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Achilleas had found much to like about Athenia. He could appreciate the quiet dignity of its people, the spirit of discipline. In comparison to Taengean’s on the whole, they could certainly be considered a little cold perhaps, standoffish. But Achilleas ,who tended toward the more reserved anyway, he decided to interpret it just as that. Reservation until they made their minds up about a person or thing.
He’d enjoyed spending some time sparring with the Athenian soldiers, it was always good to be able to set oneself against new opponents and he’d learnt much from having the chance.
What he was enjoying less however was shepherding his younger siblings about to all the things about Athenia that would turn a young lady’s head, for they did not tend to align with the things he would have chosen to do himself. Hence why he was currently trailing after Sara and Tasia as they spent what felt like the thousandth hour at the small artisan craft market that had been granted space in the central plateau. Whilst he was glad the girls had chosen to come here over the hustle and crowds of the agora, he still did not understand how they could rapture for so long over the stall selling jewellery strung with shells, or linger quite so many minutes by the side of a man etching scenes in charcoal.
With a long suffering sigh, the Mikaelidas lord drifted along in their wake, hands clasped behind his back, wondering why this task had falled to him instead of Emilios.
He had a barony to run after all, while the younger of Irakles’ sons spent his days doing ..well whatever he pleased as far as Achilleas could tell. But when Sara had expressed some strange desire to travel to Athenia, it had been Achilleas that Irakles had tasked with chaperoning, and he could not help but feel it was intended as some punishment for some failure or other.
He wasn’t close to his half-siblings at the best of times, and shepherding Tasia and Sara around a foreign kingdom, trying to ensure they kept their manners and didn’t offend anyone was wearing on his nerves. Tasia had a knack of making eyes at every young Athenian male they passed and Sara was like a puppy in her enthusiasm for absolutely everything. Even with their handmaids trailing after them, Achilleas didn’t have much time to take his eye off the game.
He was so intent on not losing sight of them in fact, that he quite overlooked another figure who was standing that much closer, barely stopping himself before he careened into a girl not far off the age of his half-sisters.
“Forgive me, my lady” Achilleas said, placing a steadying hand on the arm of the girl even as he glanced over her shoulder. And then, a slightly harassed “Sara, wait, please” as the dark haired girl looked about to disappear between a row of stalls.
“I’m sorry” The tall figure of the Taengean returned his focus to the near casualty of his distraction. “Are you alright?”
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This character is currently a work in progress.
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Achilleas had found much to like about Athenia. He could appreciate the quiet dignity of its people, the spirit of discipline. In comparison to Taengean’s on the whole, they could certainly be considered a little cold perhaps, standoffish. But Achilleas ,who tended toward the more reserved anyway, he decided to interpret it just as that. Reservation until they made their minds up about a person or thing.
He’d enjoyed spending some time sparring with the Athenian soldiers, it was always good to be able to set oneself against new opponents and he’d learnt much from having the chance.
What he was enjoying less however was shepherding his younger siblings about to all the things about Athenia that would turn a young lady’s head, for they did not tend to align with the things he would have chosen to do himself. Hence why he was currently trailing after Sara and Tasia as they spent what felt like the thousandth hour at the small artisan craft market that had been granted space in the central plateau. Whilst he was glad the girls had chosen to come here over the hustle and crowds of the agora, he still did not understand how they could rapture for so long over the stall selling jewellery strung with shells, or linger quite so many minutes by the side of a man etching scenes in charcoal.
With a long suffering sigh, the Mikaelidas lord drifted along in their wake, hands clasped behind his back, wondering why this task had falled to him instead of Emilios.
He had a barony to run after all, while the younger of Irakles’ sons spent his days doing ..well whatever he pleased as far as Achilleas could tell. But when Sara had expressed some strange desire to travel to Athenia, it had been Achilleas that Irakles had tasked with chaperoning, and he could not help but feel it was intended as some punishment for some failure or other.
He wasn’t close to his half-siblings at the best of times, and shepherding Tasia and Sara around a foreign kingdom, trying to ensure they kept their manners and didn’t offend anyone was wearing on his nerves. Tasia had a knack of making eyes at every young Athenian male they passed and Sara was like a puppy in her enthusiasm for absolutely everything. Even with their handmaids trailing after them, Achilleas didn’t have much time to take his eye off the game.
He was so intent on not losing sight of them in fact, that he quite overlooked another figure who was standing that much closer, barely stopping himself before he careened into a girl not far off the age of his half-sisters.
“Forgive me, my lady” Achilleas said, placing a steadying hand on the arm of the girl even as he glanced over her shoulder. And then, a slightly harassed “Sara, wait, please” as the dark haired girl looked about to disappear between a row of stalls.
“I’m sorry” The tall figure of the Taengean returned his focus to the near casualty of his distraction. “Are you alright?”
Achilleas had found much to like about Athenia. He could appreciate the quiet dignity of its people, the spirit of discipline. In comparison to Taengean’s on the whole, they could certainly be considered a little cold perhaps, standoffish. But Achilleas ,who tended toward the more reserved anyway, he decided to interpret it just as that. Reservation until they made their minds up about a person or thing.
He’d enjoyed spending some time sparring with the Athenian soldiers, it was always good to be able to set oneself against new opponents and he’d learnt much from having the chance.
What he was enjoying less however was shepherding his younger siblings about to all the things about Athenia that would turn a young lady’s head, for they did not tend to align with the things he would have chosen to do himself. Hence why he was currently trailing after Sara and Tasia as they spent what felt like the thousandth hour at the small artisan craft market that had been granted space in the central plateau. Whilst he was glad the girls had chosen to come here over the hustle and crowds of the agora, he still did not understand how they could rapture for so long over the stall selling jewellery strung with shells, or linger quite so many minutes by the side of a man etching scenes in charcoal.
With a long suffering sigh, the Mikaelidas lord drifted along in their wake, hands clasped behind his back, wondering why this task had falled to him instead of Emilios.
