The chatbox has been hidden for this page. It will reopen upon refresh. To hide the CBox permanently, select "Permanently Toggle Cbox" in your profile User Settings.
This chatbox is hidden. To reopen, edit your User Settings.
Keikelius hadn't been the least bit surprised that the King had passed. Not after the man had clearly been so sickly as of late. It had been a wonder that the man had even been able to attend the Senate meeting weeks prior. The same Senate meeting that had changed the entire fate of the Stravos family with a single blow. But Keikelius had done his duty as Master of Trade. He had said his piece despite the embarrassment that his son had laid on his shoulders. On his house.
The man had let his wife have her petulant tantrum about her brother's death, only trying to give comfort once or twice before leaving her to do her... own type of grieving. Keikelius prepared in complete silence, bathing and dressing in one of his finest chitons. The only ones fit for mourning, for a funeral. He had lost a brother in law, after all, and while they hadn't ever really been close, Keikelius was going to show the utmost respect to the late King.
It was simply his duty as both family and Master of Trade. Nobility or royalty had nothing to do with it in that moment.
Keikelius had decidedly not walked in the procession, simply guiding his daughter to stand at the sidelines where, currently, they seemed to belong. His gaze flitted from person to person, from noble to royal blooded, to every commoner, merchant, and sailor of Athenia that had gathered to watch the procession pass them by. To give their final goodbyes to a beloved King and welcome a new Queen.
His gaze landed on Queen Persephone and he gave the slightest nod of encouragement. Whether she saw it or not didn't really matter. It was his duty to show support and while, deep down, he truly didn't like the fact that he had had to side with her cause in the Senate nor that she was now Queen ahead of so many who would have been more deserving, Keikelius had needed to play the field. He had needed to appear a strong ally. A man who would simply shrug off his own son in favor of supporting the opposite cause.
But his words to Elias had been true. His intentions had been clear. Elias had been tasked with fixing his mess. With fixing his treachery and misguided actions. However he did it, it didn't matter to Keikelius. He trusted that Elias would make good on Keikelius' own order. The memory of the pain inflicted, the physical blow, would likely be enough on its own. Guilt still gnawed at him for what he had done. Striking his own son in his complete and utter rage at their situation. At what felt like a betrayal of his trust in his own child and his ability to lead the family.
Settling his arms at his sides, he hardly acknowleged most of the other senators that passed him in the procession. His gaze remained cast toward the late king, implying that he was focused and had no intention of either socializing or doing anything other than his own grieving. A single glance toward his wife was the only break from his calm mask, his gaze locked momentarily to the tiara on her head.
Of course Circenia would have taken her own brother's funeral to make such a statement.
Keikelius had to tear his gaze away before the corners of his lips turned up in silent amusement and pride at the audacity of his bold, virbant Lady Stravos.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
Keikelius hadn't been the least bit surprised that the King had passed. Not after the man had clearly been so sickly as of late. It had been a wonder that the man had even been able to attend the Senate meeting weeks prior. The same Senate meeting that had changed the entire fate of the Stravos family with a single blow. But Keikelius had done his duty as Master of Trade. He had said his piece despite the embarrassment that his son had laid on his shoulders. On his house.
The man had let his wife have her petulant tantrum about her brother's death, only trying to give comfort once or twice before leaving her to do her... own type of grieving. Keikelius prepared in complete silence, bathing and dressing in one of his finest chitons. The only ones fit for mourning, for a funeral. He had lost a brother in law, after all, and while they hadn't ever really been close, Keikelius was going to show the utmost respect to the late King.
It was simply his duty as both family and Master of Trade. Nobility or royalty had nothing to do with it in that moment.
Keikelius had decidedly not walked in the procession, simply guiding his daughter to stand at the sidelines where, currently, they seemed to belong. His gaze flitted from person to person, from noble to royal blooded, to every commoner, merchant, and sailor of Athenia that had gathered to watch the procession pass them by. To give their final goodbyes to a beloved King and welcome a new Queen.
His gaze landed on Queen Persephone and he gave the slightest nod of encouragement. Whether she saw it or not didn't really matter. It was his duty to show support and while, deep down, he truly didn't like the fact that he had had to side with her cause in the Senate nor that she was now Queen ahead of so many who would have been more deserving, Keikelius had needed to play the field. He had needed to appear a strong ally. A man who would simply shrug off his own son in favor of supporting the opposite cause.
But his words to Elias had been true. His intentions had been clear. Elias had been tasked with fixing his mess. With fixing his treachery and misguided actions. However he did it, it didn't matter to Keikelius. He trusted that Elias would make good on Keikelius' own order. The memory of the pain inflicted, the physical blow, would likely be enough on its own. Guilt still gnawed at him for what he had done. Striking his own son in his complete and utter rage at their situation. At what felt like a betrayal of his trust in his own child and his ability to lead the family.
Settling his arms at his sides, he hardly acknowleged most of the other senators that passed him in the procession. His gaze remained cast toward the late king, implying that he was focused and had no intention of either socializing or doing anything other than his own grieving. A single glance toward his wife was the only break from his calm mask, his gaze locked momentarily to the tiara on her head.
Of course Circenia would have taken her own brother's funeral to make such a statement.
Keikelius had to tear his gaze away before the corners of his lips turned up in silent amusement and pride at the audacity of his bold, virbant Lady Stravos.
Keikelius hadn't been the least bit surprised that the King had passed. Not after the man had clearly been so sickly as of late. It had been a wonder that the man had even been able to attend the Senate meeting weeks prior. The same Senate meeting that had changed the entire fate of the Stravos family with a single blow. But Keikelius had done his duty as Master of Trade. He had said his piece despite the embarrassment that his son had laid on his shoulders. On his house.
The man had let his wife have her petulant tantrum about her brother's death, only trying to give comfort once or twice before leaving her to do her... own type of grieving. Keikelius prepared in complete silence, bathing and dressing in one of his finest chitons. The only ones fit for mourning, for a funeral. He had lost a brother in law, after all, and while they hadn't ever really been close, Keikelius was going to show the utmost respect to the late King.
It was simply his duty as both family and Master of Trade. Nobility or royalty had nothing to do with it in that moment.
Keikelius had decidedly not walked in the procession, simply guiding his daughter to stand at the sidelines where, currently, they seemed to belong. His gaze flitted from person to person, from noble to royal blooded, to every commoner, merchant, and sailor of Athenia that had gathered to watch the procession pass them by. To give their final goodbyes to a beloved King and welcome a new Queen.
His gaze landed on Queen Persephone and he gave the slightest nod of encouragement. Whether she saw it or not didn't really matter. It was his duty to show support and while, deep down, he truly didn't like the fact that he had had to side with her cause in the Senate nor that she was now Queen ahead of so many who would have been more deserving, Keikelius had needed to play the field. He had needed to appear a strong ally. A man who would simply shrug off his own son in favor of supporting the opposite cause.
But his words to Elias had been true. His intentions had been clear. Elias had been tasked with fixing his mess. With fixing his treachery and misguided actions. However he did it, it didn't matter to Keikelius. He trusted that Elias would make good on Keikelius' own order. The memory of the pain inflicted, the physical blow, would likely be enough on its own. Guilt still gnawed at him for what he had done. Striking his own son in his complete and utter rage at their situation. At what felt like a betrayal of his trust in his own child and his ability to lead the family.
Settling his arms at his sides, he hardly acknowleged most of the other senators that passed him in the procession. His gaze remained cast toward the late king, implying that he was focused and had no intention of either socializing or doing anything other than his own grieving. A single glance toward his wife was the only break from his calm mask, his gaze locked momentarily to the tiara on her head.
Of course Circenia would have taken her own brother's funeral to make such a statement.
Keikelius had to tear his gaze away before the corners of his lips turned up in silent amusement and pride at the audacity of his bold, virbant Lady Stravos.
It was not often that Zephyrus got a lazy day start. Usually, it would start early if the troupe had a performance to ready for. But what made today even better, was where he woke up for it. If he rarely got a lazy start to the day, it was an even rarer occasion for him to have the chance to wake up lazily curled against his lover's side, enjoying the warmth from the producer's body under the sheets they shared. Basilides was too often away for work, jobs that Zephyrus hated and disliked to its core, but had to accept because it was his lover's job.
So he would savor what he could get.
The lithe boy had woken up like a cat, stretching and yawning until they had both finally gotten out of bed. By the time, the sun had rose high before they slipped out of the small house and headed to the markets to procure sustenance for the day. Picking his favored flatbread and figs, his black pants and tunic had to be dusted when crumbs of the flatbread he ate fell. Throughout their traversing the market (where Zephyrus further purchased a flask of warm goat's milk), he would occasionally stuff a mouthful of food into in between Basilides's lips as they walked.
Yet to a certain extent, the acrobat couldn't help but raise his brows at the oddly sombre mood around the town. With a lot less vendors then usual, eventually Zephyrus's steps slowed to a stop, and he turned a perplexed look at Basilides. "What do you think is going on? Every-" His question had been meant for his lover, but before he could even finish, the wiry-haired boy was interupted when a fisherman who had caught his words replied.
"The King is dead. Most have went to pay their respects and watch the royal procession."
His brows shot up, surprise suffusing him. Zephyrus had no great interest in a dead King of Athenia - it did not affect him at all, and the life and death of the ruling party in the kingdom did little to his life. But he was a curious child.
So before his lover could protest, with figs in one hand and a flatbread tucked in between his fingers, Zeph had grabbed Bas's wrists and started jogging towards the sounds of carriages, horse hooves and the low sound of a trumpet. Following the mournful sounds till they arrived at the entrance of the temple of Athena, there, Zephyrus could do little but hang back as the view of nobles and royals alike began filing into the temple. Just a few feet away from the entrance, was where the two stood, just behind a large tree. Zeph's eyes were bright and curious as he stood watching, his mouth chewing on the fig he had brought. He had caught the sight of another male dressed in black, standing just with the rest of the commonfolk at the gates of the temple, not yet entering, but just close enough to watch the proceedings. Flicking his gaze to his lover's, the younger acrobat swallowed his mouthful before asking, "Do you think it'll be anything interesting, Bas?"
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
It was not often that Zephyrus got a lazy day start. Usually, it would start early if the troupe had a performance to ready for. But what made today even better, was where he woke up for it. If he rarely got a lazy start to the day, it was an even rarer occasion for him to have the chance to wake up lazily curled against his lover's side, enjoying the warmth from the producer's body under the sheets they shared. Basilides was too often away for work, jobs that Zephyrus hated and disliked to its core, but had to accept because it was his lover's job.
So he would savor what he could get.
The lithe boy had woken up like a cat, stretching and yawning until they had both finally gotten out of bed. By the time, the sun had rose high before they slipped out of the small house and headed to the markets to procure sustenance for the day. Picking his favored flatbread and figs, his black pants and tunic had to be dusted when crumbs of the flatbread he ate fell. Throughout their traversing the market (where Zephyrus further purchased a flask of warm goat's milk), he would occasionally stuff a mouthful of food into in between Basilides's lips as they walked.
Yet to a certain extent, the acrobat couldn't help but raise his brows at the oddly sombre mood around the town. With a lot less vendors then usual, eventually Zephyrus's steps slowed to a stop, and he turned a perplexed look at Basilides. "What do you think is going on? Every-" His question had been meant for his lover, but before he could even finish, the wiry-haired boy was interupted when a fisherman who had caught his words replied.
"The King is dead. Most have went to pay their respects and watch the royal procession."
His brows shot up, surprise suffusing him. Zephyrus had no great interest in a dead King of Athenia - it did not affect him at all, and the life and death of the ruling party in the kingdom did little to his life. But he was a curious child.
So before his lover could protest, with figs in one hand and a flatbread tucked in between his fingers, Zeph had grabbed Bas's wrists and started jogging towards the sounds of carriages, horse hooves and the low sound of a trumpet. Following the mournful sounds till they arrived at the entrance of the temple of Athena, there, Zephyrus could do little but hang back as the view of nobles and royals alike began filing into the temple. Just a few feet away from the entrance, was where the two stood, just behind a large tree. Zeph's eyes were bright and curious as he stood watching, his mouth chewing on the fig he had brought. He had caught the sight of another male dressed in black, standing just with the rest of the commonfolk at the gates of the temple, not yet entering, but just close enough to watch the proceedings. Flicking his gaze to his lover's, the younger acrobat swallowed his mouthful before asking, "Do you think it'll be anything interesting, Bas?"
