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The sun was scorching on Silas' skin, the dry wind just feeling like a roaring fire on his face. He was leaning on a pillar, watching as the men and women brushed past. They were all very busy, and it reminded that he should be doing something with himself. The heat was sapping all his energy but he couldn't stand to be locked up in his room signing off on his lieutenants' summary reports and paperwork. He had headed out with the purpose of praying at Athena's temple but he had done that now, he still had a day to fill. He was sure there were many productive things that he could apply himself to but he was coming up blank. It was a little odd, as he couldn't attend to his duty as captain as much while in Midas.
He was sure that he's dry out like hide if he stood out in the sun for much longer, so he shifted into the shade. Glancing at the Athena temple, he smiled at an older woman as she exited. It was time to head back to his family home but he felt sluggish as he turned around to where Sterope stood. The heat really took things out of him, especially when he felt like his day was pointless. With Vangelis and Asia leaving soon, he should have been spending time with but he didn't want to force his presence onto them when he was in such a weird mood. Praying to Athena usually soothed his jangled feelings but today it hadn't seemed to work. He felt like his outing had been useless until he reminded himself that it was good for the commoners to see him out and about.
He gave the dapple grey stallion a firm pat on the neck and a head rub in greeting. Sterope was a very good horse, friendly and determined. Silas liked to think that horses and their owners shared some traits, that animals were a reflection of their humans. He hoisted himself up onto Sterope's back, taking a moment to spare enough look at the temple. The glare was fairly strong and it caused him to squint so he immediately turned back to where he was going. Silas urged Sterope into a fast walk, not sparing the energy for a trot when they could lazily make their way to the family home. without too much issue.
Although seeing the young prince wasn't exactly a spectacle, it was a rare sight to see nowadays. He was usually off in another providence or running errands across the country. Silas smiled at the people who's stares lingered but kept to himself for the most part. He took particular care as he rode, making sure that Sterope stayed clear of toes and children. It was only fair since many others were walking. Due to the slow approach on horseback, it took a little longer to reach the family home again. He dismounted and allowed for a stablehand to take Sterope to be groomed and put away. While in the courtyard, he noticed a few slaves transporting a few swords inside. He assumed it was an order for a providence that was lacking in weapons but it made him stop short. Why hadn't he thought to practice with Nike?
The commander wasn't exactly certain to give Silas the time of day, but it was very possible. Silas' mind was made up already as he strode inside and up the stairs to his quarters. While up in his room, he requested that a slave help hi get ready quickly. He changed out of his expensive robes and into some older ones. Even if Nike shot him down, he would still be able to coerce a guard or two to keep his practice up. He didn't want to rip anything although he knew it would easily be replaced. His mother would disapprove of him destroying his good temple robes with a little bit of roughhousing. Silas was almost out the door before he was called back by the slave who held his sword and scabbard. The prince was mildly embarrassed but he didn't admit it as he took the sword off of the other man. He turned on his heel and headed to where he assumed Nike would be. There would be a few places to check, that was for sure.
JD
Staff Team
JD
Staff Team
This post was created by our staff team.
Please contact us with your queries and questions.
The sun was scorching on Silas' skin, the dry wind just feeling like a roaring fire on his face. He was leaning on a pillar, watching as the men and women brushed past. They were all very busy, and it reminded that he should be doing something with himself. The heat was sapping all his energy but he couldn't stand to be locked up in his room signing off on his lieutenants' summary reports and paperwork. He had headed out with the purpose of praying at Athena's temple but he had done that now, he still had a day to fill. He was sure there were many productive things that he could apply himself to but he was coming up blank. It was a little odd, as he couldn't attend to his duty as captain as much while in Midas.
He was sure that he's dry out like hide if he stood out in the sun for much longer, so he shifted into the shade. Glancing at the Athena temple, he smiled at an older woman as she exited. It was time to head back to his family home but he felt sluggish as he turned around to where Sterope stood. The heat really took things out of him, especially when he felt like his day was pointless. With Vangelis and Asia leaving soon, he should have been spending time with but he didn't want to force his presence onto them when he was in such a weird mood. Praying to Athena usually soothed his jangled feelings but today it hadn't seemed to work. He felt like his outing had been useless until he reminded himself that it was good for the commoners to see him out and about.
He gave the dapple grey stallion a firm pat on the neck and a head rub in greeting. Sterope was a very good horse, friendly and determined. Silas liked to think that horses and their owners shared some traits, that animals were a reflection of their humans. He hoisted himself up onto Sterope's back, taking a moment to spare enough look at the temple. The glare was fairly strong and it caused him to squint so he immediately turned back to where he was going. Silas urged Sterope into a fast walk, not sparing the energy for a trot when they could lazily make their way to the family home. without too much issue.
Although seeing the young prince wasn't exactly a spectacle, it was a rare sight to see nowadays. He was usually off in another providence or running errands across the country. Silas smiled at the people who's stares lingered but kept to himself for the most part. He took particular care as he rode, making sure that Sterope stayed clear of toes and children. It was only fair since many others were walking. Due to the slow approach on horseback, it took a little longer to reach the family home again. He dismounted and allowed for a stablehand to take Sterope to be groomed and put away. While in the courtyard, he noticed a few slaves transporting a few swords inside. He assumed it was an order for a providence that was lacking in weapons but it made him stop short. Why hadn't he thought to practice with Nike?
The commander wasn't exactly certain to give Silas the time of day, but it was very possible. Silas' mind was made up already as he strode inside and up the stairs to his quarters. While up in his room, he requested that a slave help hi get ready quickly. He changed out of his expensive robes and into some older ones. Even if Nike shot him down, he would still be able to coerce a guard or two to keep his practice up. He didn't want to rip anything although he knew it would easily be replaced. His mother would disapprove of him destroying his good temple robes with a little bit of roughhousing. Silas was almost out the door before he was called back by the slave who held his sword and scabbard. The prince was mildly embarrassed but he didn't admit it as he took the sword off of the other man. He turned on his heel and headed to where he assumed Nike would be. There would be a few places to check, that was for sure.
The sun was scorching on Silas' skin, the dry wind just feeling like a roaring fire on his face. He was leaning on a pillar, watching as the men and women brushed past. They were all very busy, and it reminded that he should be doing something with himself. The heat was sapping all his energy but he couldn't stand to be locked up in his room signing off on his lieutenants' summary reports and paperwork. He had headed out with the purpose of praying at Athena's temple but he had done that now, he still had a day to fill. He was sure there were many productive things that he could apply himself to but he was coming up blank. It was a little odd, as he couldn't attend to his duty as captain as much while in Midas.
He was sure that he's dry out like hide if he stood out in the sun for much longer, so he shifted into the shade. Glancing at the Athena temple, he smiled at an older woman as she exited. It was time to head back to his family home but he felt sluggish as he turned around to where Sterope stood. The heat really took things out of him, especially when he felt like his day was pointless. With Vangelis and Asia leaving soon, he should have been spending time with but he didn't want to force his presence onto them when he was in such a weird mood. Praying to Athena usually soothed his jangled feelings but today it hadn't seemed to work. He felt like his outing had been useless until he reminded himself that it was good for the commoners to see him out and about.