He had a barony to run after all, while the younger of Irakles’ sons spent his days doing ..well whatever he pleased as far as Achilleas could tell. But when Sara had expressed some strange desire to travel to Athenia, it had been Achilleas that Irakles had tasked with chaperoning, and he could not help but feel it was intended as some punishment for some failure or other.
He wasn’t close to his half-siblings at the best of times, and shepherding Tasia and Sara around a foreign kingdom, trying to ensure they kept their manners and didn’t offend anyone was wearing on his nerves. Tasia had a knack of making eyes at every young Athenian male they passed and Sara was like a puppy in her enthusiasm for absolutely everything. Even with their handmaids trailing after them, Achilleas didn’t have much time to take his eye off the game.
He was so intent on not losing sight of them in fact, that he quite overlooked another figure who was standing that much closer, barely stopping himself before he careened into a girl not far off the age of his half-sisters.
“Forgive me, my lady” Achilleas said, placing a steadying hand on the arm of the girl even as he glanced over her shoulder. And then, a slightly harassed “Sara, wait, please” as the dark haired girl looked about to disappear between a row of stalls.
“I’m sorry” The tall figure of the Taengean returned his focus to the near casualty of his distraction. “Are you alright?”
Despite being displaced tactfully from the agora, the artisan markets suffered no shortage of traffic and patronage. But unlike its contemporary in commerce, the artisan market attracted an entirely different caliber of clientele. The pick-pockets, swindlers and street magicians whose great talent was to dematerialize their hapless victims’ assets still drifted here and there as opportunists ever did. But only those with even a modest bit of disposable income perused the sprawl of crafts and visual art.
One could safely wager that such a fair would draw the maiden of the Nickolaosi, Rene. A veritable cornucopia of art immersion, she reveled in the opportunity to shop for supplies, support the crafters of Athenia, and to showcase a bit of her own work. Like the shy blossom in the spring, daring to peek out across the barren landscapes after months of cold and snow, Rene had discovered that calling, and thus spent the long stretches of isolation at the family’s estate submerged in the pursuit of such perfections. The last of Dastros and Ianthe’s children, there was no manifest destiny laid at her dainty feet for the good of the house, there was no expectation to preoccupy her thoughts and fill her head with woe, no demands placed on her milk white shoulders, no predetermined destination on the perilous map of triumph. In many ways, it was a blessing to the adolescent, left to her own devices, showered with every want and desire imaginable were she inclined to make such materialistic demands. Yet beneath the superficial appeal of such a glamorous lifestyle devoid of any real responsibility, one could hardly deny what it really was; pacification, purchased happiness to ease the consciences of her family members who conducted their lives in the limelight of accomplishment with nary a second thought for her, a means of lessening the guilt of emotional neglect, a diversion from nagging remorse. Perhaps it would have been a supremely favorable circumstance for one motivated by materialism, but Rene hardly fit into such a mold. Craving the attention of her loved ones was a primary motivation, but as their lives spread to the winds to pursue higher calling, Rene circumvented the doldrums of being left behind in involuntary solitude by delving into the world of creativity and artistic expression. And she had not looked back since.
Amid the rows of rudimentary wooden stalls and display tables, a hive of painters, carvers, sculptors, welders, jewelry makers and weavers flourished, their adoring fans feeding the frenzy with their enthusiasm and financial support. From neophytic expressionists to the classic masters, hobbyists to full-timers, one could find whatever one sought, at every price point imaginable. Inexpensive trinkets, gaudy baubles and pricey designs commingled row after row, in such a colorful pageantry it was nearly difficult for the eye to stay in one place, and for the brain to digest the visual barrage.
Having left Melba at the small booth she occupied this day for her own display, Rene had taken to strolling about the fair, admiring the talents of her countrymen, much to her handmaid’s chagrin. Showering the woman with the assurances of her safety, Rene had hastened off before Melba could object any further. She would grovel for forgiveness later and console her near-surrogate mother by batting long beautiful eyelashes beneath mesmerizing blue eyes, flashing the most honeyed of smiles. You know, the usual. While Rene hardly used the position afforded as the stereotypical spoiled baby of the family, she did utilize said charms when she really needed to. And the pursuit of art absolutely met the criteria for ‘need.’ Thus, the noble had taken to sauntering down the aisles, donning a one-shouldered white chiton with aqua-marine ombre at the bottom, intensifying in opacity as it reached her sandals with their long ties woven up around her slender calves. Silver bands cuffed each bicep, each wrist likewise sporting a few silver bangles, jingling with movement. The sides of her long blonde hair were pulled back into loose ringlets, and a delicate wreath of tiny silver leaves circled her head. It was far from the flamboyant and opulent dress employed by many nobles, but enough to identify her as such.
Summarily engrossed with a rather fetching mosaic of a glorious golden sun looming majestically over a vineyard, Rene managed to unwittingly tune out her surroundings, and nearly collided with another patron. A near miss in terms of hitting the ground, the close encounter still jostled the simplistic basket draped over a fragile forearm, tipping some of its contents. A man’s voice preceded the sensation of a hand on her arm, a chivalrous effort to steady her. It took her vision a second to catch up as her head whipped around, eyes of resplendent sapphire tracked upwards to follow the voice….and upwards…..and upwards still, widening more the higher up they went. Utter blindness was the only way one could possibly miss the pillar of a man standing before her, thus confessing she had not seen him would have been the most unintelligent utterance to ever spill from her pristine lips.
Like the first thought of any adolescent female, the stranger’s alarmingly good looks registered foremost, before she grappled with restoring her decorum, especially in light of smacking into people, hardly good manners. “Apologies. The error was mine,” she breathed. “I was captivated by that…” her worlds trailed off as she started to point towards the piece that had caught her eye, but such a train of thought was promptly derailed by the realization that she had lost a bit of her cargo. Her gaze dropped to the ground, where scattered between their feet were several of her hand-rolled parchment roses. In an effort to absolve him of any blame he should feel compelled to take, her eyes flickered back up to his face, a nervous smile reappearing. “I am quite alright, thank you, though, I hope I have likewise inflicted no injury. I was careless and I am sorry,” she queried indirectly, waiting to give priority to his response before collecting the scattered flowers.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Despite being displaced tactfully from the agora, the artisan markets suffered no shortage of traffic and patronage. But unlike its contemporary in commerce, the artisan market attracted an entirely different caliber of clientele. The pick-pockets, swindlers and street magicians whose great talent was to dematerialize their hapless victims’ assets still drifted here and there as opportunists ever did. But only those with even a modest bit of disposable income perused the sprawl of crafts and visual art.
