before preparing to watch the show. Perhaps it was a distraction, for she had yet to find her proper footing in the new city she was in. But the excitement of being in a new place, learning new things, made Zenais temporarily forget the fact that she had completely left her whole family and was in a foreign place herself, with no one to help her.
For now, it will do.
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Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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She had laughed easily when Basilides offered to treat her - but did not reject it, but merely fell in to step next to the man as they weaved their way through the crowds of the busy people in the Arcus. It was a joyous, almost infectios affair as Zenais purchased her fig cake, and then conversed with the children, who were quickly whisked away by their mothers, before the brunette turned her attention back to her previous companion.
"I guess they were a little to young to enjoy your feat, I suppose." Zenais commented with a tinge of regret in her voice, as she straightened up and turned back to Basilides, holding out a fig cake to him as well.
Biting into her treat, her tongue savored the flavors, and her stomach rumbled in delight. "But do I still get the front seat, if tis just me?" Zenais tried to tease in return, laughing before following the male's lead to the show as it started. The people from the Arcus all began to fill the seats as the beginning strains of the music signalled the beginning of the show.
Bidding goodbye to her companion as he, expectedly, would have to go and prepare, Zenais found her seat, her fig cake well and consumed before preparing to watch the show. Perhaps it was a distraction, for she had yet to find her proper footing in the new city she was in. But the excitement of being in a new place, learning new things, made Zenais temporarily forget the fact that she had completely left her whole family and was in a foreign place herself, with no one to help her.
For now, it will do.
She had laughed easily when Basilides offered to treat her - but did not reject it, but merely fell in to step next to the man as they weaved their way through the crowds of the busy people in the Arcus. It was a joyous, almost infectios affair as Zenais purchased her fig cake, and then conversed with the children, who were quickly whisked away by their mothers, before the brunette turned her attention back to her previous companion.
"I guess they were a little to young to enjoy your feat, I suppose." Zenais commented with a tinge of regret in her voice, as she straightened up and turned back to Basilides, holding out a fig cake to him as well.
Biting into her treat, her tongue savored the flavors, and her stomach rumbled in delight. "But do I still get the front seat, if tis just me?" Zenais tried to tease in return, laughing before following the male's lead to the show as it started. The people from the Arcus all began to fill the seats as the beginning strains of the music signalled the beginning of the show.
Bidding goodbye to her companion as he, expectedly, would have to go and prepare, Zenais found her seat, her fig cake well and consumed before preparing to watch the show. Perhaps it was a distraction, for she had yet to find her proper footing in the new city she was in. But the excitement of being in a new place, learning new things, made Zenais temporarily forget the fact that she had completely left her whole family and was in a foreign place herself, with no one to help her.