He gave the dapple grey stallion a firm pat on the neck and a head rub in greeting. Sterope was a very good horse, friendly and determined. Silas liked to think that horses and their owners shared some traits, that animals were a reflection of their humans. He hoisted himself up onto Sterope's back, taking a moment to spare enough look at the temple. The glare was fairly strong and it caused him to squint so he immediately turned back to where he was going. Silas urged Sterope into a fast walk, not sparing the energy for a trot when they could lazily make their way to the family home. without too much issue.
Although seeing the young prince wasn't exactly a spectacle, it was a rare sight to see nowadays. He was usually off in another providence or running errands across the country. Silas smiled at the people who's stares lingered but kept to himself for the most part. He took particular care as he rode, making sure that Sterope stayed clear of toes and children. It was only fair since many others were walking. Due to the slow approach on horseback, it took a little longer to reach the family home again. He dismounted and allowed for a stablehand to take Sterope to be groomed and put away. While in the courtyard, he noticed a few slaves transporting a few swords inside. He assumed it was an order for a providence that was lacking in weapons but it made him stop short. Why hadn't he thought to practice with Nike?
The commander wasn't exactly certain to give Silas the time of day, but it was very possible. Silas' mind was made up already as he strode inside and up the stairs to his quarters. While up in his room, he requested that a slave help hi get ready quickly. He changed out of his expensive robes and into some older ones. Even if Nike shot him down, he would still be able to coerce a guard or two to keep his practice up. He didn't want to rip anything although he knew it would easily be replaced. His mother would disapprove of him destroying his good temple robes with a little bit of roughhousing. Silas was almost out the door before he was called back by the slave who held his sword and scabbard. The prince was mildly embarrassed but he didn't admit it as he took the sword off of the other man. He turned on his heel and headed to where he assumed Nike would be. There would be a few places to check, that was for sure.
With the storm's wrath still obviously seen and felt throughout the city, Nike had busied herself in helping with the regrouping work with her fellow brother in arms. Taking the command of her unit as she would in a regular war campaign, the efficient Commander had sprawled her men out in places they would serve most useful in helping the people of Midas regain their homes or rebuild their lives.
It was as if things were hitting Colchis one after the other once they had returned from Taengea really, Nike mused. She was on her way back to the Kotas residence - it was noon, and more then likely she would see either Vangelis or Zanon around. The Commander had little to do after training and overseeing her men in the mornings, and now as the day drew to a late noon, she was in need of some practice. On her hip, her new claymore lay in its scabbard - well, new was a relative term at this point.
Nike had procured the new claymore which had arrived in the Taengean markets during the Dionysus festival by a merchant who claims it came from a far off land, carried by heathens and warriors. Who they were, the woman had no interest in. However, she was interested in the weight in which the claymore had - it would help in her fights. Heavier then the long and short swords she was used to, it would pack a punch - the kind Nike could not muster up as a regular male would. The only downside was that whatever muscular strength she had would now have to be doubled to wield the heavier weapon. She had been diligently working on it by herself, but the time has come for her to test it out on someone else.
Entering the courtyard, her eyes roamed for any of the siblings. Nike had grown close to the Kotas brood over the years of serving and fighting alongside Vangelis. Quips with Zanon, watching out for Athanasia, and the occasional eye spared to ensure Silas did not get to any big mess himself. The only brother Nike probably did not spend as much time with was likely Yiannis, but the broody third brother of the brood had his own ideas. While Nike admired them, she was unlikely to venture away from Vangelis's side.
Entering the residence, the Commander had to back step quite a few when she almost ran into Silas, who on second look, appeared quite eager, sword in hand. The commander's brows shot up, and she offered the younger male an amused grin, eyes flickering from his old robes to the sword, and then tossing a question at him, "You looking for something, Silas?"
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Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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With the storm's wrath still obviously seen and felt throughout the city, Nike had busied herself in helping with the regrouping work with her fellow brother in arms. Taking the command of her unit as she would in a regular war campaign, the efficient Commander had sprawled her men out in places they would serve most useful in helping the people of Midas regain their homes or rebuild their lives.
It was as if things were hitting Colchis one after the other once they had returned from Taengea really, Nike mused. She was on her way back to the Kotas residence - it was noon, and more then likely she would see either Vangelis or Zanon around. The Commander had little to do after training and overseeing her men in the mornings, and now as the day drew to a late noon, she was in need of some practice. On her hip, her new claymore lay in its scabbard - well, new was a relative term at this point.
Nike had procured the new claymore which had arrived in the Taengean markets during the Dionysus festival by a merchant who claims it came from a far off land, carried by heathens and warriors. Who they were, the woman had no interest in. However, she was interested in the weight in which the claymore had - it would help in her fights. Heavier then the long and short swords she was used to, it would pack a punch - the kind Nike could not muster up as a regular male would. The only downside was that whatever muscular strength she had would now have to be doubled to wield the heavier weapon. She had been diligently working on it by herself, but the time has come for her to test it out on someone else.
Entering the courtyard, her eyes roamed for any of the siblings. Nike had grown close to the Kotas brood over the years of serving and fighting alongside Vangelis. Quips with Zanon, watching out for Athanasia, and the occasional eye spared to ensure Silas did not get to any big mess himself. The only brother Nike probably did not spend as much time with was likely Yiannis, but the broody third brother of the brood had his own ideas. While Nike admired them, she was unlikely to venture away from Vangelis's side.
Entering the residence, the Commander had to back step quite a few when she almost ran into Silas, who on second look, appeared quite eager, sword in hand. The commander's brows shot up, and she offered the younger male an amused grin, eyes flickering from his old robes to the sword, and then tossing a question at him, "You looking for something, Silas?"
With the storm's wrath still obviously seen and felt throughout the city, Nike had busied herself in helping with the regrouping work with her fellow brother in arms. Taking the command of her unit as she would in a regular war campaign, the efficient Commander had sprawled her men out in places they would serve most useful in helping the people of Midas regain their homes or rebuild their lives.
It was as if things were hitting Colchis one after the other once they had returned from Taengea really, Nike mused. She was on her way back to the Kotas residence - it was noon, and more then likely she would see either Vangelis or Zanon around. The Commander had little to do after training and overseeing her men in the mornings, and now as the day drew to a late noon, she was in need of some practice. On her hip, her new claymore lay in its scabbard - well, new was a relative term at this point.
Nike had procured the new claymore which had arrived in the Taengean markets during the Dionysus festival by a merchant who claims it came from a far off land, carried by heathens and warriors. Who they were, the woman had no interest in. However, she was interested in the weight in which the claymore had - it would help in her fights. Heavier then the long and short swords she was used to, it would pack a punch - the kind Nike could not muster up as a regular male would. The only downside was that whatever muscular strength she had would now have to be doubled to wield the heavier weapon. She had been diligently working on it by herself, but the time has come for her to test it out on someone else.