One could safely wager that such a fair would draw the maiden of the Nickolaosi, Rene. A veritable cornucopia of art immersion, she reveled in the opportunity to shop for supplies, support the crafters of Athenia, and to showcase a bit of her own work. Like the shy blossom in the spring, daring to peek out across the barren landscapes after months of cold and snow, Rene had discovered that calling, and thus spent the long stretches of isolation at the family’s estate submerged in the pursuit of such perfections. The last of Dastros and Ianthe’s children, there was no manifest destiny laid at her dainty feet for the good of the house, there was no expectation to preoccupy her thoughts and fill her head with woe, no demands placed on her milk white shoulders, no predetermined destination on the perilous map of triumph. In many ways, it was a blessing to the adolescent, left to her own devices, showered with every want and desire imaginable were she inclined to make such materialistic demands. Yet beneath the superficial appeal of such a glamorous lifestyle devoid of any real responsibility, one could hardly deny what it really was; pacification, purchased happiness to ease the consciences of her family members who conducted their lives in the limelight of accomplishment with nary a second thought for her, a means of lessening the guilt of emotional neglect, a diversion from nagging remorse. Perhaps it would have been a supremely favorable circumstance for one motivated by materialism, but Rene hardly fit into such a mold. Craving the attention of her loved ones was a primary motivation, but as their lives spread to the winds to pursue higher calling, Rene circumvented the doldrums of being left behind in involuntary solitude by delving into the world of creativity and artistic expression. And she had not looked back since.
Amid the rows of rudimentary wooden stalls and display tables, a hive of painters, carvers, sculptors, welders, jewelry makers and weavers flourished, their adoring fans feeding the frenzy with their enthusiasm and financial support. From neophytic expressionists to the classic masters, hobbyists to full-timers, one could find whatever one sought, at every price point imaginable. Inexpensive trinkets, gaudy baubles and pricey designs commingled row after row, in such a colorful pageantry it was nearly difficult for the eye to stay in one place, and for the brain to digest the visual barrage.
Having left Melba at the small booth she occupied this day for her own display, Rene had taken to strolling about the fair, admiring the talents of her countrymen, much to her handmaid’s chagrin. Showering the woman with the assurances of her safety, Rene had hastened off before Melba could object any further. She would grovel for forgiveness later and console her near-surrogate mother by batting long beautiful eyelashes beneath mesmerizing blue eyes, flashing the most honeyed of smiles. You know, the usual. While Rene hardly used the position afforded as the stereotypical spoiled baby of the family, she did utilize said charms when she really needed to. And the pursuit of art absolutely met the criteria for ‘need.’ Thus, the noble had taken to sauntering down the aisles, donning a one-shouldered white chiton with aqua-marine ombre at the bottom, intensifying in opacity as it reached her sandals with their long ties woven up around her slender calves. Silver bands cuffed each bicep, each wrist likewise sporting a few silver bangles, jingling with movement. The sides of her long blonde hair were pulled back into loose ringlets, and a delicate wreath of tiny silver leaves circled her head. It was far from the flamboyant and opulent dress employed by many nobles, but enough to identify her as such.
Summarily engrossed with a rather fetching mosaic of a glorious golden sun looming majestically over a vineyard, Rene managed to unwittingly tune out her surroundings, and nearly collided with another patron. A near miss in terms of hitting the ground, the close encounter still jostled the simplistic basket draped over a fragile forearm, tipping some of its contents. A man’s voice preceded the sensation of a hand on her arm, a chivalrous effort to steady her. It took her vision a second to catch up as her head whipped around, eyes of resplendent sapphire tracked upwards to follow the voice….and upwards…..and upwards still, widening more the higher up they went. Utter blindness was the only way one could possibly miss the pillar of a man standing before her, thus confessing she had not seen him would have been the most unintelligent utterance to ever spill from her pristine lips.
Like the first thought of any adolescent female, the stranger’s alarmingly good looks registered foremost, before she grappled with restoring her decorum, especially in light of smacking into people, hardly good manners. “Apologies. The error was mine,” she breathed. “I was captivated by that…” her worlds trailed off as she started to point towards the piece that had caught her eye, but such a train of thought was promptly derailed by the realization that she had lost a bit of her cargo. Her gaze dropped to the ground, where scattered between their feet were several of her hand-rolled parchment roses. In an effort to absolve him of any blame he should feel compelled to take, her eyes flickered back up to his face, a nervous smile reappearing. “I am quite alright, thank you, though, I hope I have likewise inflicted no injury. I was careless and I am sorry,” she queried indirectly, waiting to give priority to his response before collecting the scattered flowers.
Despite being displaced tactfully from the agora, the artisan markets suffered no shortage of traffic and patronage. But unlike its contemporary in commerce, the artisan market attracted an entirely different caliber of clientele. The pick-pockets, swindlers and street magicians whose great talent was to dematerialize their hapless victims’ assets still drifted here and there as opportunists ever did. But only those with even a modest bit of disposable income perused the sprawl of crafts and visual art.