It was not often that Zephyrus got a lazy day start. Usually, it would start early if the troupe had a performance to ready for. But what made today even better, was where he woke up for it. If he rarely got a lazy start to the day, it was an even rarer occasion for him to have the chance to wake up lazily curled against his lover's side, enjoying the warmth from the producer's body under the sheets they shared. Basilides was too often away for work, jobs that Zephyrus hated and disliked to its core, but had to accept because it was his lover's job.
So he would savor what he could get.
The lithe boy had woken up like a cat, stretching and yawning until they had both finally gotten out of bed. By the time, the sun had rose high before they slipped out of the small house and headed to the markets to procure sustenance for the day. Picking his favored flatbread and figs, his black pants and tunic had to be dusted when crumbs of the flatbread he ate fell. Throughout their traversing the market (where Zephyrus further purchased a flask of warm goat's milk), he would occasionally stuff a mouthful of food into in between Basilides's lips as they walked.
Yet to a certain extent, the acrobat couldn't help but raise his brows at the oddly sombre mood around the town. With a lot less vendors then usual, eventually Zephyrus's steps slowed to a stop, and he turned a perplexed look at Basilides. "What do you think is going on? Every-" His question had been meant for his lover, but before he could even finish, the wiry-haired boy was interupted when a fisherman who had caught his words replied.
"The King is dead. Most have went to pay their respects and watch the royal procession."
His brows shot up, surprise suffusing him. Zephyrus had no great interest in a dead King of Athenia - it did not affect him at all, and the life and death of the ruling party in the kingdom did little to his life. But he was a curious child.
So before his lover could protest, with figs in one hand and a flatbread tucked in between his fingers, Zeph had grabbed Bas's wrists and started jogging towards the sounds of carriages, horse hooves and the low sound of a trumpet. Following the mournful sounds till they arrived at the entrance of the temple of Athena, there, Zephyrus could do little but hang back as the view of nobles and royals alike began filing into the temple. Just a few feet away from the entrance, was where the two stood, just behind a large tree. Zeph's eyes were bright and curious as he stood watching, his mouth chewing on the fig he had brought. He had caught the sight of another male dressed in black, standing just with the rest of the commonfolk at the gates of the temple, not yet entering, but just close enough to watch the proceedings. Flicking his gaze to his lover's, the younger acrobat swallowed his mouthful before asking, "Do you think it'll be anything interesting, Bas?"
Everything he could have said or done seemed useless. It would have passed over her and through her as if he didn't exist, which was how it seemed Persephone needed to behave today. He'd dressed himself in black like the rest with a stag head pin of Dimitrou affixed to his shoulder to mark his station and house. There was no need for him to outdo anyone or make a statement, he was here to be her support even when she didn't realize it and to mourn a good man and a good king. Minas had been kind to him in the time he'd been at the Xanthos court, even though his illness had been rather clearly progressing the older man had made his expectations for the younger clear. And Iason of Dimitrou was not a man to go back on his word.
Following the princesses out to the courtyard, his horse had already been prepared to ride beside the carriage which would carry the princess and queen when he heard Persephone call for her horse and a small smile spread over his lips. She was asserting herself as the monarch even in this state, and would lead the procession with her usual regal stance no doubt, and he felt a swell of pride in his chest for the woman he was to shortly call his wife. With the death of the king their marriage would proceed quickly, though it did mean the ship he had ordered to be ready to sail to Taengea in the morning would go unused.
After receiving the letter regarding the injury of his father, he had asked her blessing to return home and see the older man and as long as all was well, to return with his family for their wedding. Just a brief trip that he had been planning to embark on with the coming dawn until news of the king's death arrived. As anxious as he was to go home and see that Gavriil was healing well, to bring his sisters for his nuptials, the passing of her father was something he couldn't abandon her for anything. It was just the beginning of the support of the queen he would need to show as the years went by.
When he looked up from his mount Persephone had vanished and he frowned in concern, stepping away from the horse to see if he could spot her anywhere else before a subtle shake of the head from one of the guards held him in place. She emerged eventually and though she had set herself to rights he could see the sheen on her forehead that reminded him of her panic in the gardens. He had to believe she would be able to do this, and that she would call for him if she needed him. Returning to his bay stallion, Iason mounted and waited for the procession to begin, taking up his place beside the carriage on the side that Princess Emilia sat. She was just the age of his youngest sister and he'd felt protective of the girl from the beginning. He offered her a slight smile and nod of reassurance as they set off and he was once again swept up in the chaos that was royal life.
For those who gathered to watch, it would be the second time the public had seen him and it made Iason self-conscious of the expression and way he held himself. He would be their king, and as a foreigner in their land it was imperative he made a good impression. Staying close by the side of the carriage that words between himself and Emilia would be audible, he kept his gaze forward on the back of the woman who would be his wife and queen in a short time until they reached the place of the king's bier.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
Everything he could have said or done seemed useless. It would have passed over her and through her as if he didn't exist, which was how it seemed Persephone needed to behave today. He'd dressed himself in black like the rest with a stag head pin of Dimitrou affixed to his shoulder to mark his station and house. There was no need for him to outdo anyone or make a statement, he was here to be her support even when she didn't realize it and to mourn a good man and a good king. Minas had been kind to him in the time he'd been at the Xanthos court, even though his illness had been rather clearly progressing the older man had made his expectations for the younger clear. And Iason of Dimitrou was not a man to go back on his word.
Following the princesses out to the courtyard, his horse had already been prepared to ride beside the carriage which would carry the princess and queen when he heard Persephone call for her horse and a small smile spread over his lips. She was asserting herself as the monarch even in this state, and would lead the procession with her usual regal stance no doubt, and he felt a swell of pride in his chest for the woman he was to shortly call his wife. With the death of the king their marriage would proceed quickly, though it did mean the ship he had ordered to be ready to sail to Taengea in the morning would go unused.
After receiving the letter regarding the injury of his father, he had asked her blessing to return home and see the older man and as long as all was well, to return with his family for their wedding. Just a brief trip that he had been planning to embark on with the coming dawn until news of the king's death arrived. As anxious as he was to go home and see that Gavriil was healing well, to bring his sisters for his nuptials, the passing of her father was something he couldn't abandon her for anything. It was just the beginning of the support of the queen he would need to show as the years went by.
When he looked up from his mount Persephone had vanished and he frowned in concern, stepping away from the horse to see if he could spot her anywhere else before a subtle shake of the head from one of the guards held him in place. She emerged eventually and though she had set herself to rights he could see the sheen on her forehead that reminded him of her panic in the gardens. He had to believe she would be able to do this, and that she would call for him if she needed him. Returning to his bay stallion, Iason mounted and waited for the procession to begin, taking up his place beside the carriage on the side that Princess Emilia sat. She was just the age of his youngest sister and he'd felt protective of the girl from the beginning. He offered her a slight smile and nod of reassurance as they set off and he was once again swept up in the chaos that was royal life.
For those who gathered to watch, it would be the second time the public had seen him and it made Iason self-conscious of the expression and way he held himself. He would be their king, and as a foreigner in their land it was imperative he made a good impression. Staying close by the side of the carriage that words between himself and Emilia would be audible, he kept his gaze forward on the back of the woman who would be his wife and queen in a short time until they reached the place of the king's bier.
Everything he could have said or done seemed useless. It would have passed over her and through her as if he didn't exist, which was how it seemed Persephone needed to behave today. He'd dressed himself in black like the rest with a stag head pin of Dimitrou affixed to his shoulder to mark his station and house. There was no need for him to outdo anyone or make a statement, he was here to be her support even when she didn't realize it and to mourn a good man and a good king. Minas had been kind to him in the time he'd been at the Xanthos court, even though his illness had been rather clearly progressing the older man had made his expectations for the younger clear. And Iason of Dimitrou was not a man to go back on his word.
Following the princesses out to the courtyard, his horse had already been prepared to ride beside the carriage which would carry the princess and queen when he heard Persephone call for her horse and a small smile spread over his lips. She was asserting herself as the monarch even in this state, and would lead the procession with her usual regal stance no doubt, and he felt a swell of pride in his chest for the woman he was to shortly call his wife. With the death of the king their marriage would proceed quickly, though it did mean the ship he had ordered to be ready to sail to Taengea in the morning would go unused.
After receiving the letter regarding the injury of his father, he had asked her blessing to return home and see the older man and as long as all was well, to return with his family for their wedding. Just a brief trip that he had been planning to embark on with the coming dawn until news of the king's death arrived. As anxious as he was to go home and see that Gavriil was healing well, to bring his sisters for his nuptials, the passing of her father was something he couldn't abandon her for anything. It was just the beginning of the support of the queen he would need to show as the years went by.
When he looked up from his mount Persephone had vanished and he frowned in concern, stepping away from the horse to see if he could spot her anywhere else before a subtle shake of the head from one of the guards held him in place. She emerged eventually and though she had set herself to rights he could see the sheen on her forehead that reminded him of her panic in the gardens. He had to believe she would be able to do this, and that she would call for him if she needed him. Returning to his bay stallion, Iason mounted and waited for the procession to begin, taking up his place beside the carriage on the side that Princess Emilia sat. She was just the age of his youngest sister and he'd felt protective of the girl from the beginning. He offered her a slight smile and nod of reassurance as they set off and he was once again swept up in the chaos that was royal life.
For those who gathered to watch, it would be the second time the public had seen him and it made Iason self-conscious of the expression and way he held himself. He would be their king, and as a foreigner in their land it was imperative he made a good impression. Staying close by the side of the carriage that words between himself and Emilia would be audible, he kept his gaze forward on the back of the woman who would be his wife and queen in a short time until they reached the place of the king's bier.
For Nic the day of the king’s funeral began pretty much like every other. He awoke early, Dawn snuggled up against his side, his arm holding her close. Kissing her shoulder, Nic eased away, slipping from the bed, drawing the covers up around her slender frame. He washed and dressed quickly, unaware of the heartbreaking news that was to come. When it did, he’d reacted with shock and dismay, shaking his head as if that’d somehow changed the news, taking a step back from the bearer of the news, his first thought for the younger princess. Poor Emilia. She’ll be crushed.
In the days since the king’s passing and the royal funeral, Nic had been at Emilia’s side, practically day and night, doing what he could to support her. He’d heard her weep at night, but he never say a word.
As was his custom, Nic stood at the head of his men, his face unusually somber as he waited, ignoring the sweat that ran down his spine. The day was warm, but it was his black garb that was behind the sweat.
Nic had been offered a place in the king’s final honor guard, but he’s finally turned it down, deciding that he’d rather be by the princess Emilia’s side. Since he could still do for her what he could not do for King Minas anymore. A fact that haunted him, since his duty for so many years had been to serve and protect the royal family there would always be a part of him that felt he’d failed.
JD
Staff Team
JD
Staff Team
This post was created by our staff team.
Please contact us with your queries and questions.
For Nic the day of the king’s funeral began pretty much like every other. He awoke early, Dawn snuggled up against his side, his arm holding her close. Kissing her shoulder, Nic eased away, slipping from the bed, drawing the covers up around her slender frame. He washed and dressed quickly, unaware of the heartbreaking news that was to come. When it did, he’d reacted with shock and dismay, shaking his head as if that’d somehow changed the news, taking a step back from the bearer of the news, his first thought for the younger princess. Poor Emilia. She’ll be crushed.
In the days since the king’s passing and the royal funeral, Nic had been at Emilia’s side, practically day and night, doing what he could to support her. He’d heard her weep at night, but he never say a word.
As was his custom, Nic stood at the head of his men, his face unusually somber as he waited, ignoring the sweat that ran down his spine. The day was warm, but it was his black garb that was behind the sweat.
Nic had been offered a place in the king’s final honor guard, but he’s finally turned it down, deciding that he’d rather be by the princess Emilia’s side. Since he could still do for her what he could not do for King Minas anymore. A fact that haunted him, since his duty for so many years had been to serve and protect the royal family there would always be a part of him that felt he’d failed.
For Nic the day of the king’s funeral began pretty much like every other. He awoke early, Dawn snuggled up against his side, his arm holding her close. Kissing her shoulder, Nic eased away, slipping from the bed, drawing the covers up around her slender frame. He washed and dressed quickly, unaware of the heartbreaking news that was to come. When it did, he’d reacted with shock and dismay, shaking his head as if that’d somehow changed the news, taking a step back from the bearer of the news, his first thought for the younger princess. Poor Emilia. She’ll be crushed.
