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.
The men of Taengea and their comrades return to the city of Vasiliadon, supporting and carrying the dead on their chariots behind. Men congregate in the open square in front of the royal palace where Queen Olympia has prepared medical tents, supplies, bandages and blankets for the returned soldiers. The dead are laid out and covered on one side of the courtyard, eerie in their silence. The wounded are tended to by the ladies of the city and court, seated beneath the medical awnings and treated by fair and soft hands. Those who are still healthy are reunited with their loved ones or deliver the painful news to their fallen friends' widows...
JD
Staff Team
JD
Staff Team
This post was created by our staff team.
Please contact us with your queries and questions.
The men of Taengea and their comrades return to the city of Vasiliadon, supporting and carrying the dead on their chariots behind. Men congregate in the open square in front of the royal palace where Queen Olympia has prepared medical tents, supplies, bandages and blankets for the returned soldiers. The dead are laid out and covered on one side of the courtyard, eerie in their silence. The wounded are tended to by the ladies of the city and court, seated beneath the medical awnings and treated by fair and soft hands. Those who are still healthy are reunited with their loved ones or deliver the painful news to their fallen friends' widows...
Victorious Event - Taengea
The men of Taengea and their comrades return to the city of Vasiliadon, supporting and carrying the dead on their chariots behind. Men congregate in the open square in front of the royal palace where Queen Olympia has prepared medical tents, supplies, bandages and blankets for the returned soldiers. The dead are laid out and covered on one side of the courtyard, eerie in their silence. The wounded are tended to by the ladies of the city and court, seated beneath the medical awnings and treated by fair and soft hands. Those who are still healthy are reunited with their loved ones or deliver the painful news to their fallen friends' widows...
The battle had raged long and hard. It had been a war of attrition - of chipping away at the enemy a singular drowned one at a time. There had been times where Vangelis had almost been tempted to count the number of shadow walkers still standing in order to calculate how long the fighting would continue. At least, he would have, had he had the time to detach his eyes from the fighters around him. They hadn't moved together. No training, no organisation. It was like trying to fight millions of individual military patrols. Each movements and attack had been distinctive, independent and impossible to predict. It hadn't been like any battle Vangelis had ever fought before.
The good news was that his friend Stephanos' plan had worked perfectly. His trusted military officers had ensured the lack of escape through the back passage of the gorge and his own men had ensured that staying within the enclave was more treacherous than not. Which left Stephanos' chariots to decimate the enemy. This last step had worked to a certain extent but no officer - no matter ow experienced or trained - could have predicted the way the Creed fell upon the chariots like water droplets over a sweeping blade, unfazed and unchecked. In the end, though, victory had been secured. Enemies slaughtered, hostages claimed and the last of the masked figures frightened away into the forestry. All in all, the battle had been a Taengean victory.
And yet, with so many lives lost, it was hard to look at it in such a way.
Vangelis travelled mostly with the dead, as they military forces returned to the capitol city. He was only in charge of his own men so there was no need to travel at the front of the column. Instead, he moved with the brackets and braces that his men had built to carry the corpses of their fallen brethren along behind their chariots. Which meant it was the widowed and saddened faces of the women that Vangelis saw long before he came in view of the medical awnings and tents.
Detaching himself from the unit and instructing those of his fellows that were still able to stand to place the dead appropriately to the side of the open square, Vangelis then took himself over to where the ladies of both court and capitol were attending the wounded. Whilst he was not injured horrendously, he had taken a knife to the bicep and a slash to his outer thigh - not to mention the nicks and tears to his clothes and skin just about everywhere else. When riding chariots through grassland, even the blades of grass from the wheels could give you little cuts just about everywhere. One of his arms was drenched in crimson from the injury to his upper arm and his pants had bloomed black over his thigh. He showed no sign of distress or pain at the wounds - perhaps because his adrenaline was still high - but he also wasn't stupid. Injuries could lead to infections and infections to far worse medical procedures than a few bandages when necessary.
Upon reaching the enclosed area, Vangelis had stretched out a hand for one of the clean strips of cloth laying on a table but he was shooed away by an angry looking older woman who clearly had no idea nor care for who he was. She merely stated that he would dirty the supplies and that he should sit and wait his turn like the other patients, each being tended to by the women of Vasiliadon who had volunteered their time to doctor theirs and others' men.
With a half shrug, Vangelis hitched a hip up onto one of the benches and, finding the angle painful on his leg, settled his weight up properly and waited his turn, feeling decidedly like a small child.
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 battle had raged long and hard. It had been a war of attrition - of chipping away at the enemy a singular drowned one at a time. There had been times where Vangelis had almost been tempted to count the number of shadow walkers still standing in order to calculate how long the fighting would continue. At least, he would have, had he had the time to detach his eyes from the fighters around him. They hadn't moved together. No training, no organisation. It was like trying to fight millions of individual military patrols. Each movements and attack had been distinctive, independent and impossible to predict. It hadn't been like any battle Vangelis had ever fought before.
The good news was that his friend Stephanos' plan had worked perfectly. His trusted military officers had ensured the lack of escape through the back passage of the gorge and his own men had ensured that staying within the enclave was more treacherous than not. Which left Stephanos' chariots to decimate the enemy. This last step had worked to a certain extent but no officer - no matter ow experienced or trained - could have predicted the way the Creed fell upon the chariots like water droplets over a sweeping blade, unfazed and unchecked. In the end, though, victory had been secured. Enemies slaughtered, hostages claimed and the last of the masked figures frightened away into the forestry. All in all, the battle had been a Taengean victory.
And yet, with so many lives lost, it was hard to look at it in such a way.
Vangelis travelled mostly with the dead, as they military forces returned to the capitol city. He was only in charge of his own men so there was no need to travel at the front of the column. Instead, he moved with the brackets and braces that his men had built to carry the corpses of their fallen brethren along behind their chariots. Which meant it was the widowed and saddened faces of the women that Vangelis saw long before he came in view of the medical awnings and tents.
Detaching himself from the unit and instructing those of his fellows that were still able to stand to place the dead appropriately to the side of the open square, Vangelis then took himself over to where the ladies of both court and capitol were attending the wounded. Whilst he was not injured horrendously, he had taken a knife to the bicep and a slash to his outer thigh - not to mention the nicks and tears to his clothes and skin just about everywhere else. When riding chariots through grassland, even the blades of grass from the wheels could give you little cuts just about everywhere. One of his arms was drenched in crimson from the injury to his upper arm and his pants had bloomed black over his thigh. He showed no sign of distress or pain at the wounds - perhaps because his adrenaline was still high - but he also wasn't stupid. Injuries could lead to infections and infections to far worse medical procedures than a few bandages when necessary.
Upon reaching the enclosed area, Vangelis had stretched out a hand for one of the clean strips of cloth laying on a table but he was shooed away by an angry looking older woman who clearly had no idea nor care for who he was. She merely stated that he would dirty the supplies and that he should sit and wait his turn like the other patients, each being tended to by the women of Vasiliadon who had volunteered their time to doctor theirs and others' men.
With a half shrug, Vangelis hitched a hip up onto one of the benches and, finding the angle painful on his leg, settled his weight up properly and waited his turn, feeling decidedly like a small child.
The battle had raged long and hard. It had been a war of attrition - of chipping away at the enemy a singular drowned one at a time. There had been times where Vangelis had almost been tempted to count the number of shadow walkers still standing in order to calculate how long the fighting would continue. At least, he would have, had he had the time to detach his eyes from the fighters around him. They hadn't moved together. No training, no organisation. It was like trying to fight millions of individual military patrols. Each movements and attack had been distinctive, independent and impossible to predict. It hadn't been like any battle Vangelis had ever fought before.
The good news was that his friend Stephanos' plan had worked perfectly. His trusted military officers had ensured the lack of escape through the back passage of the gorge and his own men had ensured that staying within the enclave was more treacherous than not. Which left Stephanos' chariots to decimate the enemy. This last step had worked to a certain extent but no officer - no matter ow experienced or trained - could have predicted the way the Creed fell upon the chariots like water droplets over a sweeping blade, unfazed and unchecked. In the end, though, victory had been secured. Enemies slaughtered, hostages claimed and the last of the masked figures frightened away into the forestry. All in all, the battle had been a Taengean victory.
And yet, with so many lives lost, it was hard to look at it in such a way.
Vangelis travelled mostly with the dead, as they military forces returned to the capitol city. He was only in charge of his own men so there was no need to travel at the front of the column. Instead, he moved with the brackets and braces that his men had built to carry the corpses of their fallen brethren along behind their chariots. Which meant it was the widowed and saddened faces of the women that Vangelis saw long before he came in view of the medical awnings and tents.
Detaching himself from the unit and instructing those of his fellows that were still able to stand to place the dead appropriately to the side of the open square, Vangelis then took himself over to where the ladies of both court and capitol were attending the wounded. Whilst he was not injured horrendously, he had taken a knife to the bicep and a slash to his outer thigh - not to mention the nicks and tears to his clothes and skin just about everywhere else. When riding chariots through grassland, even the blades of grass from the wheels could give you little cuts just about everywhere. One of his arms was drenched in crimson from the injury to his upper arm and his pants had bloomed black over his thigh. He showed no sign of distress or pain at the wounds - perhaps because his adrenaline was still high - but he also wasn't stupid. Injuries could lead to infections and infections to far worse medical procedures than a few bandages when necessary.
Upon reaching the enclosed area, Vangelis had stretched out a hand for one of the clean strips of cloth laying on a table but he was shooed away by an angry looking older woman who clearly had no idea nor care for who he was. She merely stated that he would dirty the supplies and that he should sit and wait his turn like the other patients, each being tended to by the women of Vasiliadon who had volunteered their time to doctor theirs and others' men.
With a half shrug, Vangelis hitched a hip up onto one of the benches and, finding the angle painful on his leg, settled his weight up properly and waited his turn, feeling decidedly like a small child.
He had eschewed the chariot for the return, allowing the Mikaelidas soldier driver to take the reins. Instead, the prince had returned to the capitol astride his gelded and retired warhorse, the cream gelding still spirited despite the process. Atop Aeneus, Irakles could observe the whole procession while they return, all weary after a long and hard battle that had lasted a whole day, and was a test in stamina as it was a test in strength. Unlike a regular, well structured battle that Irakles was used to, this one was more haphazard, for the Creed had no sort of rhyme or reason to the way they attacked, and while that left them more vulnerable, it also made their moves much harder to plan.
Perhaps what irritated Irakles the most however, was the Creeder in chains and shackles, guarded by a Commander of a Colchian crown prince, and a testament to their victory - and his failure in ensuring it did not happen.
Frustration ate away at him whilst they entered the capitol, and for the first time, Irakles could not find it within him to stir up his usual congenial smile to the people of Vasiliadon as they entered. Instead, the prince remained sandwiched by his men, guiding Aeneus towards the medical awnings and tents that they had set up. Unlike others, Irakles had a battle-hardened heart, and death came along with it. The comforting of the ones who had lost loved ones would have to come later, for the prince was in no shape to play the part of the kind and thoughtful prince he was, not when he wanted to lash out at someone, and not when he was covered in dirt, grime, blood and pain.