One could safely wager that such a fair would draw the maiden of the Nickolaosi, Rene. A veritable cornucopia of art immersion, she reveled in the opportunity to shop for supplies, support the crafters of Athenia, and to showcase a bit of her own work. Like the shy blossom in the spring, daring to peek out across the barren landscapes after months of cold and snow, Rene had discovered that calling, and thus spent the long stretches of isolation at the family’s estate submerged in the pursuit of such perfections. The last of Dastros and Ianthe’s children, there was no manifest destiny laid at her dainty feet for the good of the house, there was no expectation to preoccupy her thoughts and fill her head with woe, no demands placed on her milk white shoulders, no predetermined destination on the perilous map of triumph. In many ways, it was a blessing to the adolescent, left to her own devices, showered with every want and desire imaginable were she inclined to make such materialistic demands. Yet beneath the superficial appeal of such a glamorous lifestyle devoid of any real responsibility, one could hardly deny what it really was; pacification, purchased happiness to ease the consciences of her family members who conducted their lives in the limelight of accomplishment with nary a second thought for her, a means of lessening the guilt of emotional neglect, a diversion from nagging remorse. Perhaps it would have been a supremely favorable circumstance for one motivated by materialism, but Rene hardly fit into such a mold. Craving the attention of her loved ones was a primary motivation, but as their lives spread to the winds to pursue higher calling, Rene circumvented the doldrums of being left behind in involuntary solitude by delving into the world of creativity and artistic expression. And she had not looked back since.
Amid the rows of rudimentary wooden stalls and display tables, a hive of painters, carvers, sculptors, welders, jewelry makers and weavers flourished, their adoring fans feeding the frenzy with their enthusiasm and financial support. From neophytic expressionists to the classic masters, hobbyists to full-timers, one could find whatever one sought, at every price point imaginable. Inexpensive trinkets, gaudy baubles and pricey designs commingled row after row, in such a colorful pageantry it was nearly difficult for the eye to stay in one place, and for the brain to digest the visual barrage.
Having left Melba at the small booth she occupied this day for her own display, Rene had taken to strolling about the fair, admiring the talents of her countrymen, much to her handmaid’s chagrin. Showering the woman with the assurances of her safety, Rene had hastened off before Melba could object any further. She would grovel for forgiveness later and console her near-surrogate mother by batting long beautiful eyelashes beneath mesmerizing blue eyes, flashing the most honeyed of smiles. You know, the usual. While Rene hardly used the position afforded as the stereotypical spoiled baby of the family, she did utilize said charms when she really needed to. And the pursuit of art absolutely met the criteria for ‘need.’ Thus, the noble had taken to sauntering down the aisles, donning a one-shouldered white chiton with aqua-marine ombre at the bottom, intensifying in opacity as it reached her sandals with their long ties woven up around her slender calves. Silver bands cuffed each bicep, each wrist likewise sporting a few silver bangles, jingling with movement. The sides of her long blonde hair were pulled back into loose ringlets, and a delicate wreath of tiny silver leaves circled her head. It was far from the flamboyant and opulent dress employed by many nobles, but enough to identify her as such.
Summarily engrossed with a rather fetching mosaic of a glorious golden sun looming majestically over a vineyard, Rene managed to unwittingly tune out her surroundings, and nearly collided with another patron. A near miss in terms of hitting the ground, the close encounter still jostled the simplistic basket draped over a fragile forearm, tipping some of its contents. A man’s voice preceded the sensation of a hand on her arm, a chivalrous effort to steady her. It took her vision a second to catch up as her head whipped around, eyes of resplendent sapphire tracked upwards to follow the voice….and upwards…..and upwards still, widening more the higher up they went. Utter blindness was the only way one could possibly miss the pillar of a man standing before her, thus confessing she had not seen him would have been the most unintelligent utterance to ever spill from her pristine lips.
Like the first thought of any adolescent female, the stranger’s alarmingly good looks registered foremost, before she grappled with restoring her decorum, especially in light of smacking into people, hardly good manners. “Apologies. The error was mine,” she breathed. “I was captivated by that…” her worlds trailed off as she started to point towards the piece that had caught her eye, but such a train of thought was promptly derailed by the realization that she had lost a bit of her cargo. Her gaze dropped to the ground, where scattered between their feet were several of her hand-rolled parchment roses. In an effort to absolve him of any blame he should feel compelled to take, her eyes flickered back up to his face, a nervous smile reappearing. “I am quite alright, thank you, though, I hope I have likewise inflicted no injury. I was careless and I am sorry,” she queried indirectly, waiting to give priority to his response before collecting the scattered flowers.
Sara was beyond excited to be visiting Athenia. It was the place that she had heard about in so many letters, clinging to every word that she received from her dearest friend that described the place where he lived. Athenia seemed so much quieter than Taengea, an air of noble respectability about the place. It was bright and beautiful, vibrant in a thousand different ways than the place that she’d grown up. It made her curious about the rest of the world. She had very rarely left the borders of her homeland, but now -- now she wondered if she might possess a wanderer’s heart. Surely there was more to see, more to experience and she hoped beyond hope that she would be given the opportunity.
She supposed that the most surprising thing about the trip was not the place, or even the fact that she had been allowed to come here (with Tasia and a few maids of course) but rather that it was Achilleas who had been assigned to their shepherding. The eldest Mikaelidas was not particularly fond of either of his half-sisters, and had mostly kept his interactions with them to a minimum. Sara was used to that sort of behavior, but she could not help but think that this trip might have been more...exciting with Emilios around. Granted, she felt safer with Achilleas in some regard. He did not have the fierce protectiveness or affection for her like Emilios, but neither did she believe that he would let anything bad happen to her.
He took his duties as chaperone quite rather seriously. Perhaps a little too seriously since all she wanted to do was slip away so she could go and find Alastor. Her friend and pen pal, he had spent the majority of their teenage years here in Athenia -- studying and learning from some of the brightest minds in Greece. She was eager to see him while she was here, but not with Achilleas around and so the youngest child was merely looking for an opportunity to slip away.
The market stalls were beautiful, each one filled with a different and unique item. Tapestries, paintings, pottery, artisanal jewelry, birds and beasts from exotic places, spices and warm smells of food. It was all a delight in the youngster’s eyes, her smile as bright as the sun as she scurried back and forth to follow the desires of her heart. Her dark hair was pulled into a style that was half-up and half-down, loose curls falling about her shoulders. The chiton she wore today was a dark blue, off setting the lighter color of her eyes by just a smidge.