In the days since the king’s passing and the royal funeral, Nic had been at Emilia’s side, practically day and night, doing what he could to support her. He’d heard her weep at night, but he never say a word.
As was his custom, Nic stood at the head of his men, his face unusually somber as he waited, ignoring the sweat that ran down his spine. The day was warm, but it was his black garb that was behind the sweat.
Nic had been offered a place in the king’s final honor guard, but he’s finally turned it down, deciding that he’d rather be by the princess Emilia’s side. Since he could still do for her what he could not do for King Minas anymore. A fact that haunted him, since his duty for so many years had been to serve and protect the royal family there would always be a part of him that felt he’d failed.
News of the king’s death travelled fast through the land of Athenia. Nikasios didn’t know the old man, but he was certain they would have harbored a bitter hatred toward one another with his background as a pirate. Pirates were infamously known for overthrowing the law and taking what they wanted. There was some truth to that, but those that had honor on the seas knew and respected the Code, something Nikasios had studied and taken to heart while he sailed aboard the Cruel Guardian. However uninterested he was, he still respected his elders, whether they were royalty or not. When some gladiators left to pay their respects, he decided to go with them. He was curious too, and it gave him an opportunity to get out and explore.
There was quite a crowd gathering, and several boys running around among the commotion reminded him of his young friend Tobias. He hadn’t seen the boy out on the streets for some time now. He muttered something under his breath, expressing some concern at his deep thoughtfulness. Lost in his mind as he observed the scene, he was too distracted that he didn’t notice when he bumped into Zephyrus. Another man caught his attention and the stranger’s demeanor confused him for a moment as he nodded in greeting to who he thought was a fellow gladiator, only to see that Kreios was someone else he knew nothing about. Well, that was awkward. He needed to get back to the world, and not worry too much about that boy right now. He cleared his throat, though he couldn’t help but keep an eye out for the thief. He truly hoped that the scolding he gave that boy would have been enough. But boys would be boys.
JD
Staff Team
JD
Staff Team
This post was created by our staff team.
Please contact us with your queries and questions.
News of the king’s death travelled fast through the land of Athenia. Nikasios didn’t know the old man, but he was certain they would have harbored a bitter hatred toward one another with his background as a pirate. Pirates were infamously known for overthrowing the law and taking what they wanted. There was some truth to that, but those that had honor on the seas knew and respected the Code, something Nikasios had studied and taken to heart while he sailed aboard the Cruel Guardian. However uninterested he was, he still respected his elders, whether they were royalty or not. When some gladiators left to pay their respects, he decided to go with them. He was curious too, and it gave him an opportunity to get out and explore.
There was quite a crowd gathering, and several boys running around among the commotion reminded him of his young friend Tobias. He hadn’t seen the boy out on the streets for some time now. He muttered something under his breath, expressing some concern at his deep thoughtfulness. Lost in his mind as he observed the scene, he was too distracted that he didn’t notice when he bumped into Zephyrus. Another man caught his attention and the stranger’s demeanor confused him for a moment as he nodded in greeting to who he thought was a fellow gladiator, only to see that Kreios was someone else he knew nothing about. Well, that was awkward. He needed to get back to the world, and not worry too much about that boy right now. He cleared his throat, though he couldn’t help but keep an eye out for the thief. He truly hoped that the scolding he gave that boy would have been enough. But boys would be boys.
News of the king’s death travelled fast through the land of Athenia. Nikasios didn’t know the old man, but he was certain they would have harbored a bitter hatred toward one another with his background as a pirate. Pirates were infamously known for overthrowing the law and taking what they wanted. There was some truth to that, but those that had honor on the seas knew and respected the Code, something Nikasios had studied and taken to heart while he sailed aboard the Cruel Guardian. However uninterested he was, he still respected his elders, whether they were royalty or not. When some gladiators left to pay their respects, he decided to go with them. He was curious too, and it gave him an opportunity to get out and explore.
There was quite a crowd gathering, and several boys running around among the commotion reminded him of his young friend Tobias. He hadn’t seen the boy out on the streets for some time now. He muttered something under his breath, expressing some concern at his deep thoughtfulness. Lost in his mind as he observed the scene, he was too distracted that he didn’t notice when he bumped into Zephyrus. Another man caught his attention and the stranger’s demeanor confused him for a moment as he nodded in greeting to who he thought was a fellow gladiator, only to see that Kreios was someone else he knew nothing about. Well, that was awkward. He needed to get back to the world, and not worry too much about that boy right now. He cleared his throat, though he couldn’t help but keep an eye out for the thief. He truly hoped that the scolding he gave that boy would have been enough. But boys would be boys.
Standing by the side, curious eyes observing as the remainder of the nobles and royal families filtered in, it did not take long before more commoners caught by the commotion came up. Kreios himself cringed, as one who did not enjoy being surrounded by people or by crowds, but with it being a public place, it wasn't as if he had a choice.
A fisherman's voice made him turn, as he watched the elder male inform a young, wiry boy on the proceedings. Obviously, they were even more clueless, which was odd. But then again, with the amount of time Kreios spends travelling between the kingdoms, in a way the merchant was quite well versed with the news, and had known for quite some time on the sickness of the King. Occasionally, he would be the supplier of certain herbs, but he knew none of them helped, considering no good news ever came of it. Not that he bothered. It wasn't his job to heal afterall, just to supply.
Watching as the wiry acrobat shifted nearer, it was soon obvious that most of the noble and royal people had filled the courtyard of the Athena temple, surrounding the pyre where the dead King would be given his final respects and prayers. Moved by the crowd, Kreios growled when a shoulder bumped into him, and turned to catch the eye of a muscular, lean looking male. He gave a nod, as if he was supposed to know them, but Kreios in turn frowned - he did not know the bronzed skinned male. He was not a man of many friends.
Turning away as the other obviously noticed his mistake, Kreios scowled again as more shoulders bumped, and the male hissed in annoyance. 'Moving will not get anywhere nearer - none of us are allowed in anyway. Stop being foolish." he growled, as more commoners tried to push their way forward in the thickening crowd to see the proceedings.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
Standing by the side, curious eyes observing as the remainder of the nobles and royal families filtered in, it did not take long before more commoners caught by the commotion came up. Kreios himself cringed, as one who did not enjoy being surrounded by people or by crowds, but with it being a public place, it wasn't as if he had a choice.
A fisherman's voice made him turn, as he watched the elder male inform a young, wiry boy on the proceedings. Obviously, they were even more clueless, which was odd. But then again, with the amount of time Kreios spends travelling between the kingdoms, in a way the merchant was quite well versed with the news, and had known for quite some time on the sickness of the King. Occasionally, he would be the supplier of certain herbs, but he knew none of them helped, considering no good news ever came of it. Not that he bothered. It wasn't his job to heal afterall, just to supply.
Watching as the wiry acrobat shifted nearer, it was soon obvious that most of the noble and royal people had filled the courtyard of the Athena temple, surrounding the pyre where the dead King would be given his final respects and prayers. Moved by the crowd, Kreios growled when a shoulder bumped into him, and turned to catch the eye of a muscular, lean looking male. He gave a nod, as if he was supposed to know them, but Kreios in turn frowned - he did not know the bronzed skinned male. He was not a man of many friends.
Turning away as the other obviously noticed his mistake, Kreios scowled again as more shoulders bumped, and the male hissed in annoyance. 'Moving will not get anywhere nearer - none of us are allowed in anyway. Stop being foolish." he growled, as more commoners tried to push their way forward in the thickening crowd to see the proceedings.
Standing by the side, curious eyes observing as the remainder of the nobles and royal families filtered in, it did not take long before more commoners caught by the commotion came up. Kreios himself cringed, as one who did not enjoy being surrounded by people or by crowds, but with it being a public place, it wasn't as if he had a choice.
A fisherman's voice made him turn, as he watched the elder male inform a young, wiry boy on the proceedings. Obviously, they were even more clueless, which was odd. But then again, with the amount of time Kreios spends travelling between the kingdoms, in a way the merchant was quite well versed with the news, and had known for quite some time on the sickness of the King. Occasionally, he would be the supplier of certain herbs, but he knew none of them helped, considering no good news ever came of it. Not that he bothered. It wasn't his job to heal afterall, just to supply.
Watching as the wiry acrobat shifted nearer, it was soon obvious that most of the noble and royal people had filled the courtyard of the Athena temple, surrounding the pyre where the dead King would be given his final respects and prayers. Moved by the crowd, Kreios growled when a shoulder bumped into him, and turned to catch the eye of a muscular, lean looking male. He gave a nod, as if he was supposed to know them, but Kreios in turn frowned - he did not know the bronzed skinned male. He was not a man of many friends.
Turning away as the other obviously noticed his mistake, Kreios scowled again as more shoulders bumped, and the male hissed in annoyance. 'Moving will not get anywhere nearer - none of us are allowed in anyway. Stop being foolish." he growled, as more commoners tried to push their way forward in the thickening crowd to see the proceedings.
As she finished up her dressing by securing a lightly-worn pair of sandals and draping a black himation over her chiton, Cyrene couldn't help but feel that the dark hue of her attire was fitting for such a solemn day. Of course, she did not very well know the king, but his death was nevertheless a sad day for all of Athenia, and devastating for more than a few, her lady included. Given that there was little time to prepare for the funeral, her main focus that morning lied in making sure that Lady Sera, however distraught over her brother's death, would not look the part. As such, she took painstaking measures to braid her hair to perfection, not daring to make eye contact, for fear that her lady might, when looked in the eye, come apart right in front of her. Although Cyrene was nowhere near close to Lady Sera, she was determined to do right by her as her retainer in whatever capacity she was able to, and this seemed to be it.
It wasn't long after Cyrene and the other girls had finished dressing Sera that it was time to leave for the funeral. After the Marikas brood had mounted their horses, Cyrene took the reins of Lady Sera's horse, leading by foot. It didn't take nearly as long as she'd thought to reach the palace, and then the temple, but perhaps the fog that clouded her mind brought that about. She hadn't been able to get a good view of the new queen or the late King Minos from her spot in the procession, but if she was honest, she didn't really want to. Although King Minas had been ailing for years, Cyrene wouldn't have thought that he would pass so soon after Persephone had been put at the front of the line of succession. But, alas, the king was dead, and Cyrene found herself among the vast number of his mourning party. She could feel the all-too-familiar tightening in her throat, but she was certain it wasn't from all of the eyes on her. This was a different feeling, a feeling that she was in the wrong.
It wasn't until the procession reached the temple that Cyrene had caught a glimpse of her relatives, Dysmas' height making him almost too easy to spot. After the funeral party reached the courtyard, Cyrene stepped out of the way for Lord Alehandros to help his mother dismount. Her eyes flitted back to her family, and she was able to quickly spot Thalia and Linos, both standing with Dysmas and the rest of the family. When Cyrene turned her attention back to Lady Sera, she found that she had already dismounted, and seemed to notice her wandering eyes. Sera looked in the direction of the Nikolaos family before nodding at her, giving her permission to join her family for the remainder of the funeral. She quietly thanked her before handing Lady Sera's horse off to another of her retainers and quickly joining her family. After weaving through the mass of mourners, Cyrene quickly found her place at Dysmas' side, reaching to squeeze his hand to alert him of her presence. She couldn't quite bring herself to say anything, so instead, gave him a small, pained smile before finally getting a good look at Persephone.
With that huge crown on her head, it was a wonder Cyrene hadn't spotted her sooner. That tight feeling in her throat quickly came back to her as she gazed upon her new queen, and both of her hands came down to finger at her himation. King Minas had barely passed, yet her blank gaze made it seem as if she didn't care in the least. How, she wondered, could she manage it? Cyrene didn't want to imagine herself in Persephone's shoes, and yet, even when she did, she feared she would not know that same feeling. She had never been especially close to either of her parents, yet now as she stood in their midst, she couldn't help but wonder how much longer she would have them. She and Persephone were the same age, after all. Cyrene's gaze shifted to Emilia as she decided she would think on her parents no more, yet it proved only to undo her.