For he had not emerged unscathed. He was no being blessed by the Gods, and Irakles too, hd his own fair share of injuries. Blood caked his eyes, and many cuts and scrapes litter his legs and arms, prominently so on his knuckles which he had used to knock out quite a few Creeders before bringing his battle axe down on them.
Sliding off Aeneus once they had arrived, his instructions were curt and to the point - to give his gelding a rubdown and clean, before he was brought straight to the Mikaelidas manor for thorough care. His men back at the stables of his manor would know how to handle the spirited equine. A glance over his back informed Irakles that the Creeder would be brought where the King saw fit - the ones guarding the captive would have no reprieve yet, not like the ones they were receiving as of now.
Allowing himself to be led to a bench, the prince merely gave a polite, firm look at the Colchian crown prince, before he was placed on a bench at the further end of the medical tent, allowing the ladies to fuss over his split forehead and bloodied limbs.
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
He had eschewed the chariot for the return, allowing the Mikaelidas soldier driver to take the reins. Instead, the prince had returned to the capitol astride his gelded and retired warhorse, the cream gelding still spirited despite the process. Atop Aeneus, Irakles could observe the whole procession while they return, all weary after a long and hard battle that had lasted a whole day, and was a test in stamina as it was a test in strength. Unlike a regular, well structured battle that Irakles was used to, this one was more haphazard, for the Creed had no sort of rhyme or reason to the way they attacked, and while that left them more vulnerable, it also made their moves much harder to plan.
Perhaps what irritated Irakles the most however, was the Creeder in chains and shackles, guarded by a Commander of a Colchian crown prince, and a testament to their victory - and his failure in ensuring it did not happen.
Frustration ate away at him whilst they entered the capitol, and for the first time, Irakles could not find it within him to stir up his usual congenial smile to the people of Vasiliadon as they entered. Instead, the prince remained sandwiched by his men, guiding Aeneus towards the medical awnings and tents that they had set up. Unlike others, Irakles had a battle-hardened heart, and death came along with it. The comforting of the ones who had lost loved ones would have to come later, for the prince was in no shape to play the part of the kind and thoughtful prince he was, not when he wanted to lash out at someone, and not when he was covered in dirt, grime, blood and pain.
For he had not emerged unscathed. He was no being blessed by the Gods, and Irakles too, hd his own fair share of injuries. Blood caked his eyes, and many cuts and scrapes litter his legs and arms, prominently so on his knuckles which he had used to knock out quite a few Creeders before bringing his battle axe down on them.
Sliding off Aeneus once they had arrived, his instructions were curt and to the point - to give his gelding a rubdown and clean, before he was brought straight to the Mikaelidas manor for thorough care. His men back at the stables of his manor would know how to handle the spirited equine. A glance over his back informed Irakles that the Creeder would be brought where the King saw fit - the ones guarding the captive would have no reprieve yet, not like the ones they were receiving as of now.
Allowing himself to be led to a bench, the prince merely gave a polite, firm look at the Colchian crown prince, before he was placed on a bench at the further end of the medical tent, allowing the ladies to fuss over his split forehead and bloodied limbs.
He had eschewed the chariot for the return, allowing the Mikaelidas soldier driver to take the reins. Instead, the prince had returned to the capitol astride his gelded and retired warhorse, the cream gelding still spirited despite the process. Atop Aeneus, Irakles could observe the whole procession while they return, all weary after a long and hard battle that had lasted a whole day, and was a test in stamina as it was a test in strength. Unlike a regular, well structured battle that Irakles was used to, this one was more haphazard, for the Creed had no sort of rhyme or reason to the way they attacked, and while that left them more vulnerable, it also made their moves much harder to plan.
Perhaps what irritated Irakles the most however, was the Creeder in chains and shackles, guarded by a Commander of a Colchian crown prince, and a testament to their victory - and his failure in ensuring it did not happen.
Frustration ate away at him whilst they entered the capitol, and for the first time, Irakles could not find it within him to stir up his usual congenial smile to the people of Vasiliadon as they entered. Instead, the prince remained sandwiched by his men, guiding Aeneus towards the medical awnings and tents that they had set up. Unlike others, Irakles had a battle-hardened heart, and death came along with it. The comforting of the ones who had lost loved ones would have to come later, for the prince was in no shape to play the part of the kind and thoughtful prince he was, not when he wanted to lash out at someone, and not when he was covered in dirt, grime, blood and pain.
For he had not emerged unscathed. He was no being blessed by the Gods, and Irakles too, hd his own fair share of injuries. Blood caked his eyes, and many cuts and scrapes litter his legs and arms, prominently so on his knuckles which he had used to knock out quite a few Creeders before bringing his battle axe down on them.
Sliding off Aeneus once they had arrived, his instructions were curt and to the point - to give his gelding a rubdown and clean, before he was brought straight to the Mikaelidas manor for thorough care. His men back at the stables of his manor would know how to handle the spirited equine. A glance over his back informed Irakles that the Creeder would be brought where the King saw fit - the ones guarding the captive would have no reprieve yet, not like the ones they were receiving as of now.
Allowing himself to be led to a bench, the prince merely gave a polite, firm look at the Colchian crown prince, before he was placed on a bench at the further end of the medical tent, allowing the ladies to fuss over his split forehead and bloodied limbs.
"Your majesty, they are returning."
Olympia sat upright as quickly as she could with the babe in her stomach, heart pounding and tense with fear and elation, uncertain which to give way to first. Turning her gaze to the servant who had broken her uneasy slumber she parted her lips to ask before the woman gave a slight smile and nod.
"They say the king is victorious."
Relief surged through every single part of her and she breathed out a shaky laugh of joy. Her son would not be fatherless then, and their position was finally secure. With Stephanos victorious against the Creed, surely the threat would be lifted and those who had doubts would believe in him again. She stood carefully, unwrapping the shawl from about her shoulders and gesturing for a deep plum colored himation to cover the basic white chiton she had been coaxed into after the first few hours of her watch. Forgoing jewels this time, she let only a simple band in her hair give any signal of her status though with her belly grown as large and full as it had it was hardly unlikely anyone would doubt who she was.
With her ladies in tow and Alastair gliding along like a protective shadow as always, Pia made her way down to the stations that had been set up to treat the wounded and welcome the warriors home. Her feet were bare as always, too swollen and uncomfortable to bother trying to fit into any of her usual sandals, and she managed to keep herself to a sedate pace until they reached the courtyard and the sight and scent of blood and sweat and dirt hit her. They had said he was victorious, but not that he was unharmed. Suddenly she felt gripped with the urgent need to find her husband among those wounded, dead, and dying. Needed to hold him and see that he was well again no matter what anyone might say.
"Where is he?"
Her question was spoken aloud to no one in particular as hazel eyes scanned the crowds frantically. Familiar faces came into view and she caught her breath to see Irakles settled near Vangelis to wait. Surely the two royal men they would know of Stephanos' fate. Both hands rested protectively over her stomach as she approached them, trying not to mind the sight of their myriad wounds and blood. The hem of her chiton at this point would no doubt be ruined and stained but she couldn't bring herself to care.
"My lords, are you well? Is he?" She couldn't bring herself to ask the question directly, letting it hang in the air between them instead.
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
"Your majesty, they are returning."
Olympia sat upright as quickly as she could with the babe in her stomach, heart pounding and tense with fear and elation, uncertain which to give way to first. Turning her gaze to the servant who had broken her uneasy slumber she parted her lips to ask before the woman gave a slight smile and nod.
"They say the king is victorious."
Relief surged through every single part of her and she breathed out a shaky laugh of joy. Her son would not be fatherless then, and their position was finally secure. With Stephanos victorious against the Creed, surely the threat would be lifted and those who had doubts would believe in him again. She stood carefully, unwrapping the shawl from about her shoulders and gesturing for a deep plum colored himation to cover the basic white chiton she had been coaxed into after the first few hours of her watch. Forgoing jewels this time, she let only a simple band in her hair give any signal of her status though with her belly grown as large and full as it had it was hardly unlikely anyone would doubt who she was.
With her ladies in tow and Alastair gliding along like a protective shadow as always, Pia made her way down to the stations that had been set up to treat the wounded and welcome the warriors home. Her feet were bare as always, too swollen and uncomfortable to bother trying to fit into any of her usual sandals, and she managed to keep herself to a sedate pace until they reached the courtyard and the sight and scent of blood and sweat and dirt hit her. They had said he was victorious, but not that he was unharmed. Suddenly she felt gripped with the urgent need to find her husband among those wounded, dead, and dying. Needed to hold him and see that he was well again no matter what anyone might say.
"Where is he?"
Her question was spoken aloud to no one in particular as hazel eyes scanned the crowds frantically. Familiar faces came into view and she caught her breath to see Irakles settled near Vangelis to wait. Surely the two royal men they would know of Stephanos' fate. Both hands rested protectively over her stomach as she approached them, trying not to mind the sight of their myriad wounds and blood. The hem of her chiton at this point would no doubt be ruined and stained but she couldn't bring herself to care.
"My lords, are you well? Is he?" She couldn't bring herself to ask the question directly, letting it hang in the air between them instead.
"Your majesty, they are returning."
Olympia sat upright as quickly as she could with the babe in her stomach, heart pounding and tense with fear and elation, uncertain which to give way to first. Turning her gaze to the servant who had broken her uneasy slumber she parted her lips to ask before the woman gave a slight smile and nod.
"They say the king is victorious."
Relief surged through every single part of her and she breathed out a shaky laugh of joy. Her son would not be fatherless then, and their position was finally secure. With Stephanos victorious against the Creed, surely the threat would be lifted and those who had doubts would believe in him again. She stood carefully, unwrapping the shawl from about her shoulders and gesturing for a deep plum colored himation to cover the basic white chiton she had been coaxed into after the first few hours of her watch. Forgoing jewels this time, she let only a simple band in her hair give any signal of her status though with her belly grown as large and full as it had it was hardly unlikely anyone would doubt who she was.
With her ladies in tow and Alastair gliding along like a protective shadow as always, Pia made her way down to the stations that had been set up to treat the wounded and welcome the warriors home. Her feet were bare as always, too swollen and uncomfortable to bother trying to fit into any of her usual sandals, and she managed to keep herself to a sedate pace until they reached the courtyard and the sight and scent of blood and sweat and dirt hit her. They had said he was victorious, but not that he was unharmed. Suddenly she felt gripped with the urgent need to find her husband among those wounded, dead, and dying. Needed to hold him and see that he was well again no matter what anyone might say.
"Where is he?"