She was bouncing ahead, ready to disappear into the fray when Achilleas’ voice called out from behind. She turned her head mostly out of instinct, her name catching her attention. Her brows rose in surprise to see her brother with a strange woman -- or girl? Sara couldn’t decide her age, never having been very good at telling just from faces alone. She’d learned very quickly just how rude it was to guess when she’d insulted a woman by guessing she was about twelve years older than she actually was.
It seemed that whatever had happened, some of the lady's things had fallen to the ground. Concerned, Sara drifted back over, looking between her brother and the other woman nervously.
”I’ve got it.” She said cheerily, stooping down to gather the flowers. It was upon closer inspection that she realized that they were made of paper rather than nature, and Sara grinned, turning her face even as she collected another. ”Marvelous.” She beamed. ”Look Achilleas, they’re made of parchment!” She said, tentatively holding one up for his inspection before looking down to collect another. ”They’re so pretty.”
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Sara was beyond excited to be visiting Athenia. It was the place that she had heard about in so many letters, clinging to every word that she received from her dearest friend that described the place where he lived. Athenia seemed so much quieter than Taengea, an air of noble respectability about the place. It was bright and beautiful, vibrant in a thousand different ways than the place that she’d grown up. It made her curious about the rest of the world. She had very rarely left the borders of her homeland, but now -- now she wondered if she might possess a wanderer’s heart. Surely there was more to see, more to experience and she hoped beyond hope that she would be given the opportunity.
She supposed that the most surprising thing about the trip was not the place, or even the fact that she had been allowed to come here (with Tasia and a few maids of course) but rather that it was Achilleas who had been assigned to their shepherding. The eldest Mikaelidas was not particularly fond of either of his half-sisters, and had mostly kept his interactions with them to a minimum. Sara was used to that sort of behavior, but she could not help but think that this trip might have been more...exciting with Emilios around. Granted, she felt safer with Achilleas in some regard. He did not have the fierce protectiveness or affection for her like Emilios, but neither did she believe that he would let anything bad happen to her.
He took his duties as chaperone quite rather seriously. Perhaps a little too seriously since all she wanted to do was slip away so she could go and find Alastor. Her friend and pen pal, he had spent the majority of their teenage years here in Athenia -- studying and learning from some of the brightest minds in Greece. She was eager to see him while she was here, but not with Achilleas around and so the youngest child was merely looking for an opportunity to slip away.
The market stalls were beautiful, each one filled with a different and unique item. Tapestries, paintings, pottery, artisanal jewelry, birds and beasts from exotic places, spices and warm smells of food. It was all a delight in the youngster’s eyes, her smile as bright as the sun as she scurried back and forth to follow the desires of her heart. Her dark hair was pulled into a style that was half-up and half-down, loose curls falling about her shoulders. The chiton she wore today was a dark blue, off setting the lighter color of her eyes by just a smidge.
She was bouncing ahead, ready to disappear into the fray when Achilleas’ voice called out from behind. She turned her head mostly out of instinct, her name catching her attention. Her brows rose in surprise to see her brother with a strange woman -- or girl? Sara couldn’t decide her age, never having been very good at telling just from faces alone. She’d learned very quickly just how rude it was to guess when she’d insulted a woman by guessing she was about twelve years older than she actually was.
It seemed that whatever had happened, some of the lady's things had fallen to the ground. Concerned, Sara drifted back over, looking between her brother and the other woman nervously.
”I’ve got it.” She said cheerily, stooping down to gather the flowers. It was upon closer inspection that she realized that they were made of paper rather than nature, and Sara grinned, turning her face even as she collected another. ”Marvelous.” She beamed. ”Look Achilleas, they’re made of parchment!” She said, tentatively holding one up for his inspection before looking down to collect another. ”They’re so pretty.”
Sara was beyond excited to be visiting Athenia. It was the place that she had heard about in so many letters, clinging to every word that she received from her dearest friend that described the place where he lived. Athenia seemed so much quieter than Taengea, an air of noble respectability about the place. It was bright and beautiful, vibrant in a thousand different ways than the place that she’d grown up. It made her curious about the rest of the world. She had very rarely left the borders of her homeland, but now -- now she wondered if she might possess a wanderer’s heart. Surely there was more to see, more to experience and she hoped beyond hope that she would be given the opportunity.
She supposed that the most surprising thing about the trip was not the place, or even the fact that she had been allowed to come here (with Tasia and a few maids of course) but rather that it was Achilleas who had been assigned to their shepherding. The eldest Mikaelidas was not particularly fond of either of his half-sisters, and had mostly kept his interactions with them to a minimum. Sara was used to that sort of behavior, but she could not help but think that this trip might have been more...exciting with Emilios around. Granted, she felt safer with Achilleas in some regard. He did not have the fierce protectiveness or affection for her like Emilios, but neither did she believe that he would let anything bad happen to her.
He took his duties as chaperone quite rather seriously. Perhaps a little too seriously since all she wanted to do was slip away so she could go and find Alastor. Her friend and pen pal, he had spent the majority of their teenage years here in Athenia -- studying and learning from some of the brightest minds in Greece. She was eager to see him while she was here, but not with Achilleas around and so the youngest child was merely looking for an opportunity to slip away.
The market stalls were beautiful, each one filled with a different and unique item. Tapestries, paintings, pottery, artisanal jewelry, birds and beasts from exotic places, spices and warm smells of food. It was all a delight in the youngster’s eyes, her smile as bright as the sun as she scurried back and forth to follow the desires of her heart. Her dark hair was pulled into a style that was half-up and half-down, loose curls falling about her shoulders. The chiton she wore today was a dark blue, off setting the lighter color of her eyes by just a smidge.
She was bouncing ahead, ready to disappear into the fray when Achilleas’ voice called out from behind. She turned her head mostly out of instinct, her name catching her attention. Her brows rose in surprise to see her brother with a strange woman -- or girl? Sara couldn’t decide her age, never having been very good at telling just from faces alone. She’d learned very quickly just how rude it was to guess when she’d insulted a woman by guessing she was about twelve years older than she actually was.