As her eyes trailed the princess, she couldn't help but notice how empty she seemed, as if the Emilia she knew had gone and left a husk behind. Seeing the princess, who so often seemed to be felicity incarnate, in this state was enough to make Cyrene's eyes start to water. As far as it went, it seemed that the only person the Xanthos girls had was each other. Sure, there were numerous aunts and uncles and cousins in attendance and many more across the seas, but aunts and uncles could never fill the emptiness a parental loss leaves, even Cyrene knew that. Her eyes moved to the cart where King Minas laid, and she prayed that his journey to the Elysian Fields would be a pleasant one. The gods knew that was all that one could hope for.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
As she finished up her dressing by securing a lightly-worn pair of sandals and draping a black himation over her chiton, Cyrene couldn't help but feel that the dark hue of her attire was fitting for such a solemn day. Of course, she did not very well know the king, but his death was nevertheless a sad day for all of Athenia, and devastating for more than a few, her lady included. Given that there was little time to prepare for the funeral, her main focus that morning lied in making sure that Lady Sera, however distraught over her brother's death, would not look the part. As such, she took painstaking measures to braid her hair to perfection, not daring to make eye contact, for fear that her lady might, when looked in the eye, come apart right in front of her. Although Cyrene was nowhere near close to Lady Sera, she was determined to do right by her as her retainer in whatever capacity she was able to, and this seemed to be it.
It wasn't long after Cyrene and the other girls had finished dressing Sera that it was time to leave for the funeral. After the Marikas brood had mounted their horses, Cyrene took the reins of Lady Sera's horse, leading by foot. It didn't take nearly as long as she'd thought to reach the palace, and then the temple, but perhaps the fog that clouded her mind brought that about. She hadn't been able to get a good view of the new queen or the late King Minos from her spot in the procession, but if she was honest, she didn't really want to. Although King Minas had been ailing for years, Cyrene wouldn't have thought that he would pass so soon after Persephone had been put at the front of the line of succession. But, alas, the king was dead, and Cyrene found herself among the vast number of his mourning party. She could feel the all-too-familiar tightening in her throat, but she was certain it wasn't from all of the eyes on her. This was a different feeling, a feeling that she was in the wrong.
It wasn't until the procession reached the temple that Cyrene had caught a glimpse of her relatives, Dysmas' height making him almost too easy to spot. After the funeral party reached the courtyard, Cyrene stepped out of the way for Lord Alehandros to help his mother dismount. Her eyes flitted back to her family, and she was able to quickly spot Thalia and Linos, both standing with Dysmas and the rest of the family. When Cyrene turned her attention back to Lady Sera, she found that she had already dismounted, and seemed to notice her wandering eyes. Sera looked in the direction of the Nikolaos family before nodding at her, giving her permission to join her family for the remainder of the funeral. She quietly thanked her before handing Lady Sera's horse off to another of her retainers and quickly joining her family. After weaving through the mass of mourners, Cyrene quickly found her place at Dysmas' side, reaching to squeeze his hand to alert him of her presence. She couldn't quite bring herself to say anything, so instead, gave him a small, pained smile before finally getting a good look at Persephone.
With that huge crown on her head, it was a wonder Cyrene hadn't spotted her sooner. That tight feeling in her throat quickly came back to her as she gazed upon her new queen, and both of her hands came down to finger at her himation. King Minas had barely passed, yet her blank gaze made it seem as if she didn't care in the least. How, she wondered, could she manage it? Cyrene didn't want to imagine herself in Persephone's shoes, and yet, even when she did, she feared she would not know that same feeling. She had never been especially close to either of her parents, yet now as she stood in their midst, she couldn't help but wonder how much longer she would have them. She and Persephone were the same age, after all. Cyrene's gaze shifted to Emilia as she decided she would think on her parents no more, yet it proved only to undo her.
As her eyes trailed the princess, she couldn't help but notice how empty she seemed, as if the Emilia she knew had gone and left a husk behind. Seeing the princess, who so often seemed to be felicity incarnate, in this state was enough to make Cyrene's eyes start to water. As far as it went, it seemed that the only person the Xanthos girls had was each other. Sure, there were numerous aunts and uncles and cousins in attendance and many more across the seas, but aunts and uncles could never fill the emptiness a parental loss leaves, even Cyrene knew that. Her eyes moved to the cart where King Minas laid, and she prayed that his journey to the Elysian Fields would be a pleasant one. The gods knew that was all that one could hope for.
As she finished up her dressing by securing a lightly-worn pair of sandals and draping a black himation over her chiton, Cyrene couldn't help but feel that the dark hue of her attire was fitting for such a solemn day. Of course, she did not very well know the king, but his death was nevertheless a sad day for all of Athenia, and devastating for more than a few, her lady included. Given that there was little time to prepare for the funeral, her main focus that morning lied in making sure that Lady Sera, however distraught over her brother's death, would not look the part. As such, she took painstaking measures to braid her hair to perfection, not daring to make eye contact, for fear that her lady might, when looked in the eye, come apart right in front of her. Although Cyrene was nowhere near close to Lady Sera, she was determined to do right by her as her retainer in whatever capacity she was able to, and this seemed to be it.
It wasn't long after Cyrene and the other girls had finished dressing Sera that it was time to leave for the funeral. After the Marikas brood had mounted their horses, Cyrene took the reins of Lady Sera's horse, leading by foot. It didn't take nearly as long as she'd thought to reach the palace, and then the temple, but perhaps the fog that clouded her mind brought that about. She hadn't been able to get a good view of the new queen or the late King Minos from her spot in the procession, but if she was honest, she didn't really want to. Although King Minas had been ailing for years, Cyrene wouldn't have thought that he would pass so soon after Persephone had been put at the front of the line of succession. But, alas, the king was dead, and Cyrene found herself among the vast number of his mourning party. She could feel the all-too-familiar tightening in her throat, but she was certain it wasn't from all of the eyes on her. This was a different feeling, a feeling that she was in the wrong.
It wasn't until the procession reached the temple that Cyrene had caught a glimpse of her relatives, Dysmas' height making him almost too easy to spot. After the funeral party reached the courtyard, Cyrene stepped out of the way for Lord Alehandros to help his mother dismount. Her eyes flitted back to her family, and she was able to quickly spot Thalia and Linos, both standing with Dysmas and the rest of the family. When Cyrene turned her attention back to Lady Sera, she found that she had already dismounted, and seemed to notice her wandering eyes. Sera looked in the direction of the Nikolaos family before nodding at her, giving her permission to join her family for the remainder of the funeral. She quietly thanked her before handing Lady Sera's horse off to another of her retainers and quickly joining her family. After weaving through the mass of mourners, Cyrene quickly found her place at Dysmas' side, reaching to squeeze his hand to alert him of her presence. She couldn't quite bring herself to say anything, so instead, gave him a small, pained smile before finally getting a good look at Persephone.
With that huge crown on her head, it was a wonder Cyrene hadn't spotted her sooner. That tight feeling in her throat quickly came back to her as she gazed upon her new queen, and both of her hands came down to finger at her himation. King Minas had barely passed, yet her blank gaze made it seem as if she didn't care in the least. How, she wondered, could she manage it? Cyrene didn't want to imagine herself in Persephone's shoes, and yet, even when she did, she feared she would not know that same feeling. She had never been especially close to either of her parents, yet now as she stood in their midst, she couldn't help but wonder how much longer she would have them. She and Persephone were the same age, after all. Cyrene's gaze shifted to Emilia as she decided she would think on her parents no more, yet it proved only to undo her.
As her eyes trailed the princess, she couldn't help but notice how empty she seemed, as if the Emilia she knew had gone and left a husk behind. Seeing the princess, who so often seemed to be felicity incarnate, in this state was enough to make Cyrene's eyes start to water. As far as it went, it seemed that the only person the Xanthos girls had was each other. Sure, there were numerous aunts and uncles and cousins in attendance and many more across the seas, but aunts and uncles could never fill the emptiness a parental loss leaves, even Cyrene knew that. Her eyes moved to the cart where King Minas laid, and she prayed that his journey to the Elysian Fields would be a pleasant one. The gods knew that was all that one could hope for.
Military men in service to the the noble houses lined the streets alongside the Athenian guard, presenting arms to honor their fallen king. It was rare that so many noble, especially those in the line’s direct succession were all congregated in one place. It was important for the officers present to be mindful of this and make safety of Athenia’s leadership paramount.
Rodas rode on horseback behind the procession as one of the soldiers ensuring King Minas’s family made it into the temple without interruption or threat.
A solemnity had seemed to befall the citizens that lines the streets, but with it awe and curiosity as well. They had lost their ruler, yes, but this was a rare chance for many to bask in the presence of other figures within the kingdom, some more well-known or appreciated than others.
The guardsmen were trying to keep the onlookers from getting too close, but clearly some were pushing the boundaries more than others. Rodas clicked to his horse and rode along the edge of the streets that needed to remain clear for when the ceremonies were completed within the temple.
He steered the horse as close to the crowd as he possibly could, his ears catching a voice growling of foolishness in no one being permitted nearer. Rodas’s eyes passed a glance over the gruff commoner with indifference, before darkly settling on the strapping young man at his side.
The Captain's only command would be for the pair and all those around them to, “Clear the way. Back up!”
They would move or else his warhorse would trample those who didn’t remove themselves from his path immediately. His order had been quite simple. Rodas had no sympathy for any disobedience, his own orders were quite clear to make sure everything went smoothly.
“Let them no closer than this point,” Rodas instructed to the guards and soldiers nearby, his Antonis Blues glinting in the sunlight as he gave one last glance of warning to the faces in the crowd.
He signaled his horse forward again, continuing up the road to do the same in another crowded spot.
JD
Staff Team
JD
Staff Team
This post was created by our staff team.
Please contact us with your queries and questions.
Military men in service to the the noble houses lined the streets alongside the Athenian guard, presenting arms to honor their fallen king. It was rare that so many noble, especially those in the line’s direct succession were all congregated in one place. It was important for the officers present to be mindful of this and make safety of Athenia’s leadership paramount.
Rodas rode on horseback behind the procession as one of the soldiers ensuring King Minas’s family made it into the temple without interruption or threat.
A solemnity had seemed to befall the citizens that lines the streets, but with it awe and curiosity as well. They had lost their ruler, yes, but this was a rare chance for many to bask in the presence of other figures within the kingdom, some more well-known or appreciated than others.
The guardsmen were trying to keep the onlookers from getting too close, but clearly some were pushing the boundaries more than others. Rodas clicked to his horse and rode along the edge of the streets that needed to remain clear for when the ceremonies were completed within the temple.
He steered the horse as close to the crowd as he possibly could, his ears catching a voice growling of foolishness in no one being permitted nearer. Rodas’s eyes passed a glance over the gruff commoner with indifference, before darkly settling on the strapping young man at his side.
The Captain's only command would be for the pair and all those around them to, “Clear the way. Back up!”
They would move or else his warhorse would trample those who didn’t remove themselves from his path immediately. His order had been quite simple. Rodas had no sympathy for any disobedience, his own orders were quite clear to make sure everything went smoothly.
“Let them no closer than this point,” Rodas instructed to the guards and soldiers nearby, his Antonis Blues glinting in the sunlight as he gave one last glance of warning to the faces in the crowd.
He signaled his horse forward again, continuing up the road to do the same in another crowded spot.
Military men in service to the the noble houses lined the streets alongside the Athenian guard, presenting arms to honor their fallen king. It was rare that so many noble, especially those in the line’s direct succession were all congregated in one place. It was important for the officers present to be mindful of this and make safety of Athenia’s leadership paramount.
Rodas rode on horseback behind the procession as one of the soldiers ensuring King Minas’s family made it into the temple without interruption or threat.
A solemnity had seemed to befall the citizens that lines the streets, but with it awe and curiosity as well. They had lost their ruler, yes, but this was a rare chance for many to bask in the presence of other figures within the kingdom, some more well-known or appreciated than others.
The guardsmen were trying to keep the onlookers from getting too close, but clearly some were pushing the boundaries more than others. Rodas clicked to his horse and rode along the edge of the streets that needed to remain clear for when the ceremonies were completed within the temple.
He steered the horse as close to the crowd as he possibly could, his ears catching a voice growling of foolishness in no one being permitted nearer. Rodas’s eyes passed a glance over the gruff commoner with indifference, before darkly settling on the strapping young man at his side.
The Captain's only command would be for the pair and all those around them to, “Clear the way. Back up!”
They would move or else his warhorse would trample those who didn’t remove themselves from his path immediately. His order had been quite simple. Rodas had no sympathy for any disobedience, his own orders were quite clear to make sure everything went smoothly.