Her question was spoken aloud to no one in particular as hazel eyes scanned the crowds frantically. Familiar faces came into view and she caught her breath to see Irakles settled near Vangelis to wait. Surely the two royal men they would know of Stephanos' fate. Both hands rested protectively over her stomach as she approached them, trying not to mind the sight of their myriad wounds and blood. The hem of her chiton at this point would no doubt be ruined and stained but she couldn't bring herself to care.
"My lords, are you well? Is he?" She couldn't bring herself to ask the question directly, letting it hang in the air between them instead.
Having spent the afternoon at the Palati, Imeeya heard the commotion as the men began returning from the battle with the Creed. She had never seen so many injured people in one place before, and she very much wished that she didn’t have to see them now. Still, Imeeya was never one to wait on the sidelines when there was something she could do to help. Thus, Imeeya had found herself down under the prepared awnings as wave after wave of injured men were brought in to be treated. Though she had no medical training of her own, Imeeya was quickly assigned to help with the wounds that merely had to be cleaned and bandaged.
For that, Imeeya was grateful. Even left to treating only flesh wounds, Imeeya saw things that she wished she hadn’t. She had never wondered what a man might look like on the inside before, and yet, that question was one that she now knew the answer to. Imeeya pushed the queaziness that she felt down, and tried to keep her eyes to her own task. It was her duty to help these people, people who had put their lives on the line for their country, and she wasn’t about to let her own body’s weaknesses get in the way of what was necessary.
Imeeya found herself bandaging injury after injury until the injuries and blood stopped registering as something repulsive and they were just something that she had to gently wash and then wrap in the clean linen that had been provided. She didn’t notice as her hands and her peplos became stained with the blood of the wounded that she was treating. She worked in almost a trance-like state until she heard a voice cut through the crowd. The queen asking after the fate of her husband, as Imeeya looked up towards the woman, she spotted where she had been heading, and saw her cousin Vangelis sitting on one of the benches.
With all of the injured needing her help, Imeeya hadn’t let herself wonder what might have been the fate of her cousin and his guard, but seeing him there, safe let something within her lose. Imeeya rose from where she had been attending to the wounded and started quickly walking over towards Vangelis. She couldn’t believe how relieved she was to see him back safely. While they had never been that close, he was family and had been a constant presence in her life for as long as she could remember. She could not imagine losing him.
Her footsteps accelerated as she grew closer. While normally Imeeya would stand strictly on protocol, the queen barely registered as she approached her cousin, stopping just in front of him. “Vangelis! You’re back safely. I was so worried after…” she turned and gestured at the mess of injured behind her. Then it sunk in that she had just interrupted a conversation with the queen. She turned back toward the woman, dropping into a curtsey. “I apologize, Your Royal Highness. I hadn’t realized you were there.” It wasn’t the whole truth, but it was an easier explanation than her forgetting about the queen’s presence for a moment upon seeing her cousin.
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
Having spent the afternoon at the Palati, Imeeya heard the commotion as the men began returning from the battle with the Creed. She had never seen so many injured people in one place before, and she very much wished that she didn’t have to see them now. Still, Imeeya was never one to wait on the sidelines when there was something she could do to help. Thus, Imeeya had found herself down under the prepared awnings as wave after wave of injured men were brought in to be treated. Though she had no medical training of her own, Imeeya was quickly assigned to help with the wounds that merely had to be cleaned and bandaged.
For that, Imeeya was grateful. Even left to treating only flesh wounds, Imeeya saw things that she wished she hadn’t. She had never wondered what a man might look like on the inside before, and yet, that question was one that she now knew the answer to. Imeeya pushed the queaziness that she felt down, and tried to keep her eyes to her own task. It was her duty to help these people, people who had put their lives on the line for their country, and she wasn’t about to let her own body’s weaknesses get in the way of what was necessary.
Imeeya found herself bandaging injury after injury until the injuries and blood stopped registering as something repulsive and they were just something that she had to gently wash and then wrap in the clean linen that had been provided. She didn’t notice as her hands and her peplos became stained with the blood of the wounded that she was treating. She worked in almost a trance-like state until she heard a voice cut through the crowd. The queen asking after the fate of her husband, as Imeeya looked up towards the woman, she spotted where she had been heading, and saw her cousin Vangelis sitting on one of the benches.
With all of the injured needing her help, Imeeya hadn’t let herself wonder what might have been the fate of her cousin and his guard, but seeing him there, safe let something within her lose. Imeeya rose from where she had been attending to the wounded and started quickly walking over towards Vangelis. She couldn’t believe how relieved she was to see him back safely. While they had never been that close, he was family and had been a constant presence in her life for as long as she could remember. She could not imagine losing him.
Her footsteps accelerated as she grew closer. While normally Imeeya would stand strictly on protocol, the queen barely registered as she approached her cousin, stopping just in front of him. “Vangelis! You’re back safely. I was so worried after…” she turned and gestured at the mess of injured behind her. Then it sunk in that she had just interrupted a conversation with the queen. She turned back toward the woman, dropping into a curtsey. “I apologize, Your Royal Highness. I hadn’t realized you were there.” It wasn’t the whole truth, but it was an easier explanation than her forgetting about the queen’s presence for a moment upon seeing her cousin.
Having spent the afternoon at the Palati, Imeeya heard the commotion as the men began returning from the battle with the Creed. She had never seen so many injured people in one place before, and she very much wished that she didn’t have to see them now. Still, Imeeya was never one to wait on the sidelines when there was something she could do to help. Thus, Imeeya had found herself down under the prepared awnings as wave after wave of injured men were brought in to be treated. Though she had no medical training of her own, Imeeya was quickly assigned to help with the wounds that merely had to be cleaned and bandaged.
For that, Imeeya was grateful. Even left to treating only flesh wounds, Imeeya saw things that she wished she hadn’t. She had never wondered what a man might look like on the inside before, and yet, that question was one that she now knew the answer to. Imeeya pushed the queaziness that she felt down, and tried to keep her eyes to her own task. It was her duty to help these people, people who had put their lives on the line for their country, and she wasn’t about to let her own body’s weaknesses get in the way of what was necessary.
Imeeya found herself bandaging injury after injury until the injuries and blood stopped registering as something repulsive and they were just something that she had to gently wash and then wrap in the clean linen that had been provided. She didn’t notice as her hands and her peplos became stained with the blood of the wounded that she was treating. She worked in almost a trance-like state until she heard a voice cut through the crowd. The queen asking after the fate of her husband, as Imeeya looked up towards the woman, she spotted where she had been heading, and saw her cousin Vangelis sitting on one of the benches.
With all of the injured needing her help, Imeeya hadn’t let herself wonder what might have been the fate of her cousin and his guard, but seeing him there, safe let something within her lose. Imeeya rose from where she had been attending to the wounded and started quickly walking over towards Vangelis. She couldn’t believe how relieved she was to see him back safely. While they had never been that close, he was family and had been a constant presence in her life for as long as she could remember. She could not imagine losing him.
Her footsteps accelerated as she grew closer. While normally Imeeya would stand strictly on protocol, the queen barely registered as she approached her cousin, stopping just in front of him. “Vangelis! You’re back safely. I was so worried after…” she turned and gestured at the mess of injured behind her. Then it sunk in that she had just interrupted a conversation with the queen. She turned back toward the woman, dropping into a curtsey. “I apologize, Your Royal Highness. I hadn’t realized you were there.” It wasn’t the whole truth, but it was an easier explanation than her forgetting about the queen’s presence for a moment upon seeing her cousin.
Vangelis had not yet been seen to when the Queen approached himself and the Prince Irakles seated only a little down the bench from himself, following quickly by his cousin Imeeya. As such, he looked pretty banged up when they arrived, his arm streaming with blood and any exposed skin on him riddled with little nicks and cuts. His thigh and arm were the worst but neither were particularly life threatening. They just looked awkward. His simple glance over the Prince Irakles showed him to be of the same sort of condition. Clearly injured from the fighting but not in any real danger as far as his health was concerned.
That being said, they both looked a picture, so it was easy to understand the fright and concern that came over the Queen's face as she approached. Soldiers lay dead and other injured and even the royals themselves were awash with crimson. The horrifying idea that the king might have fallen or been damaged beyond repair in the battle was a natural assumption and fright.
Vangelis' glanced down as the woman wrapped a hand around her belly and he recalled that pregnancies could be put in danger if the mother was too stressed or agitated. Ergo, he spoke up where normally he would have likely minded his own business.
"The king lives, Your Highness." Vangelis commented, loud enough for the queen to hear but not in a tone that would attract great swathes of attention, he hoped. "A little cut and injured but nothing serious. He's perfectly fine and around here somewhere..." He gave a cursory glance around him for Vangelis had been in charge of escorting the dead rather than the living back to the capitol. "You have no need to fear." He offered the woman a rare curl of his lip into a reassuring expression and nod, before turning his attention to his cousin.
"I'm fine, cousin." He commented with the same nod of placation. "Taengea has paid for the eradication of the Creed with many lives, but that doesn't include my own."
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
Vangelis had not yet been seen to when the Queen approached himself and the Prince Irakles seated only a little down the bench from himself, following quickly by his cousin Imeeya. As such, he looked pretty banged up when they arrived, his arm streaming with blood and any exposed skin on him riddled with little nicks and cuts. His thigh and arm were the worst but neither were particularly life threatening. They just looked awkward. His simple glance over the Prince Irakles showed him to be of the same sort of condition. Clearly injured from the fighting but not in any real danger as far as his health was concerned.
That being said, they both looked a picture, so it was easy to understand the fright and concern that came over the Queen's face as she approached. Soldiers lay dead and other injured and even the royals themselves were awash with crimson. The horrifying idea that the king might have fallen or been damaged beyond repair in the battle was a natural assumption and fright.
Vangelis' glanced down as the woman wrapped a hand around her belly and he recalled that pregnancies could be put in danger if the mother was too stressed or agitated. Ergo, he spoke up where normally he would have likely minded his own business.
"The king lives, Your Highness." Vangelis commented, loud enough for the queen to hear but not in a tone that would attract great swathes of attention, he hoped. "A little cut and injured but nothing serious. He's perfectly fine and around here somewhere..." He gave a cursory glance around him for Vangelis had been in charge of escorting the dead rather than the living back to the capitol. "You have no need to fear." He offered the woman a rare curl of his lip into a reassuring expression and nod, before turning his attention to his cousin.
"I'm fine, cousin." He commented with the same nod of placation. "Taengea has paid for the eradication of the Creed with many lives, but that doesn't include my own."
Vangelis had not yet been seen to when the Queen approached himself and the Prince Irakles seated only a little down the bench from himself, following quickly by his cousin Imeeya. As such, he looked pretty banged up when they arrived, his arm streaming with blood and any exposed skin on him riddled with little nicks and cuts. His thigh and arm were the worst but neither were particularly life threatening. They just looked awkward. His simple glance over the Prince Irakles showed him to be of the same sort of condition. Clearly injured from the fighting but not in any real danger as far as his health was concerned.