It seemed that whatever had happened, some of the lady's things had fallen to the ground. Concerned, Sara drifted back over, looking between her brother and the other woman nervously.
”I’ve got it.” She said cheerily, stooping down to gather the flowers. It was upon closer inspection that she realized that they were made of paper rather than nature, and Sara grinned, turning her face even as she collected another. ”Marvelous.” She beamed. ”Look Achilleas, they’re made of parchment!” She said, tentatively holding one up for his inspection before looking down to collect another. ”They’re so pretty.”
Between looking past the girl to ensure he didnt lose Tasia or Sara and then making sure she was alright, the Mikaelidas lord was a little distracted as the young lady answered his words, his blue gaze eventually coming to settle on her face as she tried to accept responsibility for his clumsiness.
“Ah, no.” he disagreed. “ I’m trying to keep track of my sisters and they... ….Tasia, a moment if you please." Once more he was addressing someone beyond her, and when he looked back again, it was with a brief, slightly harried-looking smile “...sorry. I think we can agree it was my inattention that brought us here.”
The man stood easily a head taller than the young woman he addressed and though it was hard to guage her years he would guess she could not be more that seventeen. Glancing around to see who she was with, he was prepared to make his apologies to her chaperone as well. In amongst that concern and shooting the elder of his two half-sisters a look that bade her not wander or get into trouble, it took Achilleas a moment to realise the young lady he spoke to had dropped some of her things in their near collision. His expression tightened a little in dismay as he saw the scattered flowers and he was about to bend to collect them when Sara appeared and began to do just that.
Achilleas glanced between her and the young blonde and then sighed and remembered his manners. “Lord Achilleas of Mikaelidas.” he offered with a slight incline of his head, “ and this is my..sister Sara.” That tiny hesitation was just that, the lord avoiding the awkwardness of the girl’s illegitimacy by introducing her by first name only. At least here there was the chance that the truth of it - the shame his father brought upon the family - was not so readily known.
‘Marvelous.Look Achilleas, they’re made of parchment!’ Diverted by Sara’s words, the man turned his gaze to the flowers that his sister was enamoured of, glancing briefly at the Athenian girl befor he accepted the flower Sara brandished toward him and really looked at it. His expression did not move much save for a surprised flicker of his brows before he raised a finger to trace over the now evidently parchment petals of the rose. “ So they are” he observed, turning to the owner of said flowers. “Perhaps you can ask this young lady where they are being sold?”
It was a both a way to include the girl in their conversation again because Achilleas felt rude to be talking with Sara as if she weren’t there at all, and also a far-fetched hope that if he could procure some of these paper flowers for Sara and Tasia they might be satisfied enough to conclude this ridiculous mission around the market. His tolerance for aimless wandering was low at the best of times, and after three back to back days of it, lower still.
Crouching to help his half-sister collect the rest of the things that had been dropped, he frowned a little when he realised the young blonde was carrying an awful lot of these paper flowers for one person. Either she was very keen on them and had purchased a whole bushel, or she was a merchant - a thought he dismissed based upon her appearance alone- or she was their creator.
“Pardon my ignorance..” he corrected his earlier assumption as he stood and placed the rest of the flowers back in the basket. “But did you make these?”
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Between looking past the girl to ensure he didnt lose Tasia or Sara and then making sure she was alright, the Mikaelidas lord was a little distracted as the young lady answered his words, his blue gaze eventually coming to settle on her face as she tried to accept responsibility for his clumsiness.
“Ah, no.” he disagreed. “ I’m trying to keep track of my sisters and they... ….Tasia, a moment if you please." Once more he was addressing someone beyond her, and when he looked back again, it was with a brief, slightly harried-looking smile “...sorry. I think we can agree it was my inattention that brought us here.”
The man stood easily a head taller than the young woman he addressed and though it was hard to guage her years he would guess she could not be more that seventeen. Glancing around to see who she was with, he was prepared to make his apologies to her chaperone as well. In amongst that concern and shooting the elder of his two half-sisters a look that bade her not wander or get into trouble, it took Achilleas a moment to realise the young lady he spoke to had dropped some of her things in their near collision. His expression tightened a little in dismay as he saw the scattered flowers and he was about to bend to collect them when Sara appeared and began to do just that.
Achilleas glanced between her and the young blonde and then sighed and remembered his manners. “Lord Achilleas of Mikaelidas.” he offered with a slight incline of his head, “ and this is my..sister Sara.” That tiny hesitation was just that, the lord avoiding the awkwardness of the girl’s illegitimacy by introducing her by first name only. At least here there was the chance that the truth of it - the shame his father brought upon the family - was not so readily known.
‘Marvelous.Look Achilleas, they’re made of parchment!’ Diverted by Sara’s words, the man turned his gaze to the flowers that his sister was enamoured of, glancing briefly at the Athenian girl befor he accepted the flower Sara brandished toward him and really looked at it. His expression did not move much save for a surprised flicker of his brows before he raised a finger to trace over the now evidently parchment petals of the rose. “ So they are” he observed, turning to the owner of said flowers. “Perhaps you can ask this young lady where they are being sold?”
It was a both a way to include the girl in their conversation again because Achilleas felt rude to be talking with Sara as if she weren’t there at all, and also a far-fetched hope that if he could procure some of these paper flowers for Sara and Tasia they might be satisfied enough to conclude this ridiculous mission around the market. His tolerance for aimless wandering was low at the best of times, and after three back to back days of it, lower still.
Crouching to help his half-sister collect the rest of the things that had been dropped, he frowned a little when he realised the young blonde was carrying an awful lot of these paper flowers for one person. Either she was very keen on them and had purchased a whole bushel, or she was a merchant - a thought he dismissed based upon her appearance alone- or she was their creator.
“Pardon my ignorance..” he corrected his earlier assumption as he stood and placed the rest of the flowers back in the basket. “But did you make these?”
Between looking past the girl to ensure he didnt lose Tasia or Sara and then making sure she was alright, the Mikaelidas lord was a little distracted as the young lady answered his words, his blue gaze eventually coming to settle on her face as she tried to accept responsibility for his clumsiness.