Entering the courtyard, her eyes roamed for any of the siblings. Nike had grown close to the Kotas brood over the years of serving and fighting alongside Vangelis. Quips with Zanon, watching out for Athanasia, and the occasional eye spared to ensure Silas did not get to any big mess himself. The only brother Nike probably did not spend as much time with was likely Yiannis, but the broody third brother of the brood had his own ideas. While Nike admired them, she was unlikely to venture away from Vangelis's side.
Entering the residence, the Commander had to back step quite a few when she almost ran into Silas, who on second look, appeared quite eager, sword in hand. The commander's brows shot up, and she offered the younger male an amused grin, eyes flickering from his old robes to the sword, and then tossing a question at him, "You looking for something, Silas?"
When Nike appeared in front of him, almost as if summoned by his thoughts, Silas was surprised, to say the least. The young prince let out a short bark of laughter and took a step backwards from the other man. He noticed the glance to his sword, that he still had clutched in hand instead of hanging on his shoulders. He certainly looked ready and eager to go. He had meant to organise himself as he walked and he was a little flustered. He smiled at Nike's words and shrugged the scabbard strap around his shoulder. "Not something, someone. You, actually. I was hoping that we could do a little bit of sparring?" Silas ran a hand through his hair which was in need of a wash, nodding in the vague direction of the practice fields.
The young man wasn't expected to receive the answer no, but he acknowledged that she could have other duties to attend to. "I don't want to take your time away from Vangelis if he needs you, but I wouldn't mind having a match against you. I trust you to correct my swordplay if it becomes sloppy, I fear that my brothers would just triumph it over me." His tone was light and teasing, he didn't mean a word of the last sentence. The Kotas brother's built upon each other's strengths. They would never let a brother develop a bad fighting habit, it would put them in danger come to war. He was serious about fighting Nike, the prince respected him very much. They weren't the closest but as Vangelis' bodyguard, she was someone he also trusted with his life.
He walked towards the practice fields, knowing that they weren't too far off but would still take a few minutes to travel too. "How are you doing Nike? I heard that you were injured? I assume that you are up to scratch again?" Vangelis would be leaving soon, and Silas' assumed he would have hired another bodyguard on top of Nike if he was still recovering. His brother wasn't silly, especially concerning the safety of their sister. Silas considered if asking the man to join him in practice was a little rude due to the previous injury but then shrugged it off. Nike would want to improve himself, not be undone by a wound. It just wasn't the way of military men, Nike surely couldn't be all that different.
The weather wasn't very pleasant, but it was something Silas was pushing through. A day spent doing nothing was a day wasted. Nevermind he had already visited Athena's temple, he hadn't done any practice which was almost unheard of for him. Nike was more knowledgeable about swords than he was, a great person to learn from. Silas gave the other man a smile as they exited the building. There wasn't a lot of people around since the weather wasn't suited to a lot of physical activity. The prince inclined his head at the guards nearby and spotted a vacant place for them to spar on.
JD
Staff Team
JD
Staff Team
This post was created by our staff team.
Please contact us with your queries and questions.
When Nike appeared in front of him, almost as if summoned by his thoughts, Silas was surprised, to say the least. The young prince let out a short bark of laughter and took a step backwards from the other man. He noticed the glance to his sword, that he still had clutched in hand instead of hanging on his shoulders. He certainly looked ready and eager to go. He had meant to organise himself as he walked and he was a little flustered. He smiled at Nike's words and shrugged the scabbard strap around his shoulder. "Not something, someone. You, actually. I was hoping that we could do a little bit of sparring?" Silas ran a hand through his hair which was in need of a wash, nodding in the vague direction of the practice fields.
The young man wasn't expected to receive the answer no, but he acknowledged that she could have other duties to attend to. "I don't want to take your time away from Vangelis if he needs you, but I wouldn't mind having a match against you. I trust you to correct my swordplay if it becomes sloppy, I fear that my brothers would just triumph it over me." His tone was light and teasing, he didn't mean a word of the last sentence. The Kotas brother's built upon each other's strengths. They would never let a brother develop a bad fighting habit, it would put them in danger come to war. He was serious about fighting Nike, the prince respected him very much. They weren't the closest but as Vangelis' bodyguard, she was someone he also trusted with his life.
He walked towards the practice fields, knowing that they weren't too far off but would still take a few minutes to travel too. "How are you doing Nike? I heard that you were injured? I assume that you are up to scratch again?" Vangelis would be leaving soon, and Silas' assumed he would have hired another bodyguard on top of Nike if he was still recovering. His brother wasn't silly, especially concerning the safety of their sister. Silas considered if asking the man to join him in practice was a little rude due to the previous injury but then shrugged it off. Nike would want to improve himself, not be undone by a wound. It just wasn't the way of military men, Nike surely couldn't be all that different.
The weather wasn't very pleasant, but it was something Silas was pushing through. A day spent doing nothing was a day wasted. Nevermind he had already visited Athena's temple, he hadn't done any practice which was almost unheard of for him. Nike was more knowledgeable about swords than he was, a great person to learn from. Silas gave the other man a smile as they exited the building. There wasn't a lot of people around since the weather wasn't suited to a lot of physical activity. The prince inclined his head at the guards nearby and spotted a vacant place for them to spar on.
When Nike appeared in front of him, almost as if summoned by his thoughts, Silas was surprised, to say the least. The young prince let out a short bark of laughter and took a step backwards from the other man. He noticed the glance to his sword, that he still had clutched in hand instead of hanging on his shoulders. He certainly looked ready and eager to go. He had meant to organise himself as he walked and he was a little flustered. He smiled at Nike's words and shrugged the scabbard strap around his shoulder. "Not something, someone. You, actually. I was hoping that we could do a little bit of sparring?" Silas ran a hand through his hair which was in need of a wash, nodding in the vague direction of the practice fields.
The young man wasn't expected to receive the answer no, but he acknowledged that she could have other duties to attend to. "I don't want to take your time away from Vangelis if he needs you, but I wouldn't mind having a match against you. I trust you to correct my swordplay if it becomes sloppy, I fear that my brothers would just triumph it over me." His tone was light and teasing, he didn't mean a word of the last sentence. The Kotas brother's built upon each other's strengths. They would never let a brother develop a bad fighting habit, it would put them in danger come to war. He was serious about fighting Nike, the prince respected him very much. They weren't the closest but as Vangelis' bodyguard, she was someone he also trusted with his life.