That being said, they both looked a picture, so it was easy to understand the fright and concern that came over the Queen's face as she approached. Soldiers lay dead and other injured and even the royals themselves were awash with crimson. The horrifying idea that the king might have fallen or been damaged beyond repair in the battle was a natural assumption and fright.
Vangelis' glanced down as the woman wrapped a hand around her belly and he recalled that pregnancies could be put in danger if the mother was too stressed or agitated. Ergo, he spoke up where normally he would have likely minded his own business.
"The king lives, Your Highness." Vangelis commented, loud enough for the queen to hear but not in a tone that would attract great swathes of attention, he hoped. "A little cut and injured but nothing serious. He's perfectly fine and around here somewhere..." He gave a cursory glance around him for Vangelis had been in charge of escorting the dead rather than the living back to the capitol. "You have no need to fear." He offered the woman a rare curl of his lip into a reassuring expression and nod, before turning his attention to his cousin.
"I'm fine, cousin." He commented with the same nod of placation. "Taengea has paid for the eradication of the Creed with many lives, but that doesn't include my own."
Unlike Irakles or Vangelis, Stephanos had no qualms both leading the army out, or leading them back into the city. No battle was without casualties. It was a fact of life. He had not expected so many to fall, however. The men he’d taken with him had been chosen with care and their losses would be felt not only by their families, but also their brothers in arms.
Even with their deaths weighing down upon him, he could not suppress the elation of victory. He was even a little smug about it. The price was high but worth it. His men had followed, knowing that they might not come back. They’d sacrificed for Taengea and their families would be properly rewarded.
Rather than lead them all back to the palati, however, he broke off with Commander Nike and Gavriil of Dimitrou, both of whom were still guarding the Creed leader. His goal was to take the vile being and stash him in a secret location. Not for one moment did he believe the Creed leader was safe; either from others or perhaps the leader would do himself harm, which he had to be prevented from doing.
This meant that Stephanos showed up to the tents later than everyone else. Due to both adrenaline and excitement, he was only just now noticing a throwing star embedded in his armor. It was high up on his back, just above the shoulder blade. The spikes dug through and bit into his skin. Another shallow would to his side had begun to ache; a sword that had only just pierced his armor. Both were mainly surface damage. But blood coated his body just like everyone else. It belonged to both himself and the ones he’d killed. He was a sticky, frightening, gorey mess.
Until he saw his wife, his thoughts had been on everything else. But once he set eyes on her, he remembered the threat of using poison on herself and their unborn son. Relief flooded him now as he realized that here too was a victory of a different kind. For now, at least, Irakles still had to contend with being third in line for the throne.
To Vangelis, he nodded. His uncle was wholly ignored. Stephanos waited for Pia to turn around and spot him.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
Unlike Irakles or Vangelis, Stephanos had no qualms both leading the army out, or leading them back into the city. No battle was without casualties. It was a fact of life. He had not expected so many to fall, however. The men he’d taken with him had been chosen with care and their losses would be felt not only by their families, but also their brothers in arms.
Even with their deaths weighing down upon him, he could not suppress the elation of victory. He was even a little smug about it. The price was high but worth it. His men had followed, knowing that they might not come back. They’d sacrificed for Taengea and their families would be properly rewarded.
Rather than lead them all back to the palati, however, he broke off with Commander Nike and Gavriil of Dimitrou, both of whom were still guarding the Creed leader. His goal was to take the vile being and stash him in a secret location. Not for one moment did he believe the Creed leader was safe; either from others or perhaps the leader would do himself harm, which he had to be prevented from doing.
This meant that Stephanos showed up to the tents later than everyone else. Due to both adrenaline and excitement, he was only just now noticing a throwing star embedded in his armor. It was high up on his back, just above the shoulder blade. The spikes dug through and bit into his skin. Another shallow would to his side had begun to ache; a sword that had only just pierced his armor. Both were mainly surface damage. But blood coated his body just like everyone else. It belonged to both himself and the ones he’d killed. He was a sticky, frightening, gorey mess.
Until he saw his wife, his thoughts had been on everything else. But once he set eyes on her, he remembered the threat of using poison on herself and their unborn son. Relief flooded him now as he realized that here too was a victory of a different kind. For now, at least, Irakles still had to contend with being third in line for the throne.
To Vangelis, he nodded. His uncle was wholly ignored. Stephanos waited for Pia to turn around and spot him.
Unlike Irakles or Vangelis, Stephanos had no qualms both leading the army out, or leading them back into the city. No battle was without casualties. It was a fact of life. He had not expected so many to fall, however. The men he’d taken with him had been chosen with care and their losses would be felt not only by their families, but also their brothers in arms.
Even with their deaths weighing down upon him, he could not suppress the elation of victory. He was even a little smug about it. The price was high but worth it. His men had followed, knowing that they might not come back. They’d sacrificed for Taengea and their families would be properly rewarded.
Rather than lead them all back to the palati, however, he broke off with Commander Nike and Gavriil of Dimitrou, both of whom were still guarding the Creed leader. His goal was to take the vile being and stash him in a secret location. Not for one moment did he believe the Creed leader was safe; either from others or perhaps the leader would do himself harm, which he had to be prevented from doing.
This meant that Stephanos showed up to the tents later than everyone else. Due to both adrenaline and excitement, he was only just now noticing a throwing star embedded in his armor. It was high up on his back, just above the shoulder blade. The spikes dug through and bit into his skin. Another shallow would to his side had begun to ache; a sword that had only just pierced his armor. Both were mainly surface damage. But blood coated his body just like everyone else. It belonged to both himself and the ones he’d killed. He was a sticky, frightening, gorey mess.
Until he saw his wife, his thoughts had been on everything else. But once he set eyes on her, he remembered the threat of using poison on herself and their unborn son. Relief flooded him now as he realized that here too was a victory of a different kind. For now, at least, Irakles still had to contend with being third in line for the throne.
To Vangelis, he nodded. His uncle was wholly ignored. Stephanos waited for Pia to turn around and spot him.
Selene had done her best to distract the women, trying her best not to worry about her family as they rode off to put an end to the violence that had gripped the city. She had put aside her own anxiety to focus on her sister, who was pregnant and obviously distressed about what would happen, should they fail today. And, she supposed, it was with good reason. The last time the Creed had attacked, they had taken Pia with the intent of causing her harm. If it hadn’t been for Vangelis that day, the outcome would have been very different, indeed. She had stayed in the room with her sister while she slept, busying herself within the quarters so that she wasn’t alone.
Plus the distraction helped.
The servant came into the room, looking at Selene for direction about the sleeping Queen. A simple gesture to ‘go ahead’ gave the good news as she awoke. Selene attempted to help her sister, but the girl was too anxious to see the condition of her husband herself. She and Alastair shared a look before they disappeared from the room to meet the troops themselves.
When they came into view of the aftermath, Selene couldn’t help but feel her heart clench in her chest. So many injured, with clothes wrapped around the dead as they moved motionless through on a cart. Women were working in tents with the wounded, while there seem to be crowd growing around the King and princes. Her eyes found Vangelis, unable to deny the relief that washed over her as she saw him whole and mostly uninjured. Unsure if he had caught her gaze, the blonde didn’t join the royal party. He had plenty of people around him concerned for his well being and she was sure that the last thing he wanted was another person showing any obvious concern to his injuries.
So while most of the group stopped at the King, she moved towards the tents with the wounded. Even as a noble, she had some experience in wrapping wounds. And while these were far more violent than any she had seen in the past, she had hoped the concept was the same. And, perhaps, she would be busy enough to keep her mind occupied. Her sister was in good hands, and she was needed more within the tents.
She had seen Vangelis injured before, had dealt with his injuries to a point and knew that his pride often was prickled when she showed any concern for him. If he wished for her to see to his injuries, he could come to her and maintain his pride on the issue. But she had no place in rushing to his side now to check on him. And the last thing she wished to do was insult him as if he needed her to inquire as to his condition.
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
Selene had done her best to distract the women, trying her best not to worry about her family as they rode off to put an end to the violence that had gripped the city. She had put aside her own anxiety to focus on her sister, who was pregnant and obviously distressed about what would happen, should they fail today. And, she supposed, it was with good reason. The last time the Creed had attacked, they had taken Pia with the intent of causing her harm. If it hadn’t been for Vangelis that day, the outcome would have been very different, indeed. She had stayed in the room with her sister while she slept, busying herself within the quarters so that she wasn’t alone.
Plus the distraction helped.
The servant came into the room, looking at Selene for direction about the sleeping Queen. A simple gesture to ‘go ahead’ gave the good news as she awoke. Selene attempted to help her sister, but the girl was too anxious to see the condition of her husband herself. She and Alastair shared a look before they disappeared from the room to meet the troops themselves.
When they came into view of the aftermath, Selene couldn’t help but feel her heart clench in her chest. So many injured, with clothes wrapped around the dead as they moved motionless through on a cart. Women were working in tents with the wounded, while there seem to be crowd growing around the King and princes. Her eyes found Vangelis, unable to deny the relief that washed over her as she saw him whole and mostly uninjured. Unsure if he had caught her gaze, the blonde didn’t join the royal party. He had plenty of people around him concerned for his well being and she was sure that the last thing he wanted was another person showing any obvious concern to his injuries.
So while most of the group stopped at the King, she moved towards the tents with the wounded. Even as a noble, she had some experience in wrapping wounds. And while these were far more violent than any she had seen in the past, she had hoped the concept was the same. And, perhaps, she would be busy enough to keep her mind occupied. Her sister was in good hands, and she was needed more within the tents.
She had seen Vangelis injured before, had dealt with his injuries to a point and knew that his pride often was prickled when she showed any concern for him. If he wished for her to see to his injuries, he could come to her and maintain his pride on the issue. But she had no place in rushing to his side now to check on him. And the last thing she wished to do was insult him as if he needed her to inquire as to his condition.
Selene had done her best to distract the women, trying her best not to worry about her family as they rode off to put an end to the violence that had gripped the city. She had put aside her own anxiety to focus on her sister, who was pregnant and obviously distressed about what would happen, should they fail today. And, she supposed, it was with good reason. The last time the Creed had attacked, they had taken Pia with the intent of causing her harm. If it hadn’t been for Vangelis that day, the outcome would have been very different, indeed. She had stayed in the room with her sister while she slept, busying herself within the quarters so that she wasn’t alone.
Plus the distraction helped.
The servant came into the room, looking at Selene for direction about the sleeping Queen. A simple gesture to ‘go ahead’ gave the good news as she awoke. Selene attempted to help her sister, but the girl was too anxious to see the condition of her husband herself. She and Alastair shared a look before they disappeared from the room to meet the troops themselves.
When they came into view of the aftermath, Selene couldn’t help but feel her heart clench in her chest. So many injured, with clothes wrapped around the dead as they moved motionless through on a cart. Women were working in tents with the wounded, while there seem to be crowd growing around the King and princes. Her eyes found Vangelis, unable to deny the relief that washed over her as she saw him whole and mostly uninjured. Unsure if he had caught her gaze, the blonde didn’t join the royal party. He had plenty of people around him concerned for his well being and she was sure that the last thing he wanted was another person showing any obvious concern to his injuries.