“Ah, no.” he disagreed. “ I’m trying to keep track of my sisters and they... ….Tasia, a moment if you please." Once more he was addressing someone beyond her, and when he looked back again, it was with a brief, slightly harried-looking smile “...sorry. I think we can agree it was my inattention that brought us here.”
The man stood easily a head taller than the young woman he addressed and though it was hard to guage her years he would guess she could not be more that seventeen. Glancing around to see who she was with, he was prepared to make his apologies to her chaperone as well. In amongst that concern and shooting the elder of his two half-sisters a look that bade her not wander or get into trouble, it took Achilleas a moment to realise the young lady he spoke to had dropped some of her things in their near collision. His expression tightened a little in dismay as he saw the scattered flowers and he was about to bend to collect them when Sara appeared and began to do just that.
Achilleas glanced between her and the young blonde and then sighed and remembered his manners. “Lord Achilleas of Mikaelidas.” he offered with a slight incline of his head, “ and this is my..sister Sara.” That tiny hesitation was just that, the lord avoiding the awkwardness of the girl’s illegitimacy by introducing her by first name only. At least here there was the chance that the truth of it - the shame his father brought upon the family - was not so readily known.
‘Marvelous.Look Achilleas, they’re made of parchment!’ Diverted by Sara’s words, the man turned his gaze to the flowers that his sister was enamoured of, glancing briefly at the Athenian girl befor he accepted the flower Sara brandished toward him and really looked at it. His expression did not move much save for a surprised flicker of his brows before he raised a finger to trace over the now evidently parchment petals of the rose. “ So they are” he observed, turning to the owner of said flowers. “Perhaps you can ask this young lady where they are being sold?”
It was a both a way to include the girl in their conversation again because Achilleas felt rude to be talking with Sara as if she weren’t there at all, and also a far-fetched hope that if he could procure some of these paper flowers for Sara and Tasia they might be satisfied enough to conclude this ridiculous mission around the market. His tolerance for aimless wandering was low at the best of times, and after three back to back days of it, lower still.
Crouching to help his half-sister collect the rest of the things that had been dropped, he frowned a little when he realised the young blonde was carrying an awful lot of these paper flowers for one person. Either she was very keen on them and had purchased a whole bushel, or she was a merchant - a thought he dismissed based upon her appearance alone- or she was their creator.
“Pardon my ignorance..” he corrected his earlier assumption as he stood and placed the rest of the flowers back in the basket. “But did you make these?”
With the mountain of a man seemingly squared away and no worse for wear, Rene was about to squat down to begin collecting her errant cargo when a young girl emerged from the sea of pedestrian traffic, drawn instantly to the parchment roses on the ground. Flanked on several sides like the underdog in an ill-fated battle, Rene’s beryl pools vacillated between the two before lowering herself to facilitate collecting the scattered flowers. “Thank you,” she addressed the girl before straightening. Involuntarily one hand lifted to the silver headband across her forehead to ensure it had not been knocked askew, brandishing a pleasant smile despite the collision. “Your inattention is understandable as your preoccupations seem quite justified. Mine, however, is for no other reason than my susceptibility to distraction,” Rene replied. She adjusted the flowers in the basket she carried before centering her focus once more on the individual she’d nearly tripped up with her proverbial stargazing.
The name drop was likely not intentional, but it had the same effect none-the-less, causing Rene to freeze in place, her brain working behind her eyes in that nanosecond to process the information. “Mikaelidas?” she repeated, looking between the two once more. “Of Tangea?”
Bewilderment flared across the teen’s creamy and flawless complexion for the most fleeting of moments before she resumed a higher place on the ladder of social graces. She genuflected to them both, despite Sara’s lack of title. Her cheekbones colored as she placed a small hand on her chest. “I am embarrassed more so. How dreadful that your visit to Athenia should be tarnished with such ineptitude,” Rene threw herself under the chariot, where she rightfully belonged for such a faux pas. No wonder she was not considered along with her siblings for greater responsibility to the House. “I have had the great pleasure of studying abroad at the Scholeío of the Arts in Vasiliadon for several semesters over the last two years. It was a wonderful experience. It was the most in depth tutelage of the methodologies from the masters of sculpture I have ever seen. The vast curriculum included Myron, Phidias, Polyclitus and Praxiteles. I very much hope to return once more this year or next to complete the study with Scopas, and Lysippus. Your countrymen are gracious and magnificent hosts,” Rene bubbled, recalling her visits to Athenia’s ally. “I am privileged to count the Lady Ophelia of Condos among my friends and greatest inspirations.”
The words spilled out before Rene had time to stop them, instantly engaged on account of her affection for Tangea, largely instilled by Ophelia. And despite having never met Achilles or his sister, the most simplistic and common of threads seemed enough to foster an excitement for the encounter. Realizing she was likely presenting as some hapless sycophant, carrying on about her passions to people who hardly expressed interest but were too polite to derail her over-sharing, Rene collected herself, though her endearing smile remained. “I am Rene. Of Nikolaos,” she dared to introduce herself, leaving off her own title. ‘Lady’ was merely what she was, not who she was, and she frequently discarded it, preferring to be identified by her own merits.
As the unlucky recipients of her gleaming fervor collected the rest of the roses, Rene almost wriggled in place with joy. “Yes, yes I do,” she addressed the Tangean lord’s inquiry. Sorting through the bouquet in her basket, she found several of the parchment roses with silver and gold dusting on the edges of the petals, and offered them to Achilles and Sara. “For you. Small tokens of my love of Tangea. They may not possess the incomparable beauty of a natural rose, which will wither and die, but they are immune to such a temporary fate. They simply remain.”