He walked towards the practice fields, knowing that they weren't too far off but would still take a few minutes to travel too. "How are you doing Nike? I heard that you were injured? I assume that you are up to scratch again?" Vangelis would be leaving soon, and Silas' assumed he would have hired another bodyguard on top of Nike if he was still recovering. His brother wasn't silly, especially concerning the safety of their sister. Silas considered if asking the man to join him in practice was a little rude due to the previous injury but then shrugged it off. Nike would want to improve himself, not be undone by a wound. It just wasn't the way of military men, Nike surely couldn't be all that different.
The weather wasn't very pleasant, but it was something Silas was pushing through. A day spent doing nothing was a day wasted. Nevermind he had already visited Athena's temple, he hadn't done any practice which was almost unheard of for him. Nike was more knowledgeable about swords than he was, a great person to learn from. Silas gave the other man a smile as they exited the building. There wasn't a lot of people around since the weather wasn't suited to a lot of physical activity. The prince inclined his head at the guards nearby and spotted a vacant place for them to spar on.
The youngest prince had always been more like his second brother then his eldest. As one who has been working in and out of the royal residences, around the Kotas family members for longer then she could remember, close to twelve years now, Nike had basically watched all of them as they grew up, right next to Vangelis. As such, she gave a familiar smile when Silas asked for some sparring. Quite unlike Vangelis and Yiannis, Silas was the friendlier of the four, although most of it Nike chalked up to his younger age, and the affect of Athanasia on the brother closest to her age.
"No, it does not take my time at all. It is high time I get back into it." she replied with an easy smile. With her riding pants, leather vest laced over the linen black shirt she had tucked into her pants, she was all ready for a spar session, a usual occurence for Nike. It wasn't as if she could walk around in a chiton, that would've been too obvious for anyone to see. "He has no need of me for now, preparing for the trip as he is. Do not worry - I assure you I am no easy spar partner."
The commander winked, following Silas as he headed for the practice fields. In a way, her fingers itched to try out her new weapon, eager to see how the addition of it would change her style, increase her strength, perhaps even improve her methods. As they arrived at the practice fields, Nike was right next to the youngest prince as they headed for the vacant place, her answer coming as they strode. "I am fine, do not worry. My hands had healed the week before, thanks to the physicians Vangelis had insisted see to me." Nike half-grumbled, not at all liking the copious amounts of times they sloshed paste and ointment on it, and the fact that she had to remain away from her weapon for weeks.
At least now when she extended her palms, althought callouses and scars remained, Nike could heave her sword without breaking a sweat or dropping it from the stinging that came from digging Vangelis out from half a mountain bare handed. She had suffered worst before on the battlefield, her torn up palms should not have bothered her as much as it did.
Dropping her scabbard and belt that held it up, the Commander gave a grin as she unsheathed the newly polished, newly begotten claymore. Heavier, larger then a regular long sword often used by the Colchian military, the hilt was wrapped in black leather, its cross guard beautifully fashioned with runes and patterns Nike could not understand carved on to it, ending in upwards knobs. Beneath the wrapped hilt, the pommel had the tails of the leather wrap tied just beyond it, the silver knob of the pommel gleaming as she heaved it, grinning when she recognized the weight no longer pained her. It used to while her palms were still bandaged, which meant she could only pick it up for short bursts of time at home to practice its weight.
But now-now was for Nike to test its swing and parry. To use it as a proper weapon.
Straightening up, she grinned at Silas, the kind that was a mix of challenging, friendly and daring. Widening her stance, she held the tip of her claymore towards Silas, holding it up with both hands due to its larger wield and heavier weight. "Come at me. I'll parry and defend. Watch your step, Sealy." Her eyes glittered with the feigned mockery, the usual thrash talk for military officers who itched for a friendly battle.
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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The youngest prince had always been more like his second brother then his eldest. As one who has been working in and out of the royal residences, around the Kotas family members for longer then she could remember, close to twelve years now, Nike had basically watched all of them as they grew up, right next to Vangelis. As such, she gave a familiar smile when Silas asked for some sparring. Quite unlike Vangelis and Yiannis, Silas was the friendlier of the four, although most of it Nike chalked up to his younger age, and the affect of Athanasia on the brother closest to her age.
"No, it does not take my time at all. It is high time I get back into it." she replied with an easy smile. With her riding pants, leather vest laced over the linen black shirt she had tucked into her pants, she was all ready for a spar session, a usual occurence for Nike. It wasn't as if she could walk around in a chiton, that would've been too obvious for anyone to see. "He has no need of me for now, preparing for the trip as he is. Do not worry - I assure you I am no easy spar partner."
The commander winked, following Silas as he headed for the practice fields. In a way, her fingers itched to try out her new weapon, eager to see how the addition of it would change her style, increase her strength, perhaps even improve her methods. As they arrived at the practice fields, Nike was right next to the youngest prince as they headed for the vacant place, her answer coming as they strode. "I am fine, do not worry. My hands had healed the week before, thanks to the physicians Vangelis had insisted see to me." Nike half-grumbled, not at all liking the copious amounts of times they sloshed paste and ointment on it, and the fact that she had to remain away from her weapon for weeks.
At least now when she extended her palms, althought callouses and scars remained, Nike could heave her sword without breaking a sweat or dropping it from the stinging that came from digging Vangelis out from half a mountain bare handed. She had suffered worst before on the battlefield, her torn up palms should not have bothered her as much as it did.
Dropping her scabbard and belt that held it up, the Commander gave a grin as she unsheathed the newly polished, newly begotten claymore. Heavier, larger then a regular long sword often used by the Colchian military, the hilt was wrapped in black leather, its cross guard beautifully fashioned with runes and patterns Nike could not understand carved on to it, ending in upwards knobs. Beneath the wrapped hilt, the pommel had the tails of the leather wrap tied just beyond it, the silver knob of the pommel gleaming as she heaved it, grinning when she recognized the weight no longer pained her. It used to while her palms were still bandaged, which meant she could only pick it up for short bursts of time at home to practice its weight.
But now-now was for Nike to test its swing and parry. To use it as a proper weapon.
Straightening up, she grinned at Silas, the kind that was a mix of challenging, friendly and daring. Widening her stance, she held the tip of her claymore towards Silas, holding it up with both hands due to its larger wield and heavier weight. "Come at me. I'll parry and defend. Watch your step, Sealy." Her eyes glittered with the feigned mockery, the usual thrash talk for military officers who itched for a friendly battle.
The youngest prince had always been more like his second brother then his eldest. As one who has been working in and out of the royal residences, around the Kotas family members for longer then she could remember, close to twelve years now, Nike had basically watched all of them as they grew up, right next to Vangelis. As such, she gave a familiar smile when Silas asked for some sparring. Quite unlike Vangelis and Yiannis, Silas was the friendlier of the four, although most of it Nike chalked up to his younger age, and the affect of Athanasia on the brother closest to her age.
"No, it does not take my time at all. It is high time I get back into it." she replied with an easy smile. With her riding pants, leather vest laced over the linen black shirt she had tucked into her pants, she was all ready for a spar session, a usual occurence for Nike. It wasn't as if she could walk around in a chiton, that would've been too obvious for anyone to see. "He has no need of me for now, preparing for the trip as he is. Do not worry - I assure you I am no easy spar partner."