So while most of the group stopped at the King, she moved towards the tents with the wounded. Even as a noble, she had some experience in wrapping wounds. And while these were far more violent than any she had seen in the past, she had hoped the concept was the same. And, perhaps, she would be busy enough to keep her mind occupied. Her sister was in good hands, and she was needed more within the tents.
She had seen Vangelis injured before, had dealt with his injuries to a point and knew that his pride often was prickled when she showed any concern for him. If he wished for her to see to his injuries, he could come to her and maintain his pride on the issue. But she had no place in rushing to his side now to check on him. And the last thing she wished to do was insult him as if he needed her to inquire as to his condition.
The amounts of blood on the men before her were making her anxious, her heart beating fast in fear until Vangelis smiled. It didn't matter when the young Colchian woman interrupted, seeing to the well being of her cousin in a time like this was nothing to apologize for and Pia shook her head to brush off the apology, reaching to touch her arm gently and guide her past to see to the prince.
"In a time like this rank doesn't much matter. No need to apologize, go on."
Turning from the royals before her, she worked up the courage to scan the rest of the bloodied and dirty group of men and the women attending to them. There were healers and priests, priestesses gathering to give comfort to those injured and dying, those who served Hades helping to clean and prepare bodies already. She couldn't show the nausea or fear, the discomfort had to be hidden behind the mask of queen, her mother's words running through her mind kept her back upright and eyes open in the face of such horror.
Her eyes almost passed over him in the mass of humanity, covered in the same filth as all of the others there was no way to tell king from soldier. All at once relief mingled with the fear and she held no regard for any decorum that might have been expected of them in the moment, and she moved as quickly as she could with eight months of child before her. She didn't care about the blood and grime, didn't care it was getting on her chiton or that the armor that he wore was digging into her as she threw herself into his arms. Clinging to him tightly she was surprised there were no tears as she slid a hand into his hair and buried her face in his neck and tried not to gag at the scent of blood and sweat combined. It didn't matter, nothing else mattered right now. He was home safe.
"Thank you, for coming home." After her initial outburst Pia pulled back, looking over him and trying to find the source of the blood to see if any was his own. "Are you hurt? Come, let's get you cleaned up we'll have a victory feast."
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 amounts of blood on the men before her were making her anxious, her heart beating fast in fear until Vangelis smiled. It didn't matter when the young Colchian woman interrupted, seeing to the well being of her cousin in a time like this was nothing to apologize for and Pia shook her head to brush off the apology, reaching to touch her arm gently and guide her past to see to the prince.
"In a time like this rank doesn't much matter. No need to apologize, go on."
Turning from the royals before her, she worked up the courage to scan the rest of the bloodied and dirty group of men and the women attending to them. There were healers and priests, priestesses gathering to give comfort to those injured and dying, those who served Hades helping to clean and prepare bodies already. She couldn't show the nausea or fear, the discomfort had to be hidden behind the mask of queen, her mother's words running through her mind kept her back upright and eyes open in the face of such horror.
Her eyes almost passed over him in the mass of humanity, covered in the same filth as all of the others there was no way to tell king from soldier. All at once relief mingled with the fear and she held no regard for any decorum that might have been expected of them in the moment, and she moved as quickly as she could with eight months of child before her. She didn't care about the blood and grime, didn't care it was getting on her chiton or that the armor that he wore was digging into her as she threw herself into his arms. Clinging to him tightly she was surprised there were no tears as she slid a hand into his hair and buried her face in his neck and tried not to gag at the scent of blood and sweat combined. It didn't matter, nothing else mattered right now. He was home safe.
"Thank you, for coming home." After her initial outburst Pia pulled back, looking over him and trying to find the source of the blood to see if any was his own. "Are you hurt? Come, let's get you cleaned up we'll have a victory feast."
The amounts of blood on the men before her were making her anxious, her heart beating fast in fear until Vangelis smiled. It didn't matter when the young Colchian woman interrupted, seeing to the well being of her cousin in a time like this was nothing to apologize for and Pia shook her head to brush off the apology, reaching to touch her arm gently and guide her past to see to the prince.
"In a time like this rank doesn't much matter. No need to apologize, go on."
Turning from the royals before her, she worked up the courage to scan the rest of the bloodied and dirty group of men and the women attending to them. There were healers and priests, priestesses gathering to give comfort to those injured and dying, those who served Hades helping to clean and prepare bodies already. She couldn't show the nausea or fear, the discomfort had to be hidden behind the mask of queen, her mother's words running through her mind kept her back upright and eyes open in the face of such horror.
Her eyes almost passed over him in the mass of humanity, covered in the same filth as all of the others there was no way to tell king from soldier. All at once relief mingled with the fear and she held no regard for any decorum that might have been expected of them in the moment, and she moved as quickly as she could with eight months of child before her. She didn't care about the blood and grime, didn't care it was getting on her chiton or that the armor that he wore was digging into her as she threw herself into his arms. Clinging to him tightly she was surprised there were no tears as she slid a hand into his hair and buried her face in his neck and tried not to gag at the scent of blood and sweat combined. It didn't matter, nothing else mattered right now. He was home safe.
"Thank you, for coming home." After her initial outburst Pia pulled back, looking over him and trying to find the source of the blood to see if any was his own. "Are you hurt? Come, let's get you cleaned up we'll have a victory feast."
Among a crowd, where he was dressed essentially the same as everyone else, and where the gore hid much of the men, Stephanos was not immediately recognizable as himself at a glance. He wasn’t grievously injured and felt no need to pressure anyone to come to him immediately. Like Prince Vangelis, and Prince Irakles, he was content to wait.
Pia actually passed him as she led Imeeya toward Vangelis and he smirked when she did it, not saying a single word as she looked probingly around the tent. Once she spotted him, he grinned but stumbled a bit as she slung herself onto him. Belatedly, he remembered the baby but he knew what kind of reception he’d get if he so much as mentioned that she should have stayed in the palati or been in her rooms. He was powerfully glad to see her and buried his face against her shoulder as she did the same to him.
He didn’t notice that she didn’t have tears but if he had, he would have been relieved she didn’t shed any. His eyes closed as her fingers grazed through his still wet hair, slick with sweat and blood and dirt. This was probably the grossest and messiest he’d been in quite a while.
"Thank you, for coming home."
“I told you I would,” he said into her shoulder. Once she pulled away, he looked her over. His eyebrows raised and his mouth quirked into something between a grimace and a smile. Her dress was every bit as dirty as his armor and because she’d had her arms around him, so were her own arms and the sides of her face that had touched him. She looked frightful and he could only surmise that he looked worse still.
“I have…” he glanced over his shoulder at the throwing star embedded in the back of his armor with its teeth biting into a bit of his muscle. “Nothing much…” But he allowed her to lead him where she would and submitted to whatever she wanted done.
Now that he was home and the Creed leader stashed away, he felt like a weight was off his shoulders. He’d done exactly what he said he would. Let the court snakes eat that bitterness for their breakfast tomorrow.
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
Among a crowd, where he was dressed essentially the same as everyone else, and where the gore hid much of the men, Stephanos was not immediately recognizable as himself at a glance. He wasn’t grievously injured and felt no need to pressure anyone to come to him immediately. Like Prince Vangelis, and Prince Irakles, he was content to wait.
Pia actually passed him as she led Imeeya toward Vangelis and he smirked when she did it, not saying a single word as she looked probingly around the tent. Once she spotted him, he grinned but stumbled a bit as she slung herself onto him. Belatedly, he remembered the baby but he knew what kind of reception he’d get if he so much as mentioned that she should have stayed in the palati or been in her rooms. He was powerfully glad to see her and buried his face against her shoulder as she did the same to him.
He didn’t notice that she didn’t have tears but if he had, he would have been relieved she didn’t shed any. His eyes closed as her fingers grazed through his still wet hair, slick with sweat and blood and dirt. This was probably the grossest and messiest he’d been in quite a while.
"Thank you, for coming home."
“I told you I would,” he said into her shoulder. Once she pulled away, he looked her over. His eyebrows raised and his mouth quirked into something between a grimace and a smile. Her dress was every bit as dirty as his armor and because she’d had her arms around him, so were her own arms and the sides of her face that had touched him. She looked frightful and he could only surmise that he looked worse still.
“I have…” he glanced over his shoulder at the throwing star embedded in the back of his armor with its teeth biting into a bit of his muscle. “Nothing much…” But he allowed her to lead him where she would and submitted to whatever she wanted done.
Now that he was home and the Creed leader stashed away, he felt like a weight was off his shoulders. He’d done exactly what he said he would. Let the court snakes eat that bitterness for their breakfast tomorrow.
Among a crowd, where he was dressed essentially the same as everyone else, and where the gore hid much of the men, Stephanos was not immediately recognizable as himself at a glance. He wasn’t grievously injured and felt no need to pressure anyone to come to him immediately. Like Prince Vangelis, and Prince Irakles, he was content to wait.
Pia actually passed him as she led Imeeya toward Vangelis and he smirked when she did it, not saying a single word as she looked probingly around the tent. Once she spotted him, he grinned but stumbled a bit as she slung herself onto him. Belatedly, he remembered the baby but he knew what kind of reception he’d get if he so much as mentioned that she should have stayed in the palati or been in her rooms. He was powerfully glad to see her and buried his face against her shoulder as she did the same to him.
He didn’t notice that she didn’t have tears but if he had, he would have been relieved she didn’t shed any. His eyes closed as her fingers grazed through his still wet hair, slick with sweat and blood and dirt. This was probably the grossest and messiest he’d been in quite a while.
"Thank you, for coming home."
“I told you I would,” he said into her shoulder. Once she pulled away, he looked her over. His eyebrows raised and his mouth quirked into something between a grimace and a smile. Her dress was every bit as dirty as his armor and because she’d had her arms around him, so were her own arms and the sides of her face that had touched him. She looked frightful and he could only surmise that he looked worse still.
“I have…” he glanced over his shoulder at the throwing star embedded in the back of his armor with its teeth biting into a bit of his muscle. “Nothing much…” But he allowed her to lead him where she would and submitted to whatever she wanted done.
Now that he was home and the Creed leader stashed away, he felt like a weight was off his shoulders. He’d done exactly what he said he would. Let the court snakes eat that bitterness for their breakfast tomorrow.
Nikolias- or rather Nikolias' stomach- hated war with a passion. But especially this part. Every time there was a war from the first time in his memory to the most recent, he thought of Hector and Achilles when the living soldiers dragged the dead through the city. How the dead had been paraded around in that story, almost as if it were a different kind of victory for them to be dead. And it had been- to the captors of the city, that was. To him, it was heartbreaking, cruel, and more than a little gross, where to another person it might have been just... war. That was, war as you accepted it as a fact of life. It was disgusting and heartbreaking and cruel, certainly, but it couldn't be any other way, right? It just...was.