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With the mountain of a man seemingly squared away and no worse for wear, Rene was about to squat down to begin collecting her errant cargo when a young girl emerged from the sea of pedestrian traffic, drawn instantly to the parchment roses on the ground. Flanked on several sides like the underdog in an ill-fated battle, Rene’s beryl pools vacillated between the two before lowering herself to facilitate collecting the scattered flowers. “Thank you,” she addressed the girl before straightening. Involuntarily one hand lifted to the silver headband across her forehead to ensure it had not been knocked askew, brandishing a pleasant smile despite the collision. “Your inattention is understandable as your preoccupations seem quite justified. Mine, however, is for no other reason than my susceptibility to distraction,” Rene replied. She adjusted the flowers in the basket she carried before centering her focus once more on the individual she’d nearly tripped up with her proverbial stargazing.
The name drop was likely not intentional, but it had the same effect none-the-less, causing Rene to freeze in place, her brain working behind her eyes in that nanosecond to process the information. “Mikaelidas?” she repeated, looking between the two once more. “Of Tangea?”
Bewilderment flared across the teen’s creamy and flawless complexion for the most fleeting of moments before she resumed a higher place on the ladder of social graces. She genuflected to them both, despite Sara’s lack of title. Her cheekbones colored as she placed a small hand on her chest. “I am embarrassed more so. How dreadful that your visit to Athenia should be tarnished with such ineptitude,” Rene threw herself under the chariot, where she rightfully belonged for such a faux pas. No wonder she was not considered along with her siblings for greater responsibility to the House. “I have had the great pleasure of studying abroad at the Scholeío of the Arts in Vasiliadon for several semesters over the last two years. It was a wonderful experience. It was the most in depth tutelage of the methodologies from the masters of sculpture I have ever seen. The vast curriculum included Myron, Phidias, Polyclitus and Praxiteles. I very much hope to return once more this year or next to complete the study with Scopas, and Lysippus. Your countrymen are gracious and magnificent hosts,” Rene bubbled, recalling her visits to Athenia’s ally. “I am privileged to count the Lady Ophelia of Condos among my friends and greatest inspirations.”
The words spilled out before Rene had time to stop them, instantly engaged on account of her affection for Tangea, largely instilled by Ophelia. And despite having never met Achilles or his sister, the most simplistic and common of threads seemed enough to foster an excitement for the encounter. Realizing she was likely presenting as some hapless sycophant, carrying on about her passions to people who hardly expressed interest but were too polite to derail her over-sharing, Rene collected herself, though her endearing smile remained. “I am Rene. Of Nikolaos,” she dared to introduce herself, leaving off her own title. ‘Lady’ was merely what she was, not who she was, and she frequently discarded it, preferring to be identified by her own merits.
As the unlucky recipients of her gleaming fervor collected the rest of the roses, Rene almost wriggled in place with joy. “Yes, yes I do,” she addressed the Tangean lord’s inquiry. Sorting through the bouquet in her basket, she found several of the parchment roses with silver and gold dusting on the edges of the petals, and offered them to Achilles and Sara. “For you. Small tokens of my love of Tangea. They may not possess the incomparable beauty of a natural rose, which will wither and die, but they are immune to such a temporary fate. They simply remain.”
With the mountain of a man seemingly squared away and no worse for wear, Rene was about to squat down to begin collecting her errant cargo when a young girl emerged from the sea of pedestrian traffic, drawn instantly to the parchment roses on the ground. Flanked on several sides like the underdog in an ill-fated battle, Rene’s beryl pools vacillated between the two before lowering herself to facilitate collecting the scattered flowers. “Thank you,” she addressed the girl before straightening. Involuntarily one hand lifted to the silver headband across her forehead to ensure it had not been knocked askew, brandishing a pleasant smile despite the collision. “Your inattention is understandable as your preoccupations seem quite justified. Mine, however, is for no other reason than my susceptibility to distraction,” Rene replied. She adjusted the flowers in the basket she carried before centering her focus once more on the individual she’d nearly tripped up with her proverbial stargazing.
The name drop was likely not intentional, but it had the same effect none-the-less, causing Rene to freeze in place, her brain working behind her eyes in that nanosecond to process the information. “Mikaelidas?” she repeated, looking between the two once more. “Of Tangea?”
Bewilderment flared across the teen’s creamy and flawless complexion for the most fleeting of moments before she resumed a higher place on the ladder of social graces. She genuflected to them both, despite Sara’s lack of title. Her cheekbones colored as she placed a small hand on her chest. “I am embarrassed more so. How dreadful that your visit to Athenia should be tarnished with such ineptitude,” Rene threw herself under the chariot, where she rightfully belonged for such a faux pas. No wonder she was not considered along with her siblings for greater responsibility to the House. “I have had the great pleasure of studying abroad at the Scholeío of the Arts in Vasiliadon for several semesters over the last two years. It was a wonderful experience. It was the most in depth tutelage of the methodologies from the masters of sculpture I have ever seen. The vast curriculum included Myron, Phidias, Polyclitus and Praxiteles. I very much hope to return once more this year or next to complete the study with Scopas, and Lysippus. Your countrymen are gracious and magnificent hosts,” Rene bubbled, recalling her visits to Athenia’s ally. “I am privileged to count the Lady Ophelia of Condos among my friends and greatest inspirations.”
The words spilled out before Rene had time to stop them, instantly engaged on account of her affection for Tangea, largely instilled by Ophelia. And despite having never met Achilles or his sister, the most simplistic and common of threads seemed enough to foster an excitement for the encounter. Realizing she was likely presenting as some hapless sycophant, carrying on about her passions to people who hardly expressed interest but were too polite to derail her over-sharing, Rene collected herself, though her endearing smile remained. “I am Rene. Of Nikolaos,” she dared to introduce herself, leaving off her own title. ‘Lady’ was merely what she was, not who she was, and she frequently discarded it, preferring to be identified by her own merits.
As the unlucky recipients of her gleaming fervor collected the rest of the roses, Rene almost wriggled in place with joy. “Yes, yes I do,” she addressed the Tangean lord’s inquiry. Sorting through the bouquet in her basket, she found several of the parchment roses with silver and gold dusting on the edges of the petals, and offered them to Achilles and Sara. “For you. Small tokens of my love of Tangea. They may not possess the incomparable beauty of a natural rose, which will wither and die, but they are immune to such a temporary fate. They simply remain.”