“Let them no closer than this point,” Rodas instructed to the guards and soldiers nearby, his Antonis Blues glinting in the sunlight as he gave one last glance of warning to the faces in the crowd.
He signaled his horse forward again, continuing up the road to do the same in another crowded spot.
Filing in behind her brother and sister, the whole procession passed in an angry blur for Danae. Just like always, she became invisible behind the two of them, even though in other circumstances the headdress her mother had shoved on her head may have caught the attention of a passerby or two. No, instead all people had eyes for was the dead king and her disgraced brother. This was a good thing though, as for once in her life, Danae did not want to have to fight Chara and Elias for the attention she thought she deserved. No, instead she wished she was still at home, hidden away in her room where no one would have to see the shame of her too short hair and too quiet voice, both of which were unintended consequences of the actions the new Queen had set into motion that day at the Senate.
It had been sixteen days since Danae last heard her own voice and even though she was now in public again for the first time; her anger made her wish that it would have been day seventeen or twenty or fifty before she had to deal with the world again. After all, her mother could force her to attend as many events as she liked; a headdress didn’t magically make things better and undo the damage that had been done to her.
In truth, she didn’t care much for the King’s passing. She no longer had the capacity to really care about anything after everything that happened, especially when it came to the Xanthos family. After all, they had ruined her life all in their effort to ensure that their perfect little princess could be Queen. Why should she be bothered that their patriarch had died? It didn’t even matter anymore he was her uncle. As far as Danae was concerned, Persephone’s little stunt in the Senate had severed all familial bonds she held with them. They had stripped her family of their nobility because of the actions of one stupid boy and left her, a bystander in all of this, with nothing. Hades be damned if she ever felt anything, but pure loathing towards anyone who called themselves a Xanthos after what they had done!
She wished that her mother had just let her be this morning. That she hadn’t bothered with pulling her headstrong and furious child out of bed. Then that way she wouldn’t have to hide behind her brother and sister, head down, pretending to be sad like the good little noblewoman she once was. That would have been far easier, especially figuring since she was no actor. That much could be seen by the lack of tears in her eyes for a family she no longer recognized as her kin. Instead, if anyone dared to glance underneath her veil, they would be met with Danae’s steely gaze, betraying her and her family by displaying the wild anger lying behind that no one, not even her own father, could bring her down from.
Well, there’s one thing… Danae silently thought as the crowd shifted, making it clear that it was almost time for the body to be burned. Her eyes glanced up at a nearby swan sigil, fluttering in the wind. As the the acrid smoke filled her nose, she closed her eyes and imagined every copy of that stupid swan burning with their dearly departed king. The image of the Xanthos house crumbling brought a small smile to her face, wisely hidden under the mourner’s veil she wore.
If only it were real, she thought quietly to herself as she turned her attention to the new queen and silently thought of the thousand and one things she could do to bring that image of the burning swan to a reality.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
Filing in behind her brother and sister, the whole procession passed in an angry blur for Danae. Just like always, she became invisible behind the two of them, even though in other circumstances the headdress her mother had shoved on her head may have caught the attention of a passerby or two. No, instead all people had eyes for was the dead king and her disgraced brother. This was a good thing though, as for once in her life, Danae did not want to have to fight Chara and Elias for the attention she thought she deserved. No, instead she wished she was still at home, hidden away in her room where no one would have to see the shame of her too short hair and too quiet voice, both of which were unintended consequences of the actions the new Queen had set into motion that day at the Senate.
It had been sixteen days since Danae last heard her own voice and even though she was now in public again for the first time; her anger made her wish that it would have been day seventeen or twenty or fifty before she had to deal with the world again. After all, her mother could force her to attend as many events as she liked; a headdress didn’t magically make things better and undo the damage that had been done to her.
In truth, she didn’t care much for the King’s passing. She no longer had the capacity to really care about anything after everything that happened, especially when it came to the Xanthos family. After all, they had ruined her life all in their effort to ensure that their perfect little princess could be Queen. Why should she be bothered that their patriarch had died? It didn’t even matter anymore he was her uncle. As far as Danae was concerned, Persephone’s little stunt in the Senate had severed all familial bonds she held with them. They had stripped her family of their nobility because of the actions of one stupid boy and left her, a bystander in all of this, with nothing. Hades be damned if she ever felt anything, but pure loathing towards anyone who called themselves a Xanthos after what they had done!
She wished that her mother had just let her be this morning. That she hadn’t bothered with pulling her headstrong and furious child out of bed. Then that way she wouldn’t have to hide behind her brother and sister, head down, pretending to be sad like the good little noblewoman she once was. That would have been far easier, especially figuring since she was no actor. That much could be seen by the lack of tears in her eyes for a family she no longer recognized as her kin. Instead, if anyone dared to glance underneath her veil, they would be met with Danae’s steely gaze, betraying her and her family by displaying the wild anger lying behind that no one, not even her own father, could bring her down from.
Well, there’s one thing… Danae silently thought as the crowd shifted, making it clear that it was almost time for the body to be burned. Her eyes glanced up at a nearby swan sigil, fluttering in the wind. As the the acrid smoke filled her nose, she closed her eyes and imagined every copy of that stupid swan burning with their dearly departed king. The image of the Xanthos house crumbling brought a small smile to her face, wisely hidden under the mourner’s veil she wore.
If only it were real, she thought quietly to herself as she turned her attention to the new queen and silently thought of the thousand and one things she could do to bring that image of the burning swan to a reality.
Filing in behind her brother and sister, the whole procession passed in an angry blur for Danae. Just like always, she became invisible behind the two of them, even though in other circumstances the headdress her mother had shoved on her head may have caught the attention of a passerby or two. No, instead all people had eyes for was the dead king and her disgraced brother. This was a good thing though, as for once in her life, Danae did not want to have to fight Chara and Elias for the attention she thought she deserved. No, instead she wished she was still at home, hidden away in her room where no one would have to see the shame of her too short hair and too quiet voice, both of which were unintended consequences of the actions the new Queen had set into motion that day at the Senate.
It had been sixteen days since Danae last heard her own voice and even though she was now in public again for the first time; her anger made her wish that it would have been day seventeen or twenty or fifty before she had to deal with the world again. After all, her mother could force her to attend as many events as she liked; a headdress didn’t magically make things better and undo the damage that had been done to her.
In truth, she didn’t care much for the King’s passing. She no longer had the capacity to really care about anything after everything that happened, especially when it came to the Xanthos family. After all, they had ruined her life all in their effort to ensure that their perfect little princess could be Queen. Why should she be bothered that their patriarch had died? It didn’t even matter anymore he was her uncle. As far as Danae was concerned, Persephone’s little stunt in the Senate had severed all familial bonds she held with them. They had stripped her family of their nobility because of the actions of one stupid boy and left her, a bystander in all of this, with nothing. Hades be damned if she ever felt anything, but pure loathing towards anyone who called themselves a Xanthos after what they had done!
She wished that her mother had just let her be this morning. That she hadn’t bothered with pulling her headstrong and furious child out of bed. Then that way she wouldn’t have to hide behind her brother and sister, head down, pretending to be sad like the good little noblewoman she once was. That would have been far easier, especially figuring since she was no actor. That much could be seen by the lack of tears in her eyes for a family she no longer recognized as her kin. Instead, if anyone dared to glance underneath her veil, they would be met with Danae’s steely gaze, betraying her and her family by displaying the wild anger lying behind that no one, not even her own father, could bring her down from.
Well, there’s one thing… Danae silently thought as the crowd shifted, making it clear that it was almost time for the body to be burned. Her eyes glanced up at a nearby swan sigil, fluttering in the wind. As the the acrid smoke filled her nose, she closed her eyes and imagined every copy of that stupid swan burning with their dearly departed king. The image of the Xanthos house crumbling brought a small smile to her face, wisely hidden under the mourner’s veil she wore.
If only it were real, she thought quietly to herself as she turned her attention to the new queen and silently thought of the thousand and one things she could do to bring that image of the burning swan to a reality.
Had Persephone been in her right mind that day, she would have noted the looks that were sent her way. She glances of uncertainty, the hard stares of those who disapproved of her new position by default of her father's death. The sympathetic gazes of those who appreciated the difficulty of her position. The wide-eyed curious spectators. She would have seen them, registered them and dealt with them as her training and upbringing dictated. Instead, she wasn't really aware of what was happening around her. Her frame was not her own to command - simply a skeleton that had locked itself into place at the northern top edge of the temple's courtyard and a face that remained serene with lack of emotion because it was all being kept tightly locked away from her mind. The only expressions she even really registered was that of Elias of Stravos as she had made her way up the main steps of the courtyard edge and had stood there for the remainder of the arrivals.
Once everyone was in place and had paid their dues to the king by their presence before the temple of Athena, Persephone was approached by a priest - a man who's name she knew but whom she could not place right now - and offered a golden rod. Two-foot-long, the gold was a cylindrical case that wrapped around a wooden shaft, several inches of which were exposed at the end. Around this end was wrapped ceremonial fabric that had been blessed and cleaned and then saturated in the divine oils of the lamps in the temple. The smell of the oil was harsh and putrid in Persephone's nose despite being tinted with rose oil and lavender. To those but a few steps away the scent would be soft and pleasant. As close as her own arm length, however, the piece of cloying and pungent.
Persephone's eyes watered a little at the scent and her nose wanted to wrinkle but some part of her told her that a crumpled expression and damp eyes would only encourage the idea that she was weeping. A princess could weep for the loss of her father. A Queen could not. And would not.
Taking hold of the golden sceptre, Persephone held the piece with care, inspecting it carefully and feeling its weight in her hand. She exhaled.
Inhaling again, Persephone turned to assess the view before her...
The open courtyard before the temple was large and square. Along her side of the quadrilateral were the immediate family members of the late king - herself, her sister, and her two aunts, sisters of the passed monarch. Lord Iason stood back from herself a few steps officially immediate family were they already married but not officially King for they were not yet wed. Down the left- and right-hand sides were the royalty, the nobility and the important members of the Senate. The furthest opposing side to Persephone herself were the lower nobility, the servants of the royal palace and Dikastirio. Those of import and significance but not rank. Beyond them, around and outside the gate of the courtyard were the people of the city; some attending to pay tribute to a great king and others simply wishing to press their noses to the iron bars and watch with a morbid sort of curiosity.
In the centre of the courtyard, with several feet of open space on all sides, rested the cart that had carried her father. With the top of the carriage and its black coverings removed, King Minas lay for all to bear witness to, his face covered with a cloth from the nose down and his eyes already closed and supporting two coins upon his lids for Charon. The rest of his was clad and covered in his most regal attire, his shape and frame surrounded by flowers - crocuses and other traditional plants and flora of Athenia - and the feathers of swans and owls.
The cloth over his face made the following steps easier as Persephone descended the four wide stairs to the centre of the courtyard, sceptre in hand and approached one of the two metal dishes that stood like sentry posts on either side of the main steps that led up to the temple entrance. There, she reached out the end of the baton and watched as the fire within the dish licked and attacked the damp bundle of fabric, quickly setting alight the tip.
Persephone left the piece in place possibly longer than she should have, her eyes fixed on the licking flame and the strange shadows it cast, to the burning edges of the material as it cracked and popped.
She swallowed.
Turning from the dish and pulling the instrument free, Persephone stood for a moment with the shaft raised, ignorant of how the tongues of fire were reflected in the dull shine of the crown she now wore.
The cart had been prepared ahead of time. There was no kindling or wicker to be placed beneath the late king, for the cart was constructed with a lower section; an additional level beneath the king's body that was stocked full of dry, flammable wood and oils to speed up the process. The second she placed the flame to the exposed siding before her, the king would be engulfed in flame. No uncomfortable slow burns or the loss of dignity as fire ate away clothing before flesh - just one whoosh of cleansing fire that would immediately obscure views of the burning figure within.
And yet Persephone had still not lowered the torch into place.
She had paused.
With the entirety of the kingdom watching her.
She couldn't do it.
She couldn't burn her father. The only family she had left after her sister, the only parent she had left. Yes, the man was dead. She knew that. Logically, she knew he would never return to her or Emilia now. But to burn him felt... final. It felt like an acceptance. Like she was allowing such an eventuality to occur. And she didn't want to. She didn't want to allow it. Didn't want to show that it was okay. Didn't want to make a spectacle of the fact that he was now dead and she was now ruler.
None of this was what she wanted!