Even here in the medical tent, only hearing the cheers from outside, he smelled blood. Or maybe that was because he was expecting to smell blood later, and his brain was thinking ahead. Ugh.
He tried to focus on collecting the medical supplies and sorting them into piles to make it easier to find them later. Bandages. Weird-smelling herbs he couldn't remember the name of right now. Needles and catgut.
As another cheer went up, he could imagine Irakles riding on his horse without a care in the world. Lucky bastard. He probably thinks that's awesome. All the praise and acclaim and none of the stress on his feet.
Meanwhile, as he unfolded blankets and sheets to use, the marching footsteps grew closer to the tent.
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
Nikolias- or rather Nikolias' stomach- hated war with a passion. But especially this part. Every time there was a war from the first time in his memory to the most recent, he thought of Hector and Achilles when the living soldiers dragged the dead through the city. How the dead had been paraded around in that story, almost as if it were a different kind of victory for them to be dead. And it had been- to the captors of the city, that was. To him, it was heartbreaking, cruel, and more than a little gross, where to another person it might have been just... war. That was, war as you accepted it as a fact of life. It was disgusting and heartbreaking and cruel, certainly, but it couldn't be any other way, right? It just...was.
Even here in the medical tent, only hearing the cheers from outside, he smelled blood. Or maybe that was because he was expecting to smell blood later, and his brain was thinking ahead. Ugh.
He tried to focus on collecting the medical supplies and sorting them into piles to make it easier to find them later. Bandages. Weird-smelling herbs he couldn't remember the name of right now. Needles and catgut.
As another cheer went up, he could imagine Irakles riding on his horse without a care in the world. Lucky bastard. He probably thinks that's awesome. All the praise and acclaim and none of the stress on his feet.
Meanwhile, as he unfolded blankets and sheets to use, the marching footsteps grew closer to the tent.
Nikolias- or rather Nikolias' stomach- hated war with a passion. But especially this part. Every time there was a war from the first time in his memory to the most recent, he thought of Hector and Achilles when the living soldiers dragged the dead through the city. How the dead had been paraded around in that story, almost as if it were a different kind of victory for them to be dead. And it had been- to the captors of the city, that was. To him, it was heartbreaking, cruel, and more than a little gross, where to another person it might have been just... war. That was, war as you accepted it as a fact of life. It was disgusting and heartbreaking and cruel, certainly, but it couldn't be any other way, right? It just...was.
Even here in the medical tent, only hearing the cheers from outside, he smelled blood. Or maybe that was because he was expecting to smell blood later, and his brain was thinking ahead. Ugh.
He tried to focus on collecting the medical supplies and sorting them into piles to make it easier to find them later. Bandages. Weird-smelling herbs he couldn't remember the name of right now. Needles and catgut.
As another cheer went up, he could imagine Irakles riding on his horse without a care in the world. Lucky bastard. He probably thinks that's awesome. All the praise and acclaim and none of the stress on his feet.
Meanwhile, as he unfolded blankets and sheets to use, the marching footsteps grew closer to the tent.
When Chrysanthe had awoken that day, she had thought that it would be just like any other day, go to the market, sell her goods, and then head home. But it turned out that the gods had other plans for her that day. When she got to the market the mood was dark and ominous. The rumors were spreading thick and fast about the men who had gone to hunt down the Creed, the men who had murdered the king and prince. The mood was good for gossip, but not selling the trinkets and small hand-knit goods that were her normal wares. Chrysanthe was about to pack up her things and leave when she heard the news running through the crowd, spreading like a fire through dry grass, the men had been spotted heading home, and those who could spare a hand were needed outside the Palati to tend to the injured.
While Chrysanthe knew that Rhode would be unhappy with her for not coming back to help with the children, Chrysanthe knew that Rhode wouldn’t be able to argue with her helping out as was her duty. She tied her items up into a cloth bundle and headed towards the palati. When she arrived, there were already injured soldiers starting to congregate, but supplies had been well prepared in advance of the men’s return. Chrysanthe wove her way through the people, looking for somewhere where she could help, her small frame allowing her to easily slip between people in the crowd. She drew little attention, her rough-woven chiton marked her as someone as no status, and therefore someone who could easily be ignored amongst the chaos that was unfolding.
Chrysanthe spotted a tent where a man stood amongst organized medical supplies, further sorting them in preparation for the arrival of the injured. His clothing marked him as someone of high status, and while Chrysanthe would normally never be so bold as to approach someone of his rank, it seemed as though that would be necessary in order to volunteer her services. She approached the man tentatively. ”Excuse me, my lord. I heard talk in the market that hands were needed to help with the wounded.” Chrysanthe knew that she was over-explaining but she couldn’t seem to stop talking. ”Are you the person I should talk to to help out? Or is there someone else I should go to?” Chrysanthe looked down, hoping she had chosen the right person to speak to.
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
When Chrysanthe had awoken that day, she had thought that it would be just like any other day, go to the market, sell her goods, and then head home. But it turned out that the gods had other plans for her that day. When she got to the market the mood was dark and ominous. The rumors were spreading thick and fast about the men who had gone to hunt down the Creed, the men who had murdered the king and prince. The mood was good for gossip, but not selling the trinkets and small hand-knit goods that were her normal wares. Chrysanthe was about to pack up her things and leave when she heard the news running through the crowd, spreading like a fire through dry grass, the men had been spotted heading home, and those who could spare a hand were needed outside the Palati to tend to the injured.
While Chrysanthe knew that Rhode would be unhappy with her for not coming back to help with the children, Chrysanthe knew that Rhode wouldn’t be able to argue with her helping out as was her duty. She tied her items up into a cloth bundle and headed towards the palati. When she arrived, there were already injured soldiers starting to congregate, but supplies had been well prepared in advance of the men’s return. Chrysanthe wove her way through the people, looking for somewhere where she could help, her small frame allowing her to easily slip between people in the crowd. She drew little attention, her rough-woven chiton marked her as someone as no status, and therefore someone who could easily be ignored amongst the chaos that was unfolding.
Chrysanthe spotted a tent where a man stood amongst organized medical supplies, further sorting them in preparation for the arrival of the injured. His clothing marked him as someone of high status, and while Chrysanthe would normally never be so bold as to approach someone of his rank, it seemed as though that would be necessary in order to volunteer her services. She approached the man tentatively. ”Excuse me, my lord. I heard talk in the market that hands were needed to help with the wounded.” Chrysanthe knew that she was over-explaining but she couldn’t seem to stop talking. ”Are you the person I should talk to to help out? Or is there someone else I should go to?” Chrysanthe looked down, hoping she had chosen the right person to speak to.
When Chrysanthe had awoken that day, she had thought that it would be just like any other day, go to the market, sell her goods, and then head home. But it turned out that the gods had other plans for her that day. When she got to the market the mood was dark and ominous. The rumors were spreading thick and fast about the men who had gone to hunt down the Creed, the men who had murdered the king and prince. The mood was good for gossip, but not selling the trinkets and small hand-knit goods that were her normal wares. Chrysanthe was about to pack up her things and leave when she heard the news running through the crowd, spreading like a fire through dry grass, the men had been spotted heading home, and those who could spare a hand were needed outside the Palati to tend to the injured.
While Chrysanthe knew that Rhode would be unhappy with her for not coming back to help with the children, Chrysanthe knew that Rhode wouldn’t be able to argue with her helping out as was her duty. She tied her items up into a cloth bundle and headed towards the palati. When she arrived, there were already injured soldiers starting to congregate, but supplies had been well prepared in advance of the men’s return. Chrysanthe wove her way through the people, looking for somewhere where she could help, her small frame allowing her to easily slip between people in the crowd. She drew little attention, her rough-woven chiton marked her as someone as no status, and therefore someone who could easily be ignored amongst the chaos that was unfolding.
Chrysanthe spotted a tent where a man stood amongst organized medical supplies, further sorting them in preparation for the arrival of the injured. His clothing marked him as someone of high status, and while Chrysanthe would normally never be so bold as to approach someone of his rank, it seemed as though that would be necessary in order to volunteer her services. She approached the man tentatively. ”Excuse me, my lord. I heard talk in the market that hands were needed to help with the wounded.” Chrysanthe knew that she was over-explaining but she couldn’t seem to stop talking. ”Are you the person I should talk to to help out? Or is there someone else I should go to?” Chrysanthe looked down, hoping she had chosen the right person to speak to.
He had expected someone to come up to the tent, but he couldn't help doing a double-take when he spotted the girl. "Oh yes... excuse me. I... they always sound so much closer than they really are, it seems. The closer everyone gets to home, the more you can hear the armor and horseshoes as they march."
Even he realized he must have sounded only halfway in the present, but he couldn't help it. In a way, he really had been expecting the wounded to arrive before the people to help them. Sometimes it happened that way, especially when there were more wounded than they had space for at one time. One could never tell exactly how many wounded there were going to be, and really, he thought it was stupid to try.
"Yes, I'm the one you need to speak to," he confirmed. "What can you do best? Sewing, bandages, mortar and pestle?" He gestured to the small implements used for grinding the healing herbs into pastes. Even he didn't have the kind of memory necessary to remember how to make healing pastes unless the ingredients were simple and few.
He assumed she probably knew how to do it all, but knew from his own experience that giving someone a job they were not suited for tended to go badly.
Especially if you're born into the job you do badly! he thought, but didn't say aloud.
He felt bad for the girl, who looked nervous and like she might feel a little out of place herself. He softened his tone a little, like he would want someone to do if he were the one who didn't know where to go.
"I won't bite if you talk to me honestly, you know," he said with a smile before looking over the medical supplies again to make sure nothing was missing. Oh yes, did he have enough wood for splints? And enough honey and wine for wound cleaning and-gods forbid- possible amputations? He considered it while waiting for the girl to answer.
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
He had expected someone to come up to the tent, but he couldn't help doing a double-take when he spotted the girl. "Oh yes... excuse me. I... they always sound so much closer than they really are, it seems. The closer everyone gets to home, the more you can hear the armor and horseshoes as they march."
Even he realized he must have sounded only halfway in the present, but he couldn't help it. In a way, he really had been expecting the wounded to arrive before the people to help them. Sometimes it happened that way, especially when there were more wounded than they had space for at one time. One could never tell exactly how many wounded there were going to be, and really, he thought it was stupid to try.
"Yes, I'm the one you need to speak to," he confirmed. "What can you do best? Sewing, bandages, mortar and pestle?" He gestured to the small implements used for grinding the healing herbs into pastes. Even he didn't have the kind of memory necessary to remember how to make healing pastes unless the ingredients were simple and few.
He assumed she probably knew how to do it all, but knew from his own experience that giving someone a job they were not suited for tended to go badly.
Especially if you're born into the job you do badly! he thought, but didn't say aloud.
He felt bad for the girl, who looked nervous and like she might feel a little out of place herself. He softened his tone a little, like he would want someone to do if he were the one who didn't know where to go.