The commander winked, following Silas as he headed for the practice fields. In a way, her fingers itched to try out her new weapon, eager to see how the addition of it would change her style, increase her strength, perhaps even improve her methods. As they arrived at the practice fields, Nike was right next to the youngest prince as they headed for the vacant place, her answer coming as they strode. "I am fine, do not worry. My hands had healed the week before, thanks to the physicians Vangelis had insisted see to me." Nike half-grumbled, not at all liking the copious amounts of times they sloshed paste and ointment on it, and the fact that she had to remain away from her weapon for weeks.
At least now when she extended her palms, althought callouses and scars remained, Nike could heave her sword without breaking a sweat or dropping it from the stinging that came from digging Vangelis out from half a mountain bare handed. She had suffered worst before on the battlefield, her torn up palms should not have bothered her as much as it did.
Dropping her scabbard and belt that held it up, the Commander gave a grin as she unsheathed the newly polished, newly begotten claymore. Heavier, larger then a regular long sword often used by the Colchian military, the hilt was wrapped in black leather, its cross guard beautifully fashioned with runes and patterns Nike could not understand carved on to it, ending in upwards knobs. Beneath the wrapped hilt, the pommel had the tails of the leather wrap tied just beyond it, the silver knob of the pommel gleaming as she heaved it, grinning when she recognized the weight no longer pained her. It used to while her palms were still bandaged, which meant she could only pick it up for short bursts of time at home to practice its weight.
But now-now was for Nike to test its swing and parry. To use it as a proper weapon.
Straightening up, she grinned at Silas, the kind that was a mix of challenging, friendly and daring. Widening her stance, she held the tip of her claymore towards Silas, holding it up with both hands due to its larger wield and heavier weight. "Come at me. I'll parry and defend. Watch your step, Sealy." Her eyes glittered with the feigned mockery, the usual thrash talk for military officers who itched for a friendly battle.
Silas responded well to Nike's smile, nodding his head in understanding. He sounded slightly irritated by the implied forcing of healers, but Silas agreed with his brother on this one. Their commander should have good medical care. "I'm glad." It amused that him that the commander thought that Silas was implying that he would be a weak sparring partner. Silas knew better to think that, especially since Nike was a higher than the youngest prince was. He would have to supreme fighting prowess and battle knowledge to get where he was. Silas knew this, of course, he did, although, due to his and his brothers' royal rank they had ranked up significantly fast. He liked to think they had more skills from being raised with the battle mentality from practical birth. Yet, he knew that almost any kind of royal could become a captain with almost no effort. That was the way the world worked, you didn't see any of the noblemen complaining about it. Silas knew the men underneath hated it, gods above did he know this.
That didn't mean that Silas didn't know his own strength, the young prince knew that he was good at what he did. He had to be especially when he was in the middle of the military men who looked towards him for commands. He couldn't imagine himself becoming a general, to become lost in the numbers instead of knowing the actual men. Silas had taken it upon himself to remind his older brothers that they people that they fought with had lives and families, although Vangelis knew this well. It was the reason he was such a good leader, he didn't allow himself to get lost in numbers or empathy. He knew when to draw the line and that was something that Silas respected and wished he could do. He remembered the first few weeks of becoming a captain, where he locked himself into one of the tents and sobbed upon receiving the death toll. It had been his first huge failure and it hadn't helped that he had developed a friendship with the casualties. He had tried to go the opposite way in his next campaign but found it was like shooting himself in the foot. His men had to know and trust him before they'd follow him around on a battlefield.
Shaking himself out of his thoughts, he drew his sword and tossed the scabbard to the side. He didn't want it hindering him, and he reminded himself to remember it was there when fighting. It would be awfully embarrassing to lose because of his own scabbard. His sword was a familiar weight in his hand, and he swung it low in front of him a few times before facing Nike with a determined glint in his eyes. His eyes ran up and down her sword, something he hadn't seen her use before. It was a beautiful make, very different from the standard issue swords that he was used to. He blinked as she told him to go on the offensive and nodded in quick succession. Nike knew that he wasn't the most confident on the offence and he wasn't sure if she was testing him to see if he had gotten better or getting him to practice. In any case, his brows furrowed and his lips thinned in concentration. With a face full of determination like this, he resembled his eldest brother quite significantly, not that he knew this.
He stepped forward feigning to Nike's left hip and then attempting to slash his chest with a hefty swing. If missing entirely, Silas would stumble a little and become open for attacks. If both were blocked by the commander then he'd step back a little, keeping himself blocked from any blows that Nike might aim towards him. Silas wasn't exactly comfortable with this 'hit me and I'll defend' business, so he remained wary.
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Silas responded well to Nike's smile, nodding his head in understanding. He sounded slightly irritated by the implied forcing of healers, but Silas agreed with his brother on this one. Their commander should have good medical care. "I'm glad." It amused that him that the commander thought that Silas was implying that he would be a weak sparring partner. Silas knew better to think that, especially since Nike was a higher than the youngest prince was. He would have to supreme fighting prowess and battle knowledge to get where he was. Silas knew this, of course, he did, although, due to his and his brothers' royal rank they had ranked up significantly fast. He liked to think they had more skills from being raised with the battle mentality from practical birth. Yet, he knew that almost any kind of royal could become a captain with almost no effort. That was the way the world worked, you didn't see any of the noblemen complaining about it. Silas knew the men underneath hated it, gods above did he know this.
That didn't mean that Silas didn't know his own strength, the young prince knew that he was good at what he did. He had to be especially when he was in the middle of the military men who looked towards him for commands. He couldn't imagine himself becoming a general, to become lost in the numbers instead of knowing the actual men. Silas had taken it upon himself to remind his older brothers that they people that they fought with had lives and families, although Vangelis knew this well. It was the reason he was such a good leader, he didn't allow himself to get lost in numbers or empathy. He knew when to draw the line and that was something that Silas respected and wished he could do. He remembered the first few weeks of becoming a captain, where he locked himself into one of the tents and sobbed upon receiving the death toll. It had been his first huge failure and it hadn't helped that he had developed a friendship with the casualties. He had tried to go the opposite way in his next campaign but found it was like shooting himself in the foot. His men had to know and trust him before they'd follow him around on a battlefield.
Shaking himself out of his thoughts, he drew his sword and tossed the scabbard to the side. He didn't want it hindering him, and he reminded himself to remember it was there when fighting. It would be awfully embarrassing to lose because of his own scabbard. His sword was a familiar weight in his hand, and he swung it low in front of him a few times before facing Nike with a determined glint in his eyes. His eyes ran up and down her sword, something he hadn't seen her use before. It was a beautiful make, very different from the standard issue swords that he was used to. He blinked as she told him to go on the offensive and nodded in quick succession. Nike knew that he wasn't the most confident on the offence and he wasn't sure if she was testing him to see if he had gotten better or getting him to practice. In any case, his brows furrowed and his lips thinned in concentration. With a face full of determination like this, he resembled his eldest brother quite significantly, not that he knew this.