As the panic started to claw its way to the surface again, Persephone thought she might be sick again. Whether it was her self-control or the fact that she had nothing left in her stomach, she wasn't sure but thankfully Persephone didn't disgrace herself. Instead, she took a breath and - by sheer chance - found her gaze falling back to the Stravos group and to Elias. Both he and his sister Danae held expressions that could not damn them but which held nothing but animosity. No sympathy, no compassion. They were assessing and appraising her. To them, the king was already dead and gone. She was the Queen. And she was not worthy. Minas was already long gone from their thoughts. Only she and her inferiority seemed the subject in their eyes.
Suddenly, Persephone's jaw tightened, her hand clenched around the torch and she pushed it forwards, the flames latching into the kindling, the crackling of flame starting up and within a few moments there was a soft whoosh and the entire cart was alight.
Taking an inhale that was unsteady and an exhale that was shaky, Persephone then took two steps backwards from the amazing heat that now imposed upon her from her father's pyre and was divided of the torch by a helpful priest.
Moving to stand a few steps back and but resolute in her frame, Persephone simply listened as traditional singers began a lament that curled its way within the open space of the courtyard before rising up towards the heavens. The same direction as the smoke that now plumed from the funeral pyre.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
Had Persephone been in her right mind that day, she would have noted the looks that were sent her way. She glances of uncertainty, the hard stares of those who disapproved of her new position by default of her father's death. The sympathetic gazes of those who appreciated the difficulty of her position. The wide-eyed curious spectators. She would have seen them, registered them and dealt with them as her training and upbringing dictated. Instead, she wasn't really aware of what was happening around her. Her frame was not her own to command - simply a skeleton that had locked itself into place at the northern top edge of the temple's courtyard and a face that remained serene with lack of emotion because it was all being kept tightly locked away from her mind. The only expressions she even really registered was that of Elias of Stravos as she had made her way up the main steps of the courtyard edge and had stood there for the remainder of the arrivals.
Once everyone was in place and had paid their dues to the king by their presence before the temple of Athena, Persephone was approached by a priest - a man who's name she knew but whom she could not place right now - and offered a golden rod. Two-foot-long, the gold was a cylindrical case that wrapped around a wooden shaft, several inches of which were exposed at the end. Around this end was wrapped ceremonial fabric that had been blessed and cleaned and then saturated in the divine oils of the lamps in the temple. The smell of the oil was harsh and putrid in Persephone's nose despite being tinted with rose oil and lavender. To those but a few steps away the scent would be soft and pleasant. As close as her own arm length, however, the piece of cloying and pungent.
Persephone's eyes watered a little at the scent and her nose wanted to wrinkle but some part of her told her that a crumpled expression and damp eyes would only encourage the idea that she was weeping. A princess could weep for the loss of her father. A Queen could not. And would not.
Taking hold of the golden sceptre, Persephone held the piece with care, inspecting it carefully and feeling its weight in her hand. She exhaled.
Inhaling again, Persephone turned to assess the view before her...
The open courtyard before the temple was large and square. Along her side of the quadrilateral were the immediate family members of the late king - herself, her sister, and her two aunts, sisters of the passed monarch. Lord Iason stood back from herself a few steps officially immediate family were they already married but not officially King for they were not yet wed. Down the left- and right-hand sides were the royalty, the nobility and the important members of the Senate. The furthest opposing side to Persephone herself were the lower nobility, the servants of the royal palace and Dikastirio. Those of import and significance but not rank. Beyond them, around and outside the gate of the courtyard were the people of the city; some attending to pay tribute to a great king and others simply wishing to press their noses to the iron bars and watch with a morbid sort of curiosity.
In the centre of the courtyard, with several feet of open space on all sides, rested the cart that had carried her father. With the top of the carriage and its black coverings removed, King Minas lay for all to bear witness to, his face covered with a cloth from the nose down and his eyes already closed and supporting two coins upon his lids for Charon. The rest of his was clad and covered in his most regal attire, his shape and frame surrounded by flowers - crocuses and other traditional plants and flora of Athenia - and the feathers of swans and owls.
The cloth over his face made the following steps easier as Persephone descended the four wide stairs to the centre of the courtyard, sceptre in hand and approached one of the two metal dishes that stood like sentry posts on either side of the main steps that led up to the temple entrance. There, she reached out the end of the baton and watched as the fire within the dish licked and attacked the damp bundle of fabric, quickly setting alight the tip.
Persephone left the piece in place possibly longer than she should have, her eyes fixed on the licking flame and the strange shadows it cast, to the burning edges of the material as it cracked and popped.
She swallowed.
Turning from the dish and pulling the instrument free, Persephone stood for a moment with the shaft raised, ignorant of how the tongues of fire were reflected in the dull shine of the crown she now wore.
The cart had been prepared ahead of time. There was no kindling or wicker to be placed beneath the late king, for the cart was constructed with a lower section; an additional level beneath the king's body that was stocked full of dry, flammable wood and oils to speed up the process. The second she placed the flame to the exposed siding before her, the king would be engulfed in flame. No uncomfortable slow burns or the loss of dignity as fire ate away clothing before flesh - just one whoosh of cleansing fire that would immediately obscure views of the burning figure within.
And yet Persephone had still not lowered the torch into place.
She had paused.
With the entirety of the kingdom watching her.
She couldn't do it.
She couldn't burn her father. The only family she had left after her sister, the only parent she had left. Yes, the man was dead. She knew that. Logically, she knew he would never return to her or Emilia now. But to burn him felt... final. It felt like an acceptance. Like she was allowing such an eventuality to occur. And she didn't want to. She didn't want to allow it. Didn't want to show that it was okay. Didn't want to make a spectacle of the fact that he was now dead and she was now ruler.
None of this was what she wanted!
As the panic started to claw its way to the surface again, Persephone thought she might be sick again. Whether it was her self-control or the fact that she had nothing left in her stomach, she wasn't sure but thankfully Persephone didn't disgrace herself. Instead, she took a breath and - by sheer chance - found her gaze falling back to the Stravos group and to Elias. Both he and his sister Danae held expressions that could not damn them but which held nothing but animosity. No sympathy, no compassion. They were assessing and appraising her. To them, the king was already dead and gone. She was the Queen. And she was not worthy. Minas was already long gone from their thoughts. Only she and her inferiority seemed the subject in their eyes.
Suddenly, Persephone's jaw tightened, her hand clenched around the torch and she pushed it forwards, the flames latching into the kindling, the crackling of flame starting up and within a few moments there was a soft whoosh and the entire cart was alight.
Taking an inhale that was unsteady and an exhale that was shaky, Persephone then took two steps backwards from the amazing heat that now imposed upon her from her father's pyre and was divided of the torch by a helpful priest.
Moving to stand a few steps back and but resolute in her frame, Persephone simply listened as traditional singers began a lament that curled its way within the open space of the courtyard before rising up towards the heavens. The same direction as the smoke that now plumed from the funeral pyre.
Had Persephone been in her right mind that day, she would have noted the looks that were sent her way. She glances of uncertainty, the hard stares of those who disapproved of her new position by default of her father's death. The sympathetic gazes of those who appreciated the difficulty of her position. The wide-eyed curious spectators. She would have seen them, registered them and dealt with them as her training and upbringing dictated. Instead, she wasn't really aware of what was happening around her. Her frame was not her own to command - simply a skeleton that had locked itself into place at the northern top edge of the temple's courtyard and a face that remained serene with lack of emotion because it was all being kept tightly locked away from her mind. The only expressions she even really registered was that of Elias of Stravos as she had made her way up the main steps of the courtyard edge and had stood there for the remainder of the arrivals.
Once everyone was in place and had paid their dues to the king by their presence before the temple of Athena, Persephone was approached by a priest - a man who's name she knew but whom she could not place right now - and offered a golden rod. Two-foot-long, the gold was a cylindrical case that wrapped around a wooden shaft, several inches of which were exposed at the end. Around this end was wrapped ceremonial fabric that had been blessed and cleaned and then saturated in the divine oils of the lamps in the temple. The smell of the oil was harsh and putrid in Persephone's nose despite being tinted with rose oil and lavender. To those but a few steps away the scent would be soft and pleasant. As close as her own arm length, however, the piece of cloying and pungent.
Persephone's eyes watered a little at the scent and her nose wanted to wrinkle but some part of her told her that a crumpled expression and damp eyes would only encourage the idea that she was weeping. A princess could weep for the loss of her father. A Queen could not. And would not.
Taking hold of the golden sceptre, Persephone held the piece with care, inspecting it carefully and feeling its weight in her hand. She exhaled.
Inhaling again, Persephone turned to assess the view before her...
The open courtyard before the temple was large and square. Along her side of the quadrilateral were the immediate family members of the late king - herself, her sister, and her two aunts, sisters of the passed monarch. Lord Iason stood back from herself a few steps officially immediate family were they already married but not officially King for they were not yet wed. Down the left- and right-hand sides were the royalty, the nobility and the important members of the Senate. The furthest opposing side to Persephone herself were the lower nobility, the servants of the royal palace and Dikastirio. Those of import and significance but not rank. Beyond them, around and outside the gate of the courtyard were the people of the city; some attending to pay tribute to a great king and others simply wishing to press their noses to the iron bars and watch with a morbid sort of curiosity.
In the centre of the courtyard, with several feet of open space on all sides, rested the cart that had carried her father. With the top of the carriage and its black coverings removed, King Minas lay for all to bear witness to, his face covered with a cloth from the nose down and his eyes already closed and supporting two coins upon his lids for Charon. The rest of his was clad and covered in his most regal attire, his shape and frame surrounded by flowers - crocuses and other traditional plants and flora of Athenia - and the feathers of swans and owls.
The cloth over his face made the following steps easier as Persephone descended the four wide stairs to the centre of the courtyard, sceptre in hand and approached one of the two metal dishes that stood like sentry posts on either side of the main steps that led up to the temple entrance. There, she reached out the end of the baton and watched as the fire within the dish licked and attacked the damp bundle of fabric, quickly setting alight the tip.
Persephone left the piece in place possibly longer than she should have, her eyes fixed on the licking flame and the strange shadows it cast, to the burning edges of the material as it cracked and popped.
She swallowed.
Turning from the dish and pulling the instrument free, Persephone stood for a moment with the shaft raised, ignorant of how the tongues of fire were reflected in the dull shine of the crown she now wore.
The cart had been prepared ahead of time. There was no kindling or wicker to be placed beneath the late king, for the cart was constructed with a lower section; an additional level beneath the king's body that was stocked full of dry, flammable wood and oils to speed up the process. The second she placed the flame to the exposed siding before her, the king would be engulfed in flame. No uncomfortable slow burns or the loss of dignity as fire ate away clothing before flesh - just one whoosh of cleansing fire that would immediately obscure views of the burning figure within.
And yet Persephone had still not lowered the torch into place.
She had paused.
With the entirety of the kingdom watching her.
She couldn't do it.
She couldn't burn her father. The only family she had left after her sister, the only parent she had left. Yes, the man was dead. She knew that. Logically, she knew he would never return to her or Emilia now. But to burn him felt... final. It felt like an acceptance. Like she was allowing such an eventuality to occur. And she didn't want to. She didn't want to allow it. Didn't want to show that it was okay. Didn't want to make a spectacle of the fact that he was now dead and she was now ruler.
None of this was what she wanted!
As the panic started to claw its way to the surface again, Persephone thought she might be sick again. Whether it was her self-control or the fact that she had nothing left in her stomach, she wasn't sure but thankfully Persephone didn't disgrace herself. Instead, she took a breath and - by sheer chance - found her gaze falling back to the Stravos group and to Elias. Both he and his sister Danae held expressions that could not damn them but which held nothing but animosity. No sympathy, no compassion. They were assessing and appraising her. To them, the king was already dead and gone. She was the Queen. And she was not worthy. Minas was already long gone from their thoughts. Only she and her inferiority seemed the subject in their eyes.
Suddenly, Persephone's jaw tightened, her hand clenched around the torch and she pushed it forwards, the flames latching into the kindling, the crackling of flame starting up and within a few moments there was a soft whoosh and the entire cart was alight.
Taking an inhale that was unsteady and an exhale that was shaky, Persephone then took two steps backwards from the amazing heat that now imposed upon her from her father's pyre and was divided of the torch by a helpful priest.
Moving to stand a few steps back and but resolute in her frame, Persephone simply listened as traditional singers began a lament that curled its way within the open space of the courtyard before rising up towards the heavens. The same direction as the smoke that now plumed from the funeral pyre.