"I won't bite if you talk to me honestly, you know," he said with a smile before looking over the medical supplies again to make sure nothing was missing. Oh yes, did he have enough wood for splints? And enough honey and wine for wound cleaning and-gods forbid- possible amputations? He considered it while waiting for the girl to answer.
He had expected someone to come up to the tent, but he couldn't help doing a double-take when he spotted the girl. "Oh yes... excuse me. I... they always sound so much closer than they really are, it seems. The closer everyone gets to home, the more you can hear the armor and horseshoes as they march."
Even he realized he must have sounded only halfway in the present, but he couldn't help it. In a way, he really had been expecting the wounded to arrive before the people to help them. Sometimes it happened that way, especially when there were more wounded than they had space for at one time. One could never tell exactly how many wounded there were going to be, and really, he thought it was stupid to try.
"Yes, I'm the one you need to speak to," he confirmed. "What can you do best? Sewing, bandages, mortar and pestle?" He gestured to the small implements used for grinding the healing herbs into pastes. Even he didn't have the kind of memory necessary to remember how to make healing pastes unless the ingredients were simple and few.
He assumed she probably knew how to do it all, but knew from his own experience that giving someone a job they were not suited for tended to go badly.
Especially if you're born into the job you do badly! he thought, but didn't say aloud.
He felt bad for the girl, who looked nervous and like she might feel a little out of place herself. He softened his tone a little, like he would want someone to do if he were the one who didn't know where to go.
"I won't bite if you talk to me honestly, you know," he said with a smile before looking over the medical supplies again to make sure nothing was missing. Oh yes, did he have enough wood for splints? And enough honey and wine for wound cleaning and-gods forbid- possible amputations? He considered it while waiting for the girl to answer.
Meena darted through the ever-growing throng of onlookers just outside of the palace. The simple white chiton that she wore fluttered back with each step that she took growing quicker. Her hair was braided and she wore no jewelry. It was somewhat strange for Meena to be without some indication of her status, but being well-known enough by the other nobles had its advantage, regardless of the reputation that preceded her.
Within the palace’s open square, medical tents with supplies had been set up. The metallic stench of blood was thick in the air and Meena held back a gag as two men carried a battle worn man, clearly dead, past her. Already, they were receiving their first wave of injured troops. Even in the chaos and wake of death, she succeeded in keeping her wits about her. Only her frantic scouring of the crowd betrayed her true fear for the worst.
Had she been weaker, she might not have stomached the visual ramifications of war. There’d already been several volunteers who had to be excused in order to relieve themselves of their nausea. However, Meena had learned early on not to let the repugnant reality of battle overcome her. There was no point, as being a general’s lover meant that it would always be there for her to face. Besides, her need to know of his safety far outweighed any fleeting discomfort.
Her gaze narrowed in distaste as it briefly wandered over the nobles at the further end of the tent. Where was he? Her heart had begun to sink whenever a hand flickering in annoyance caught her attention. On the furthest end of the bench several women were fluttering around a very obviously agitated man. His face was hidden beneath blood and grime, but Meena was not fooled. If his stand-offish behavior was not indicator enough, his scowl was.
A relieved sigh escaped her and she hurried to close the gap between them, paying little mind to the reunions around her. In fact, she wasn’t in the mood to entertain anyone, despite their station. She was still cursing Stephanos for demanding that Irakles participate in the battle against the Creed, inane as it was. A few of the women retreated from the way as she rightfully approached the retired general.
“My Prince.” She greeted cordially before she paused to examine him. Her words, simple as they were, were laced with a genuine concern that she felt for him, something that only he would be able to read. Nothing more needed to be said. It was not in her nature to throw herself at him, crying like some of the other women. There was a mutual understanding between them and that was enough for her.
Upon closer inspection, her brows furrowed at the gash across his forehead. The fury towards Stephanos that she’d managed to suppress ignited once more. She reached down to snatch up a clean cloth and leaned in to finish wrapping the wound. In spite of her clear anger, her fingers moved deftly and gently across Irakles’ face. No use in taking her frustration with the king out on him. “This would not have happened if...” She hissed barely loud enough for even Irakles to hear before trailing off. She cast an accusatory glance in Stephanos’ direction. A shame nothing had gone awry for him. There were too many ears around and that alone was the only thing keeping her from verbally tearing into the king and his incompetence.
“Unless there is a major wound that needs tending to then you may leave us.” She curtly instructed to the meddlesome women lingering around them, her probing eyes never once leaving Irakles. Captive by her own thoughts, the silence fell around them as she worked thoroughly. Perhaps, it was the reality of death around her that invoked such a somber state. Or maybe, it had been long suppressed, only being brought out now as Meena brushed back a tuft of his graying hair. Regardless, she suddenly found herself involved in Irakles' safety like a mother with a child.
She peered down in her inspection, gently picking up his bloodied hand to wash. “No sense in admonishing you for getting hurt, I suppose.” Let him loathe her as he might, but she saw no sense in him fighting like a dog for a king who would see him dead. “May I query as to what occurred?” She inquired softly while reaching for a cool salve to apply to his knuckles.
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
Meena darted through the ever-growing throng of onlookers just outside of the palace. The simple white chiton that she wore fluttered back with each step that she took growing quicker. Her hair was braided and she wore no jewelry. It was somewhat strange for Meena to be without some indication of her status, but being well-known enough by the other nobles had its advantage, regardless of the reputation that preceded her.
Within the palace’s open square, medical tents with supplies had been set up. The metallic stench of blood was thick in the air and Meena held back a gag as two men carried a battle worn man, clearly dead, past her. Already, they were receiving their first wave of injured troops. Even in the chaos and wake of death, she succeeded in keeping her wits about her. Only her frantic scouring of the crowd betrayed her true fear for the worst.
Had she been weaker, she might not have stomached the visual ramifications of war. There’d already been several volunteers who had to be excused in order to relieve themselves of their nausea. However, Meena had learned early on not to let the repugnant reality of battle overcome her. There was no point, as being a general’s lover meant that it would always be there for her to face. Besides, her need to know of his safety far outweighed any fleeting discomfort.
Her gaze narrowed in distaste as it briefly wandered over the nobles at the further end of the tent. Where was he? Her heart had begun to sink whenever a hand flickering in annoyance caught her attention. On the furthest end of the bench several women were fluttering around a very obviously agitated man. His face was hidden beneath blood and grime, but Meena was not fooled. If his stand-offish behavior was not indicator enough, his scowl was.
A relieved sigh escaped her and she hurried to close the gap between them, paying little mind to the reunions around her. In fact, she wasn’t in the mood to entertain anyone, despite their station. She was still cursing Stephanos for demanding that Irakles participate in the battle against the Creed, inane as it was. A few of the women retreated from the way as she rightfully approached the retired general.
“My Prince.” She greeted cordially before she paused to examine him. Her words, simple as they were, were laced with a genuine concern that she felt for him, something that only he would be able to read. Nothing more needed to be said. It was not in her nature to throw herself at him, crying like some of the other women. There was a mutual understanding between them and that was enough for her.
Upon closer inspection, her brows furrowed at the gash across his forehead. The fury towards Stephanos that she’d managed to suppress ignited once more. She reached down to snatch up a clean cloth and leaned in to finish wrapping the wound. In spite of her clear anger, her fingers moved deftly and gently across Irakles’ face. No use in taking her frustration with the king out on him. “This would not have happened if...” She hissed barely loud enough for even Irakles to hear before trailing off. She cast an accusatory glance in Stephanos’ direction. A shame nothing had gone awry for him. There were too many ears around and that alone was the only thing keeping her from verbally tearing into the king and his incompetence.
“Unless there is a major wound that needs tending to then you may leave us.” She curtly instructed to the meddlesome women lingering around them, her probing eyes never once leaving Irakles. Captive by her own thoughts, the silence fell around them as she worked thoroughly. Perhaps, it was the reality of death around her that invoked such a somber state. Or maybe, it had been long suppressed, only being brought out now as Meena brushed back a tuft of his graying hair. Regardless, she suddenly found herself involved in Irakles' safety like a mother with a child.
She peered down in her inspection, gently picking up his bloodied hand to wash. “No sense in admonishing you for getting hurt, I suppose.” Let him loathe her as he might, but she saw no sense in him fighting like a dog for a king who would see him dead. “May I query as to what occurred?” She inquired softly while reaching for a cool salve to apply to his knuckles.
Meena darted through the ever-growing throng of onlookers just outside of the palace. The simple white chiton that she wore fluttered back with each step that she took growing quicker. Her hair was braided and she wore no jewelry. It was somewhat strange for Meena to be without some indication of her status, but being well-known enough by the other nobles had its advantage, regardless of the reputation that preceded her.
Within the palace’s open square, medical tents with supplies had been set up. The metallic stench of blood was thick in the air and Meena held back a gag as two men carried a battle worn man, clearly dead, past her. Already, they were receiving their first wave of injured troops. Even in the chaos and wake of death, she succeeded in keeping her wits about her. Only her frantic scouring of the crowd betrayed her true fear for the worst.
Had she been weaker, she might not have stomached the visual ramifications of war. There’d already been several volunteers who had to be excused in order to relieve themselves of their nausea. However, Meena had learned early on not to let the repugnant reality of battle overcome her. There was no point, as being a general’s lover meant that it would always be there for her to face. Besides, her need to know of his safety far outweighed any fleeting discomfort.
Her gaze narrowed in distaste as it briefly wandered over the nobles at the further end of the tent. Where was he? Her heart had begun to sink whenever a hand flickering in annoyance caught her attention. On the furthest end of the bench several women were fluttering around a very obviously agitated man. His face was hidden beneath blood and grime, but Meena was not fooled. If his stand-offish behavior was not indicator enough, his scowl was.
A relieved sigh escaped her and she hurried to close the gap between them, paying little mind to the reunions around her. In fact, she wasn’t in the mood to entertain anyone, despite their station. She was still cursing Stephanos for demanding that Irakles participate in the battle against the Creed, inane as it was. A few of the women retreated from the way as she rightfully approached the retired general.
“My Prince.” She greeted cordially before she paused to examine him. Her words, simple as they were, were laced with a genuine concern that she felt for him, something that only he would be able to read. Nothing more needed to be said. It was not in her nature to throw herself at him, crying like some of the other women. There was a mutual understanding between them and that was enough for her.
Upon closer inspection, her brows furrowed at the gash across his forehead. The fury towards Stephanos that she’d managed to suppress ignited once more. She reached down to snatch up a clean cloth and leaned in to finish wrapping the wound. In spite of her clear anger, her fingers moved deftly and gently across Irakles’ face. No use in taking her frustration with the king out on him. “This would not have happened if...” She hissed barely loud enough for even Irakles to hear before trailing off. She cast an accusatory glance in Stephanos’ direction. A shame nothing had gone awry for him. There were too many ears around and that alone was the only thing keeping her from verbally tearing into the king and his incompetence.