He stepped forward feigning to Nike's left hip and then attempting to slash his chest with a hefty swing. If missing entirely, Silas would stumble a little and become open for attacks. If both were blocked by the commander then he'd step back a little, keeping himself blocked from any blows that Nike might aim towards him. Silas wasn't exactly comfortable with this 'hit me and I'll defend' business, so he remained wary.
Silas responded well to Nike's smile, nodding his head in understanding. He sounded slightly irritated by the implied forcing of healers, but Silas agreed with his brother on this one. Their commander should have good medical care. "I'm glad." It amused that him that the commander thought that Silas was implying that he would be a weak sparring partner. Silas knew better to think that, especially since Nike was a higher than the youngest prince was. He would have to supreme fighting prowess and battle knowledge to get where he was. Silas knew this, of course, he did, although, due to his and his brothers' royal rank they had ranked up significantly fast. He liked to think they had more skills from being raised with the battle mentality from practical birth. Yet, he knew that almost any kind of royal could become a captain with almost no effort. That was the way the world worked, you didn't see any of the noblemen complaining about it. Silas knew the men underneath hated it, gods above did he know this.
That didn't mean that Silas didn't know his own strength, the young prince knew that he was good at what he did. He had to be especially when he was in the middle of the military men who looked towards him for commands. He couldn't imagine himself becoming a general, to become lost in the numbers instead of knowing the actual men. Silas had taken it upon himself to remind his older brothers that they people that they fought with had lives and families, although Vangelis knew this well. It was the reason he was such a good leader, he didn't allow himself to get lost in numbers or empathy. He knew when to draw the line and that was something that Silas respected and wished he could do. He remembered the first few weeks of becoming a captain, where he locked himself into one of the tents and sobbed upon receiving the death toll. It had been his first huge failure and it hadn't helped that he had developed a friendship with the casualties. He had tried to go the opposite way in his next campaign but found it was like shooting himself in the foot. His men had to know and trust him before they'd follow him around on a battlefield.
Shaking himself out of his thoughts, he drew his sword and tossed the scabbard to the side. He didn't want it hindering him, and he reminded himself to remember it was there when fighting. It would be awfully embarrassing to lose because of his own scabbard. His sword was a familiar weight in his hand, and he swung it low in front of him a few times before facing Nike with a determined glint in his eyes. His eyes ran up and down her sword, something he hadn't seen her use before. It was a beautiful make, very different from the standard issue swords that he was used to. He blinked as she told him to go on the offensive and nodded in quick succession. Nike knew that he wasn't the most confident on the offence and he wasn't sure if she was testing him to see if he had gotten better or getting him to practice. In any case, his brows furrowed and his lips thinned in concentration. With a face full of determination like this, he resembled his eldest brother quite significantly, not that he knew this.
He stepped forward feigning to Nike's left hip and then attempting to slash his chest with a hefty swing. If missing entirely, Silas would stumble a little and become open for attacks. If both were blocked by the commander then he'd step back a little, keeping himself blocked from any blows that Nike might aim towards him. Silas wasn't exactly comfortable with this 'hit me and I'll defend' business, so he remained wary.
To her, a sword dance was like a dance. Vangelis had likened the battlefield to Ares's dance floor too many times, it seems. But even as she thought so, she could see the intricacies between the attack and parry of a swordfight, how people had to twist, turn duck and jump to avoid getting injured. The only difference was that unlike a dance, a single misstep could spell death - and a straight road down to Tartarus is what most military people are avoiding.
Holding her weapon ready in hand, her eyes focused on Silas as he prepared his own sword, watching as the young prince swung it before facing him. She watched him with amusement and a fair amount of fondness thrown in. The Kotas brothers all had similarities in their looks, but it was Silas who looked most like Vangelis, with his set eyes and squared jaws. Was this what Vangelis would look like, had he not been so burdened by the weight that was being the crown prince? Sometimes Nike wondered what would life had been like had he just been a regular military soldier. But she also knew she would never have been able to get to where she was today without him.
Quite a quid pro quo, actually.
Nike did not react until he actually heaved actual effort on his sword. The woman fought with brawn as much as brain, and instead of purely watching the movement of weapons, Nike also watched the clenching of muscles, the tensing of limbs. When one wanted to aim for a true hit, the muscles would be all out, yet when she noticed Silas's arm still tight as he feigned, she immediately brought up her claymore, allowing the longsword of the younger prince to clash loudly, steel against steel.
Digging back, Nike pushed hard with her heavy weapon, so the prince would stumble back, and Nike grinned tauntingly at him. "You can do harder, Silas. Don't miss, and don't hesitate. Remember, hesitation kills, and I'd rather not be the one to accompany your brother to fetch your body from a battle campaign." She moved her claymore to be held ahead of her again, smirking as if challenging him to come at her."I've been through worst Silas. You've got to come at me a few times at once, don't just fall back. Come on."
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To her, a sword dance was like a dance. Vangelis had likened the battlefield to Ares's dance floor too many times, it seems. But even as she thought so, she could see the intricacies between the attack and parry of a swordfight, how people had to twist, turn duck and jump to avoid getting injured. The only difference was that unlike a dance, a single misstep could spell death - and a straight road down to Tartarus is what most military people are avoiding.
Holding her weapon ready in hand, her eyes focused on Silas as he prepared his own sword, watching as the young prince swung it before facing him. She watched him with amusement and a fair amount of fondness thrown in. The Kotas brothers all had similarities in their looks, but it was Silas who looked most like Vangelis, with his set eyes and squared jaws. Was this what Vangelis would look like, had he not been so burdened by the weight that was being the crown prince? Sometimes Nike wondered what would life had been like had he just been a regular military soldier. But she also knew she would never have been able to get to where she was today without him.
Quite a quid pro quo, actually.
Nike did not react until he actually heaved actual effort on his sword. The woman fought with brawn as much as brain, and instead of purely watching the movement of weapons, Nike also watched the clenching of muscles, the tensing of limbs. When one wanted to aim for a true hit, the muscles would be all out, yet when she noticed Silas's arm still tight as he feigned, she immediately brought up her claymore, allowing the longsword of the younger prince to clash loudly, steel against steel.
Digging back, Nike pushed hard with her heavy weapon, so the prince would stumble back, and Nike grinned tauntingly at him. "You can do harder, Silas. Don't miss, and don't hesitate. Remember, hesitation kills, and I'd rather not be the one to accompany your brother to fetch your body from a battle campaign." She moved her claymore to be held ahead of her again, smirking as if challenging him to come at her."I've been through worst Silas. You've got to come at me a few times at once, don't just fall back. Come on."