As the procession made its way towards the courtyard of the temple to honor the patron goddess of Athenia, Emilia's lips were pressed tightly together, giving the well-trained smile that her governess had spent years hammering into her. Olivia would have been proud to see her little protege perform so well, had she been around. It was an uncharacteristic sight, for Emilia was usually so gregarious and full of life, yet in her muted dress and even duller tones, she looked a completely different person.
She had noticed Lord Iason settle upon a horse by the side of the carriage in which she was riding in, but paid the Taengean lord little attention. In truth, Emilia still did not entirely trust the man who was supposed to be her sister's betrothed, even after the good words her friend of the Leventi family had put in for the man. But what choice did she have? At the moment, Lord Iason was her sister's best chance at ensuring an anarchy did not begin after her father was sent on his way to meet Hades, and Emilia wanted nothing more. She did not want the peaceful, vibrant home she's known all her life to dissolve into fights and chaos.
"Go and be by her side." Emilia murmured once the procession entered the courtyard, and everyone took their places around the pyre where her father's body was laid to be respected. With the assistance of her handmaidens, Emilia's skirts rustled as she stepped to the ground, the first smile of the day bestowed upon Nicholai when she saw her head bodyguard standing waiting for her as she descended. The princess was not surprised - Nicholai had been a fixture in her life for as long as she remembered, and his presence gave her a measure of comfort as she released her handmaiden's hands, and started towards where her elder sister stood, a priest approaching her. "I wish to go directly home after, Nicholai. Please." It was a soft plea made by Emilia - she did not think she could handle company after the funeral, and was counting on Nicholai to ensure that happened.
The young Xanthos could only watch as her sister performed the ceremonial rites, her eyes averted from her father's gaunt figure. She did not want to have this image of her father etched forever in her mind. What she wanted, was to remember Minas as he was in her younger days, energetic with a booming laugh that always seem to envelope her in a comfort.
A few steps behind Persephone, Emilia only caught the sweet scent of the fabric as her sister descended the steps. Her hands gripped into small fists in front of her as Persephone lit up the flames of the baton, and proceeded to set the cart of flammables on fire. She involuntarily jumped when a large gust of wind gave a 'whoosh' and flames blocked her father's cladded body from her sight almost immediately.
And with it, came an unnerving sense of finality.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
As the procession made its way towards the courtyard of the temple to honor the patron goddess of Athenia, Emilia's lips were pressed tightly together, giving the well-trained smile that her governess had spent years hammering into her. Olivia would have been proud to see her little protege perform so well, had she been around. It was an uncharacteristic sight, for Emilia was usually so gregarious and full of life, yet in her muted dress and even duller tones, she looked a completely different person.
She had noticed Lord Iason settle upon a horse by the side of the carriage in which she was riding in, but paid the Taengean lord little attention. In truth, Emilia still did not entirely trust the man who was supposed to be her sister's betrothed, even after the good words her friend of the Leventi family had put in for the man. But what choice did she have? At the moment, Lord Iason was her sister's best chance at ensuring an anarchy did not begin after her father was sent on his way to meet Hades, and Emilia wanted nothing more. She did not want the peaceful, vibrant home she's known all her life to dissolve into fights and chaos.
"Go and be by her side." Emilia murmured once the procession entered the courtyard, and everyone took their places around the pyre where her father's body was laid to be respected. With the assistance of her handmaidens, Emilia's skirts rustled as she stepped to the ground, the first smile of the day bestowed upon Nicholai when she saw her head bodyguard standing waiting for her as she descended. The princess was not surprised - Nicholai had been a fixture in her life for as long as she remembered, and his presence gave her a measure of comfort as she released her handmaiden's hands, and started towards where her elder sister stood, a priest approaching her. "I wish to go directly home after, Nicholai. Please." It was a soft plea made by Emilia - she did not think she could handle company after the funeral, and was counting on Nicholai to ensure that happened.
The young Xanthos could only watch as her sister performed the ceremonial rites, her eyes averted from her father's gaunt figure. She did not want to have this image of her father etched forever in her mind. What she wanted, was to remember Minas as he was in her younger days, energetic with a booming laugh that always seem to envelope her in a comfort.
A few steps behind Persephone, Emilia only caught the sweet scent of the fabric as her sister descended the steps. Her hands gripped into small fists in front of her as Persephone lit up the flames of the baton, and proceeded to set the cart of flammables on fire. She involuntarily jumped when a large gust of wind gave a 'whoosh' and flames blocked her father's cladded body from her sight almost immediately.
And with it, came an unnerving sense of finality.
As the procession made its way towards the courtyard of the temple to honor the patron goddess of Athenia, Emilia's lips were pressed tightly together, giving the well-trained smile that her governess had spent years hammering into her. Olivia would have been proud to see her little protege perform so well, had she been around. It was an uncharacteristic sight, for Emilia was usually so gregarious and full of life, yet in her muted dress and even duller tones, she looked a completely different person.
She had noticed Lord Iason settle upon a horse by the side of the carriage in which she was riding in, but paid the Taengean lord little attention. In truth, Emilia still did not entirely trust the man who was supposed to be her sister's betrothed, even after the good words her friend of the Leventi family had put in for the man. But what choice did she have? At the moment, Lord Iason was her sister's best chance at ensuring an anarchy did not begin after her father was sent on his way to meet Hades, and Emilia wanted nothing more. She did not want the peaceful, vibrant home she's known all her life to dissolve into fights and chaos.
"Go and be by her side." Emilia murmured once the procession entered the courtyard, and everyone took their places around the pyre where her father's body was laid to be respected. With the assistance of her handmaidens, Emilia's skirts rustled as she stepped to the ground, the first smile of the day bestowed upon Nicholai when she saw her head bodyguard standing waiting for her as she descended. The princess was not surprised - Nicholai had been a fixture in her life for as long as she remembered, and his presence gave her a measure of comfort as she released her handmaiden's hands, and started towards where her elder sister stood, a priest approaching her. "I wish to go directly home after, Nicholai. Please." It was a soft plea made by Emilia - she did not think she could handle company after the funeral, and was counting on Nicholai to ensure that happened.
The young Xanthos could only watch as her sister performed the ceremonial rites, her eyes averted from her father's gaunt figure. She did not want to have this image of her father etched forever in her mind. What she wanted, was to remember Minas as he was in her younger days, energetic with a booming laugh that always seem to envelope her in a comfort.
A few steps behind Persephone, Emilia only caught the sweet scent of the fabric as her sister descended the steps. Her hands gripped into small fists in front of her as Persephone lit up the flames of the baton, and proceeded to set the cart of flammables on fire. She involuntarily jumped when a large gust of wind gave a 'whoosh' and flames blocked her father's cladded body from her sight almost immediately.
And with it, came an unnerving sense of finality.
The kings death was like a shock wave to the lands. Clouds- of course figurative- of sadness and loss hung over every head that Dione passed as she was out on the streets. But the morning of the procession the noble woman couldn't pull herself out of her sheets or had any desire to get out of bed. Though she needed to go to the funereal she needed to be there for Iris- Dione knew that the king and Iris's father were close.
Groaning the blonde haired girl rolled out of her bed and shuffled her way to her dress folded neatly on a chair. Rubbing her eyes Dione yawned and dressed in the garment. She only realized how late she was when she noticed how late in the day it had gotten. That and the house was next to empty of her family. Wrapping a shaw around herself and scurried out of the house.
Managing through the near empty streets Dione made her way quickly to the tail ends of the processions. Dione wiggled her way around and found Iris standing with her husband and her new step daughter. Knowing that Iris wouldn't really mind Dione's comfort the Nikolaos girl wrapped her arm around Iris's arm and gave her a small gentle hug.
"Forgive me," Dione whispered as her ocean eyes watched the princesses, "I was going to walk with you but I woke late." Letting go of Iris Dione felt her heart seize when the eldest princess lit the pyre.
Dione couldn't imagine the pain that Persephone felt- even though she didn't show it. 'He's with the gods now dear princesses, with his wife and happy' Dione thought as the flames grew and smoke bellowed
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
The kings death was like a shock wave to the lands. Clouds- of course figurative- of sadness and loss hung over every head that Dione passed as she was out on the streets. But the morning of the procession the noble woman couldn't pull herself out of her sheets or had any desire to get out of bed. Though she needed to go to the funereal she needed to be there for Iris- Dione knew that the king and Iris's father were close.
Groaning the blonde haired girl rolled out of her bed and shuffled her way to her dress folded neatly on a chair. Rubbing her eyes Dione yawned and dressed in the garment. She only realized how late she was when she noticed how late in the day it had gotten. That and the house was next to empty of her family. Wrapping a shaw around herself and scurried out of the house.
Managing through the near empty streets Dione made her way quickly to the tail ends of the processions. Dione wiggled her way around and found Iris standing with her husband and her new step daughter. Knowing that Iris wouldn't really mind Dione's comfort the Nikolaos girl wrapped her arm around Iris's arm and gave her a small gentle hug.
"Forgive me," Dione whispered as her ocean eyes watched the princesses, "I was going to walk with you but I woke late." Letting go of Iris Dione felt her heart seize when the eldest princess lit the pyre.
Dione couldn't imagine the pain that Persephone felt- even though she didn't show it. 'He's with the gods now dear princesses, with his wife and happy' Dione thought as the flames grew and smoke bellowed
The kings death was like a shock wave to the lands. Clouds- of course figurative- of sadness and loss hung over every head that Dione passed as she was out on the streets. But the morning of the procession the noble woman couldn't pull herself out of her sheets or had any desire to get out of bed. Though she needed to go to the funereal she needed to be there for Iris- Dione knew that the king and Iris's father were close.
Groaning the blonde haired girl rolled out of her bed and shuffled her way to her dress folded neatly on a chair. Rubbing her eyes Dione yawned and dressed in the garment. She only realized how late she was when she noticed how late in the day it had gotten. That and the house was next to empty of her family. Wrapping a shaw around herself and scurried out of the house.
Managing through the near empty streets Dione made her way quickly to the tail ends of the processions. Dione wiggled her way around and found Iris standing with her husband and her new step daughter. Knowing that Iris wouldn't really mind Dione's comfort the Nikolaos girl wrapped her arm around Iris's arm and gave her a small gentle hug.
"Forgive me," Dione whispered as her ocean eyes watched the princesses, "I was going to walk with you but I woke late." Letting go of Iris Dione felt her heart seize when the eldest princess lit the pyre.
Dione couldn't imagine the pain that Persephone felt- even though she didn't show it. 'He's with the gods now dear princesses, with his wife and happy' Dione thought as the flames grew and smoke bellowed
Was it wrong for her to feel such sadness for a man who was biologically not her father? But he was her father in every right when it came to her childhood. Of course, it was not as though he treated her as his own but he was still a man in which she looked up to. Being the King, it wasn't' like he could go up to him and talk any time she pleased, at least not at first. However, with being in the Xanthos household all of her life, she of course felt deeply saddened when the King had passed. It had come so soon it seemed, after the very stressful meeting on whether Persephone would become the hair apparent of the Athenian throne.
But after a decision was made, it seemed as though the King's health began to fail. Dianthe hated seeing Persephone and Emilia in such pain, watching as their father slowly died in front of them. The mood throughout the paláti was full of quiet sadness. Of course, there were the occasional people who didn't seem to be affected at all, whether that was out of anger or just emotionless people, Dianthe would never know. For the most part, she tried to stay in the company of the princesses, keeping them company in such a time of need.
However, when it was finally time to say their last farewell's, Dianthe felt sadness in which she had never felt before. She could not even began to know how much this affected the princesses. He was their father, the one protector that meant the world to them. But looking at the two of them now, watching how they carried themselves, as they made their way to say their final goodbyes.
So far, the crowd that had joined in on the procession and those that had gathered to watch, seemed to hold little care for the family that had just lost a dear loved one. It was hard to tell the look that her Lady held upon her features, but Dianthe knew that she was hurting. However, being the woman that she was, she would hide any sort of emotion that could be held against her at bay, so to not give onlookers any sort of hand above her. But being so far from the newly appointed Queen, it was very hard to tell just how well she was keeping it together.
It was quiet.
Everyone watched as Persephone took the septre being offered to her and soon made her way towards the center of the courtyard, where the fallen king's body rested. She would soon light the cart on fire, the traditional way to say goodbye to someone like Minas. Dianthe watched her new queen as she stood there, unable to move and do what must be done. She could no begin to fathom just how hard it was for her to do what she was about to do. As she watched, the young woman then lowered the septre and ignited the cart.