“Unless there is a major wound that needs tending to then you may leave us.” She curtly instructed to the meddlesome women lingering around them, her probing eyes never once leaving Irakles. Captive by her own thoughts, the silence fell around them as she worked thoroughly. Perhaps, it was the reality of death around her that invoked such a somber state. Or maybe, it had been long suppressed, only being brought out now as Meena brushed back a tuft of his graying hair. Regardless, she suddenly found herself involved in Irakles' safety like a mother with a child.
She peered down in her inspection, gently picking up his bloodied hand to wash. “No sense in admonishing you for getting hurt, I suppose.” Let him loathe her as he might, but she saw no sense in him fighting like a dog for a king who would see him dead. “May I query as to what occurred?” She inquired softly while reaching for a cool salve to apply to his knuckles.
The princess had had no regard for protocol when she had thrown herself into the mess of helping the women clean and dress the wounds of the wounded. Heron's protests went ignored, her soft pink chiton forgotten as it grew streaked with blood and dirt. It was enough to make her forget that she hadn't seen Stephanos yet. That the possibility of him not coming back appeared high. And instead of feeling sorry for herself, she simply focused on the task she had given herself.
This hadn't been her first time aiding healers. When Zach had been alive, Xene had often spent considerable time patching up the injuries of both of her brothers. She was no stranger to blood or wounds, but she was a stranger to just how bad injuries could get. At first, Xene had wanted to recoil from the sight and the stench, but diving headfirst into the task at hand had been enough to make her forget any of her reservations. This was where she had been for a considerable amount of time. Mixed among the other women and wounded soldiers. No amount of water was enough to truly erase the signs of blood and dirt from under her fingernails.
It was only when Xene had spotted her uncle settling himself onto a bench close to the crown prince of Colchis that she felt a bit of relief. Finishing up with one of the men before her, she rose out of the dirt, moving to clean her hands and grab a new bowl of water and bandages. Her intent had been to aid him, help him staunch his wounds. Then Meena sat before him and her steps faltered, the bowl in her hands suddenly becoming somewhat useless when she considered her options. A single glance toward Lady Drakos and Prince Kotas had her considering.
Heron's light touch to her shoulder, his massive form protecting her back, had her swallowing hard. "Princess?" he questioned lowly, motioning over her shoulder to the King and Queen.
The King.
The King.
Stephanos.
Her hands were suddenly trembling around the bowl of water and cloth, her breathing faltering as pure, complete relief trailed through her. It took almost everything she had not to run in his direction, tears pricking at her eyes as she remained rooted in one spot. Unable to make any sort of movement forward, Xene simply remained there, frozen in place, her mind blank for a few more moments than was likely proper. Heron's firm hand never moved from her shoulder, his posture one that told everyone around them to avoid approaching his charge.
Finally, Xene took in a firm breath and lifted her chin. Turning her head, she whispered something to Heron. Zacharias' lover took three steps backward and then bowed deeply, his gaze remaining on her as he bent back up, turned sharply on his heel, and exited the tent. Stephanos would not need to face their brother's life partner today. It was better that way.
Without the staunch warmth at her back, Xene found it a little harder to make her way toward her brother and her sister-in-law. She felt as if she were intruding as she approached the bench where her brother sat, setting the bowl of water beside him and laying down the clean bandages. Her gaze didn't settle on Stephanos yet, the fear of bursting into tears still far too real for her tastes. Instead, she fixed Queen Olympia with a stare.
"My queen," Xene said in quiet greeting. "You should not be on your feet," she chastised as gently and quietly as she could. "I have cared for my brother's wounds many times in the past. Let me," the princess pleaded softly, her gaze flicking to the bench beside him as if Xene wanted Olympia off her feet and beside her brother instead. There was a part of her that simply needed to touch Stephanos. To ensure that he was there and that he hadn't died on a battlefield, leaving her both brotherless and fatherless.
Xene then brought her gaze back to her brother, the emotion and relief clear on her features. A single tear streaked down her cheek and she turned her head away, reaching for the supplies she would need to clean Stephanos' wounds. One of the servants that lingered behind straightened when Xene motioned him over. "Wine for the King and Queen. Quickly," she waved him off, happy to have one less pair of eyes on the group of 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 princess had had no regard for protocol when she had thrown herself into the mess of helping the women clean and dress the wounds of the wounded. Heron's protests went ignored, her soft pink chiton forgotten as it grew streaked with blood and dirt. It was enough to make her forget that she hadn't seen Stephanos yet. That the possibility of him not coming back appeared high. And instead of feeling sorry for herself, she simply focused on the task she had given herself.
This hadn't been her first time aiding healers. When Zach had been alive, Xene had often spent considerable time patching up the injuries of both of her brothers. She was no stranger to blood or wounds, but she was a stranger to just how bad injuries could get. At first, Xene had wanted to recoil from the sight and the stench, but diving headfirst into the task at hand had been enough to make her forget any of her reservations. This was where she had been for a considerable amount of time. Mixed among the other women and wounded soldiers. No amount of water was enough to truly erase the signs of blood and dirt from under her fingernails.
It was only when Xene had spotted her uncle settling himself onto a bench close to the crown prince of Colchis that she felt a bit of relief. Finishing up with one of the men before her, she rose out of the dirt, moving to clean her hands and grab a new bowl of water and bandages. Her intent had been to aid him, help him staunch his wounds. Then Meena sat before him and her steps faltered, the bowl in her hands suddenly becoming somewhat useless when she considered her options. A single glance toward Lady Drakos and Prince Kotas had her considering.
Heron's light touch to her shoulder, his massive form protecting her back, had her swallowing hard. "Princess?" he questioned lowly, motioning over her shoulder to the King and Queen.
The King.
The King.
Stephanos.
Her hands were suddenly trembling around the bowl of water and cloth, her breathing faltering as pure, complete relief trailed through her. It took almost everything she had not to run in his direction, tears pricking at her eyes as she remained rooted in one spot. Unable to make any sort of movement forward, Xene simply remained there, frozen in place, her mind blank for a few more moments than was likely proper. Heron's firm hand never moved from her shoulder, his posture one that told everyone around them to avoid approaching his charge.
Finally, Xene took in a firm breath and lifted her chin. Turning her head, she whispered something to Heron. Zacharias' lover took three steps backward and then bowed deeply, his gaze remaining on her as he bent back up, turned sharply on his heel, and exited the tent. Stephanos would not need to face their brother's life partner today. It was better that way.
Without the staunch warmth at her back, Xene found it a little harder to make her way toward her brother and her sister-in-law. She felt as if she were intruding as she approached the bench where her brother sat, setting the bowl of water beside him and laying down the clean bandages. Her gaze didn't settle on Stephanos yet, the fear of bursting into tears still far too real for her tastes. Instead, she fixed Queen Olympia with a stare.
"My queen," Xene said in quiet greeting. "You should not be on your feet," she chastised as gently and quietly as she could. "I have cared for my brother's wounds many times in the past. Let me," the princess pleaded softly, her gaze flicking to the bench beside him as if Xene wanted Olympia off her feet and beside her brother instead. There was a part of her that simply needed to touch Stephanos. To ensure that he was there and that he hadn't died on a battlefield, leaving her both brotherless and fatherless.
Xene then brought her gaze back to her brother, the emotion and relief clear on her features. A single tear streaked down her cheek and she turned her head away, reaching for the supplies she would need to clean Stephanos' wounds. One of the servants that lingered behind straightened when Xene motioned him over. "Wine for the King and Queen. Quickly," she waved him off, happy to have one less pair of eyes on the group of them.
The princess had had no regard for protocol when she had thrown herself into the mess of helping the women clean and dress the wounds of the wounded. Heron's protests went ignored, her soft pink chiton forgotten as it grew streaked with blood and dirt. It was enough to make her forget that she hadn't seen Stephanos yet. That the possibility of him not coming back appeared high. And instead of feeling sorry for herself, she simply focused on the task she had given herself.
This hadn't been her first time aiding healers. When Zach had been alive, Xene had often spent considerable time patching up the injuries of both of her brothers. She was no stranger to blood or wounds, but she was a stranger to just how bad injuries could get. At first, Xene had wanted to recoil from the sight and the stench, but diving headfirst into the task at hand had been enough to make her forget any of her reservations. This was where she had been for a considerable amount of time. Mixed among the other women and wounded soldiers. No amount of water was enough to truly erase the signs of blood and dirt from under her fingernails.
It was only when Xene had spotted her uncle settling himself onto a bench close to the crown prince of Colchis that she felt a bit of relief. Finishing up with one of the men before her, she rose out of the dirt, moving to clean her hands and grab a new bowl of water and bandages. Her intent had been to aid him, help him staunch his wounds. Then Meena sat before him and her steps faltered, the bowl in her hands suddenly becoming somewhat useless when she considered her options. A single glance toward Lady Drakos and Prince Kotas had her considering.
Heron's light touch to her shoulder, his massive form protecting her back, had her swallowing hard. "Princess?" he questioned lowly, motioning over her shoulder to the King and Queen.
The King.
The King.
Stephanos.
Her hands were suddenly trembling around the bowl of water and cloth, her breathing faltering as pure, complete relief trailed through her. It took almost everything she had not to run in his direction, tears pricking at her eyes as she remained rooted in one spot. Unable to make any sort of movement forward, Xene simply remained there, frozen in place, her mind blank for a few more moments than was likely proper. Heron's firm hand never moved from her shoulder, his posture one that told everyone around them to avoid approaching his charge.
Finally, Xene took in a firm breath and lifted her chin. Turning her head, she whispered something to Heron. Zacharias' lover took three steps backward and then bowed deeply, his gaze remaining on her as he bent back up, turned sharply on his heel, and exited the tent. Stephanos would not need to face their brother's life partner today. It was better that way.
Without the staunch warmth at her back, Xene found it a little harder to make her way toward her brother and her sister-in-law. She felt as if she were intruding as she approached the bench where her brother sat, setting the bowl of water beside him and laying down the clean bandages. Her gaze didn't settle on Stephanos yet, the fear of bursting into tears still far too real for her tastes. Instead, she fixed Queen Olympia with a stare.
"My queen," Xene said in quiet greeting. "You should not be on your feet," she chastised as gently and quietly as she could. "I have cared for my brother's wounds many times in the past. Let me," the princess pleaded softly, her gaze flicking to the bench beside him as if Xene wanted Olympia off her feet and beside her brother instead. There was a part of her that simply needed to touch Stephanos. To ensure that he was there and that he hadn't died on a battlefield, leaving her both brotherless and fatherless.
Xene then brought her gaze back to her brother, the emotion and relief clear on her features. A single tear streaked down her cheek and she turned her head away, reaching for the supplies she would need to clean Stephanos' wounds. One of the servants that lingered behind straightened when Xene motioned him over. "Wine for the King and Queen. Quickly," she waved him off, happy to have one less pair of eyes on the group of them.