To her, a sword dance was like a dance. Vangelis had likened the battlefield to Ares's dance floor too many times, it seems. But even as she thought so, she could see the intricacies between the attack and parry of a swordfight, how people had to twist, turn duck and jump to avoid getting injured. The only difference was that unlike a dance, a single misstep could spell death - and a straight road down to Tartarus is what most military people are avoiding.
Holding her weapon ready in hand, her eyes focused on Silas as he prepared his own sword, watching as the young prince swung it before facing him. She watched him with amusement and a fair amount of fondness thrown in. The Kotas brothers all had similarities in their looks, but it was Silas who looked most like Vangelis, with his set eyes and squared jaws. Was this what Vangelis would look like, had he not been so burdened by the weight that was being the crown prince? Sometimes Nike wondered what would life had been like had he just been a regular military soldier. But she also knew she would never have been able to get to where she was today without him.
Quite a quid pro quo, actually.
Nike did not react until he actually heaved actual effort on his sword. The woman fought with brawn as much as brain, and instead of purely watching the movement of weapons, Nike also watched the clenching of muscles, the tensing of limbs. When one wanted to aim for a true hit, the muscles would be all out, yet when she noticed Silas's arm still tight as he feigned, she immediately brought up her claymore, allowing the longsword of the younger prince to clash loudly, steel against steel.
Digging back, Nike pushed hard with her heavy weapon, so the prince would stumble back, and Nike grinned tauntingly at him. "You can do harder, Silas. Don't miss, and don't hesitate. Remember, hesitation kills, and I'd rather not be the one to accompany your brother to fetch your body from a battle campaign." She moved her claymore to be held ahead of her again, smirking as if challenging him to come at her."I've been through worst Silas. You've got to come at me a few times at once, don't just fall back. Come on."
Silas took a few uncertain steps backwards as the heavy sword clashed against his, his expression unfaltering. He had good balance but Nike was wielding quite a heavy sword. He wasn't exactly familiar with the weapon but he'd remember to make sure he didn't let her use it's full weight against him again. He didn't want to end up sprawled on the ground because he underestimated the weapon and the man holding it. His eyes flickered up the Nike's as the other man spoke. He knew he was being goaded so he didn't bother getting annoyed or upset. Still, the words were a little effective as he thought of his older brother having to take him home to be buried. It was a horrifying image for him, but one that he'd imagined many times. It had less effect on him than it used to, so he just shook his head at Nike.
He then nodded as the commander told him that he had gone through worse. They both had, Silas just wasn't certain about possibly injuring him before he had to leave to be Vangelis' bodyguard- or before Silas had to ride back to Chaossis. Practice was never entirely safe so he shrugged these concerns back. "Pushy much?" He muttered, a hint of humour in his voice as he immediately stepped forward into Nike's personal space. The prince swung across to the man's hip, letting that get parried before he threw his weight into another hit to Nike's shoulder. Silas made sure to use his wrist and not his thumb when placing a hit.
Silas brought his sword down to feign towards Nike's stomach before stepping to the side and causing them to almost have to swap sides. He attempted a jab that could easily be swung into a slice if hit away. All of his weight wasn't put into his sword as he attempted to stay nimble on his feet. There was no use putting his weight into swings that he knew that Nike would be able to bat away. He found that he leaned too much into his arms if he put too much weight into them, causing him to become a little unbalanced. Silas gave Nike a tight smile as he went for another hit to the ribcage, "Are you trying to teach me how to sword fight Nike?" He teased lightly.
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Silas took a few uncertain steps backwards as the heavy sword clashed against his, his expression unfaltering. He had good balance but Nike was wielding quite a heavy sword. He wasn't exactly familiar with the weapon but he'd remember to make sure he didn't let her use it's full weight against him again. He didn't want to end up sprawled on the ground because he underestimated the weapon and the man holding it. His eyes flickered up the Nike's as the other man spoke. He knew he was being goaded so he didn't bother getting annoyed or upset. Still, the words were a little effective as he thought of his older brother having to take him home to be buried. It was a horrifying image for him, but one that he'd imagined many times. It had less effect on him than it used to, so he just shook his head at Nike.
He then nodded as the commander told him that he had gone through worse. They both had, Silas just wasn't certain about possibly injuring him before he had to leave to be Vangelis' bodyguard- or before Silas had to ride back to Chaossis. Practice was never entirely safe so he shrugged these concerns back. "Pushy much?" He muttered, a hint of humour in his voice as he immediately stepped forward into Nike's personal space. The prince swung across to the man's hip, letting that get parried before he threw his weight into another hit to Nike's shoulder. Silas made sure to use his wrist and not his thumb when placing a hit.
Silas brought his sword down to feign towards Nike's stomach before stepping to the side and causing them to almost have to swap sides. He attempted a jab that could easily be swung into a slice if hit away. All of his weight wasn't put into his sword as he attempted to stay nimble on his feet. There was no use putting his weight into swings that he knew that Nike would be able to bat away. He found that he leaned too much into his arms if he put too much weight into them, causing him to become a little unbalanced. Silas gave Nike a tight smile as he went for another hit to the ribcage, "Are you trying to teach me how to sword fight Nike?" He teased lightly.
Silas took a few uncertain steps backwards as the heavy sword clashed against his, his expression unfaltering. He had good balance but Nike was wielding quite a heavy sword. He wasn't exactly familiar with the weapon but he'd remember to make sure he didn't let her use it's full weight against him again. He didn't want to end up sprawled on the ground because he underestimated the weapon and the man holding it. His eyes flickered up the Nike's as the other man spoke. He knew he was being goaded so he didn't bother getting annoyed or upset. Still, the words were a little effective as he thought of his older brother having to take him home to be buried. It was a horrifying image for him, but one that he'd imagined many times. It had less effect on him than it used to, so he just shook his head at Nike.
He then nodded as the commander told him that he had gone through worse. They both had, Silas just wasn't certain about possibly injuring him before he had to leave to be Vangelis' bodyguard- or before Silas had to ride back to Chaossis. Practice was never entirely safe so he shrugged these concerns back. "Pushy much?" He muttered, a hint of humour in his voice as he immediately stepped forward into Nike's personal space. The prince swung across to the man's hip, letting that get parried before he threw his weight into another hit to Nike's shoulder. Silas made sure to use his wrist and not his thumb when placing a hit.
Silas brought his sword down to feign towards Nike's stomach before stepping to the side and causing them to almost have to swap sides. He attempted a jab that could easily be swung into a slice if hit away. All of his weight wasn't put into his sword as he attempted to stay nimble on his feet. There was no use putting his weight into swings that he knew that Nike would be able to bat away. He found that he leaned too much into his arms if he put too much weight into them, causing him to become a little unbalanced. Silas gave Nike a tight smile as he went for another hit to the ribcage, "Are you trying to teach me how to sword fight Nike?" He teased lightly.
"If pushy works, why not."