Dianthe's heart went out to her friend. She only wished she could offer her comfort. Of course, this was not the time nor place to offer such things, not while the entire kingdom was watching. She was just a little nobody in the presence of such people. She stood there with her arms in front of her and her hands folded together as she prayed to the God's, asking them to give her friend the strength that she would need to get through such a hard time.
JD
Staff Team
JD
Staff Team
This post was created by our staff team.
Please contact us with your queries and questions.
Was it wrong for her to feel such sadness for a man who was biologically not her father? But he was her father in every right when it came to her childhood. Of course, it was not as though he treated her as his own but he was still a man in which she looked up to. Being the King, it wasn't' like he could go up to him and talk any time she pleased, at least not at first. However, with being in the Xanthos household all of her life, she of course felt deeply saddened when the King had passed. It had come so soon it seemed, after the very stressful meeting on whether Persephone would become the hair apparent of the Athenian throne.
But after a decision was made, it seemed as though the King's health began to fail. Dianthe hated seeing Persephone and Emilia in such pain, watching as their father slowly died in front of them. The mood throughout the paláti was full of quiet sadness. Of course, there were the occasional people who didn't seem to be affected at all, whether that was out of anger or just emotionless people, Dianthe would never know. For the most part, she tried to stay in the company of the princesses, keeping them company in such a time of need.
However, when it was finally time to say their last farewell's, Dianthe felt sadness in which she had never felt before. She could not even began to know how much this affected the princesses. He was their father, the one protector that meant the world to them. But looking at the two of them now, watching how they carried themselves, as they made their way to say their final goodbyes.
So far, the crowd that had joined in on the procession and those that had gathered to watch, seemed to hold little care for the family that had just lost a dear loved one. It was hard to tell the look that her Lady held upon her features, but Dianthe knew that she was hurting. However, being the woman that she was, she would hide any sort of emotion that could be held against her at bay, so to not give onlookers any sort of hand above her. But being so far from the newly appointed Queen, it was very hard to tell just how well she was keeping it together.
It was quiet.
Everyone watched as Persephone took the septre being offered to her and soon made her way towards the center of the courtyard, where the fallen king's body rested. She would soon light the cart on fire, the traditional way to say goodbye to someone like Minas. Dianthe watched her new queen as she stood there, unable to move and do what must be done. She could no begin to fathom just how hard it was for her to do what she was about to do. As she watched, the young woman then lowered the septre and ignited the cart.
Dianthe's heart went out to her friend. She only wished she could offer her comfort. Of course, this was not the time nor place to offer such things, not while the entire kingdom was watching. She was just a little nobody in the presence of such people. She stood there with her arms in front of her and her hands folded together as she prayed to the God's, asking them to give her friend the strength that she would need to get through such a hard time.
Was it wrong for her to feel such sadness for a man who was biologically not her father? But he was her father in every right when it came to her childhood. Of course, it was not as though he treated her as his own but he was still a man in which she looked up to. Being the King, it wasn't' like he could go up to him and talk any time she pleased, at least not at first. However, with being in the Xanthos household all of her life, she of course felt deeply saddened when the King had passed. It had come so soon it seemed, after the very stressful meeting on whether Persephone would become the hair apparent of the Athenian throne.
But after a decision was made, it seemed as though the King's health began to fail. Dianthe hated seeing Persephone and Emilia in such pain, watching as their father slowly died in front of them. The mood throughout the paláti was full of quiet sadness. Of course, there were the occasional people who didn't seem to be affected at all, whether that was out of anger or just emotionless people, Dianthe would never know. For the most part, she tried to stay in the company of the princesses, keeping them company in such a time of need.
However, when it was finally time to say their last farewell's, Dianthe felt sadness in which she had never felt before. She could not even began to know how much this affected the princesses. He was their father, the one protector that meant the world to them. But looking at the two of them now, watching how they carried themselves, as they made their way to say their final goodbyes.
So far, the crowd that had joined in on the procession and those that had gathered to watch, seemed to hold little care for the family that had just lost a dear loved one. It was hard to tell the look that her Lady held upon her features, but Dianthe knew that she was hurting. However, being the woman that she was, she would hide any sort of emotion that could be held against her at bay, so to not give onlookers any sort of hand above her. But being so far from the newly appointed Queen, it was very hard to tell just how well she was keeping it together.
It was quiet.
Everyone watched as Persephone took the septre being offered to her and soon made her way towards the center of the courtyard, where the fallen king's body rested. She would soon light the cart on fire, the traditional way to say goodbye to someone like Minas. Dianthe watched her new queen as she stood there, unable to move and do what must be done. She could no begin to fathom just how hard it was for her to do what she was about to do. As she watched, the young woman then lowered the septre and ignited the cart.
Dianthe's heart went out to her friend. She only wished she could offer her comfort. Of course, this was not the time nor place to offer such things, not while the entire kingdom was watching. She was just a little nobody in the presence of such people. She stood there with her arms in front of her and her hands folded together as she prayed to the God's, asking them to give her friend the strength that she would need to get through such a hard time.
The other man had a bothersome scowl that he noticed briefly before looking away. It was impolite to stare, but even more rude to have an unnecessary attitude. Then again, they were among a crowd that only grew larger by the minute as the spectators came to either watch or pay their respects. Nikasios had only been here for several months since his capture, so he didn’t know much of anyone here. In fact, he only knew a gladiator or two from the arcus. He was the quiet type, keeping to himself unless spoken to. His mind was never on anything but his sparring, his actual fights, and his freedom he was working endlessly to earn. He heard the grumpy man complain at the others around them and scoffed in amusement, presenting a smirk to Kreios before turning away.
Right away, the captain had instructed them, and the rest of the crowd, to clear the way, and he did as requested. Any wrongdoing would result in his freedom being more difficult to get, and he didn’t need that. He had heard of the fires in Colchis and worried about his mother. Was she safe? Was she still alive, even? He certainly needed to know, but he had no way of getting there. Stealing a ship was out of the question since he was banned from the harbor. His owner knew his past as a pirate before he was forced into slavery, and pirates were not to be trusted even if they were being treated with kindness. Fortitude wasn’t the only thing that kept Nikasios alive; it was his patience and respect too. He bumped into someone else, the crowd now becoming crowded. “Sorry,” he whispered to the stranger before escaping the horde of spectators just as the flames roared, engulfing the late king.
JD
Staff Team
JD
Staff Team
This post was created by our staff team.
Please contact us with your queries and questions.
The other man had a bothersome scowl that he noticed briefly before looking away. It was impolite to stare, but even more rude to have an unnecessary attitude. Then again, they were among a crowd that only grew larger by the minute as the spectators came to either watch or pay their respects. Nikasios had only been here for several months since his capture, so he didn’t know much of anyone here. In fact, he only knew a gladiator or two from the arcus. He was the quiet type, keeping to himself unless spoken to. His mind was never on anything but his sparring, his actual fights, and his freedom he was working endlessly to earn. He heard the grumpy man complain at the others around them and scoffed in amusement, presenting a smirk to Kreios before turning away.
Right away, the captain had instructed them, and the rest of the crowd, to clear the way, and he did as requested. Any wrongdoing would result in his freedom being more difficult to get, and he didn’t need that. He had heard of the fires in Colchis and worried about his mother. Was she safe? Was she still alive, even? He certainly needed to know, but he had no way of getting there. Stealing a ship was out of the question since he was banned from the harbor. His owner knew his past as a pirate before he was forced into slavery, and pirates were not to be trusted even if they were being treated with kindness. Fortitude wasn’t the only thing that kept Nikasios alive; it was his patience and respect too. He bumped into someone else, the crowd now becoming crowded. “Sorry,” he whispered to the stranger before escaping the horde of spectators just as the flames roared, engulfing the late king.
The other man had a bothersome scowl that he noticed briefly before looking away. It was impolite to stare, but even more rude to have an unnecessary attitude. Then again, they were among a crowd that only grew larger by the minute as the spectators came to either watch or pay their respects. Nikasios had only been here for several months since his capture, so he didn’t know much of anyone here. In fact, he only knew a gladiator or two from the arcus. He was the quiet type, keeping to himself unless spoken to. His mind was never on anything but his sparring, his actual fights, and his freedom he was working endlessly to earn. He heard the grumpy man complain at the others around them and scoffed in amusement, presenting a smirk to Kreios before turning away.
Right away, the captain had instructed them, and the rest of the crowd, to clear the way, and he did as requested. Any wrongdoing would result in his freedom being more difficult to get, and he didn’t need that. He had heard of the fires in Colchis and worried about his mother. Was she safe? Was she still alive, even? He certainly needed to know, but he had no way of getting there. Stealing a ship was out of the question since he was banned from the harbor. His owner knew his past as a pirate before he was forced into slavery, and pirates were not to be trusted even if they were being treated with kindness. Fortitude wasn’t the only thing that kept Nikasios alive; it was his patience and respect too. He bumped into someone else, the crowd now becoming crowded. “Sorry,” he whispered to the stranger before escaping the horde of spectators just as the flames roared, engulfing the late king.
The mood here was strange. He was flanked on all sides by the nobles of Athenia. He had intended to be here a good week earlier, and had been waylaid by the fires. Chaos, it seemed, had a way of stacking on itself. Suffering with company was somehow more endurable, he supposed. While his own people had pulled together, beating back certain discussion, the men of this country had pulled apart, each grasping for the golden ring of the future.
He could still feel the tensions of the moment. Groups stood just slightly too distinct from one another. If he knew the politics of the moment more, he sensed he might be able to retrace the exact lines of the vote. Likewise, there was the new Queen in front of them all. She was practiced enough in ceremonial endeavors. The crown did not seem that awkward upon her. Yet, the same clearly could not be said of this dynamic. Queen. He wasn't the only one still adjusting to the idea. It wasn't clear anyone quite knew how it would end.
Beginning was another matter. The crackle of the pyre filled the room, echoing through its cavernous expanse. Vangelis would need word of all this. Magnus would have to help them make sense of it. The trade deals were all still pending. For the moment, though? Apollo rode his chariots. Kings turned to ashes. The past dissolved away. And who knew what would meet them?
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
The mood here was strange. He was flanked on all sides by the nobles of Athenia. He had intended to be here a good week earlier, and had been waylaid by the fires. Chaos, it seemed, had a way of stacking on itself. Suffering with company was somehow more endurable, he supposed. While his own people had pulled together, beating back certain discussion, the men of this country had pulled apart, each grasping for the golden ring of the future.
He could still feel the tensions of the moment. Groups stood just slightly too distinct from one another. If he knew the politics of the moment more, he sensed he might be able to retrace the exact lines of the vote. Likewise, there was the new Queen in front of them all. She was practiced enough in ceremonial endeavors. The crown did not seem that awkward upon her. Yet, the same clearly could not be said of this dynamic. Queen. He wasn't the only one still adjusting to the idea. It wasn't clear anyone quite knew how it would end.
Beginning was another matter. The crackle of the pyre filled the room, echoing through its cavernous expanse. Vangelis would need word of all this. Magnus would have to help them make sense of it. The trade deals were all still pending. For the moment, though? Apollo rode his chariots. Kings turned to ashes. The past dissolved away. And who knew what would meet them?
The mood here was strange. He was flanked on all sides by the nobles of Athenia. He had intended to be here a good week earlier, and had been waylaid by the fires. Chaos, it seemed, had a way of stacking on itself. Suffering with company was somehow more endurable, he supposed. While his own people had pulled together, beating back certain discussion, the men of this country had pulled apart, each grasping for the golden ring of the future.
He could still feel the tensions of the moment. Groups stood just slightly too distinct from one another. If he knew the politics of the moment more, he sensed he might be able to retrace the exact lines of the vote. Likewise, there was the new Queen in front of them all. She was practiced enough in ceremonial endeavors. The crown did not seem that awkward upon her. Yet, the same clearly could not be said of this dynamic. Queen. He wasn't the only one still adjusting to the idea. It wasn't clear anyone quite knew how it would end.
Beginning was another matter. The crackle of the pyre filled the room, echoing through its cavernous expanse. Vangelis would need word of all this. Magnus would have to help them make sense of it. The trade deals were all still pending. For the moment, though? Apollo rode his chariots. Kings turned to ashes. The past dissolved away. And who knew what would meet them?