Nike shot right back without missing a beat, her words coming as fast as her action. The thing was, while one would hesitate as a younger greenling like Silas was, by the time a military trained person reached her age and experience, they would generally have enough experience to react appropriately, if not plan quick enough. She had come into this with the intention to train and get better, and while she knew Silas's worry was valid and well placed, she also knew that even if he did by accident injure her, it wouldn't be a serious matter. No injury when accidentally caused was majorly serious - it was only when one intentionally wanted to cause harm, that was when an injury can lead to death.
So she goaded him, wanting more from him. Because she would rather risk the injury now, then see him dead. Even if a bulk of her motivations are because she knows her duties to Vangelis extended to ensuring the well-being of his brothers as well - she also knew that she herself cared deeply for the Kotas siblings, like a kind of family she had never known herself. So she took it upon herself to ensure their safety whenever she could.
Easily parrying his feign and then ducked to avoid the slice, using her legs to kick at the hand wielding the sword of Silas's as it swung harmlessly away, knocking the youngest prince off balance. Nike grinned as she straightened again, shaking her head at his question. "No." she muttered tightly, shooting her arms up just in time to block the hit. Instead of pushing back this time however, Nike let the weight of the male push her down, falling in a manner he did not expect so he would fall over her. Using the momentum, she rolled forward, and then twisted on her heels to wield the sword over Silas, a cheshire like grin at him. "I'm teaching you how to attack properly, Silas. Stop feigning. Mean your hits. One can only fake an attack one too many times. You think too much. Feel."
Taking a step, and then another back, she rolled her shoulders, and then crooked her finger at him, sword held up again. "Again. And mean it this time." She meant it. He was putting too much thought in his moves. In an actual swordfight, feigning one too many times would make him seem like the boy who cried wolf, which would put Silas at a disadvantage at some point, a position no one wanted to be in when it came to a fight to the death.
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"If pushy works, why not."
Nike shot right back without missing a beat, her words coming as fast as her action. The thing was, while one would hesitate as a younger greenling like Silas was, by the time a military trained person reached her age and experience, they would generally have enough experience to react appropriately, if not plan quick enough. She had come into this with the intention to train and get better, and while she knew Silas's worry was valid and well placed, she also knew that even if he did by accident injure her, it wouldn't be a serious matter. No injury when accidentally caused was majorly serious - it was only when one intentionally wanted to cause harm, that was when an injury can lead to death.
So she goaded him, wanting more from him. Because she would rather risk the injury now, then see him dead. Even if a bulk of her motivations are because she knows her duties to Vangelis extended to ensuring the well-being of his brothers as well - she also knew that she herself cared deeply for the Kotas siblings, like a kind of family she had never known herself. So she took it upon herself to ensure their safety whenever she could.
Easily parrying his feign and then ducked to avoid the slice, using her legs to kick at the hand wielding the sword of Silas's as it swung harmlessly away, knocking the youngest prince off balance. Nike grinned as she straightened again, shaking her head at his question. "No." she muttered tightly, shooting her arms up just in time to block the hit. Instead of pushing back this time however, Nike let the weight of the male push her down, falling in a manner he did not expect so he would fall over her. Using the momentum, she rolled forward, and then twisted on her heels to wield the sword over Silas, a cheshire like grin at him. "I'm teaching you how to attack properly, Silas. Stop feigning. Mean your hits. One can only fake an attack one too many times. You think too much. Feel."
Taking a step, and then another back, she rolled her shoulders, and then crooked her finger at him, sword held up again. "Again. And mean it this time." She meant it. He was putting too much thought in his moves. In an actual swordfight, feigning one too many times would make him seem like the boy who cried wolf, which would put Silas at a disadvantage at some point, a position no one wanted to be in when it came to a fight to the death.
"If pushy works, why not."
Nike shot right back without missing a beat, her words coming as fast as her action. The thing was, while one would hesitate as a younger greenling like Silas was, by the time a military trained person reached her age and experience, they would generally have enough experience to react appropriately, if not plan quick enough. She had come into this with the intention to train and get better, and while she knew Silas's worry was valid and well placed, she also knew that even if he did by accident injure her, it wouldn't be a serious matter. No injury when accidentally caused was majorly serious - it was only when one intentionally wanted to cause harm, that was when an injury can lead to death.
So she goaded him, wanting more from him. Because she would rather risk the injury now, then see him dead. Even if a bulk of her motivations are because she knows her duties to Vangelis extended to ensuring the well-being of his brothers as well - she also knew that she herself cared deeply for the Kotas siblings, like a kind of family she had never known herself. So she took it upon herself to ensure their safety whenever she could.
Easily parrying his feign and then ducked to avoid the slice, using her legs to kick at the hand wielding the sword of Silas's as it swung harmlessly away, knocking the youngest prince off balance. Nike grinned as she straightened again, shaking her head at his question. "No." she muttered tightly, shooting her arms up just in time to block the hit. Instead of pushing back this time however, Nike let the weight of the male push her down, falling in a manner he did not expect so he would fall over her. Using the momentum, she rolled forward, and then twisted on her heels to wield the sword over Silas, a cheshire like grin at him. "I'm teaching you how to attack properly, Silas. Stop feigning. Mean your hits. One can only fake an attack one too many times. You think too much. Feel."
Taking a step, and then another back, she rolled her shoulders, and then crooked her finger at him, sword held up again. "Again. And mean it this time." She meant it. He was putting too much thought in his moves. In an actual swordfight, feigning one too many times would make him seem like the boy who cried wolf, which would put Silas at a disadvantage at some point, a position no one wanted to be in when it came to a fight to the death.
Silas gave a tilt of his head to agree with his point, stumbling a little to the side as Nike’s heavy sword met with him. He wasn’t used to fighting against such weighty weapons, so he made sure to find his footing again. The other man was smart, there was no doubt why Nike was a commander. He fell forward as she used his momentum against him, and he felt his cheeks fill with blood. He stepped back and just gave her a single nod to acknowledge her words. Feel, not think. It was easier said than done but Silas had fought in countless battles before. He knew how these things worked, but he was used to fighting with men who weren’t as skilled as he was, or who were his enemies. It didn’t help that he was primarily an archer.
He scowled as she insisted that he meant the blows this time but didn’t open his mouth with a word of protest. He watched her for a few moments before stepping forward with a jab to Nike’s side. There was quite a bit of force to it but with the weight of the sword it should have been easy to block. She wasn’t making much of an attempt to attack him which was another reason he was thrown off. It was pretty well known that he was a pretty defensive fighter. He had to get into the mindset of attack, not just defend. His eyes lingered on Nike’s chin, keeping his body movements in his peripheral vision. There was no way that he was allowing the other man to get a hit on him while he was doing so abysmally at offensive.
He swept his sword forward in a slicing motion towards the commander’s stomach before tilting a little up from its original course. It would cost Nike strength and time to block this swipe if she had positioned herself to block the original path. He was anticipating her to block but ready to follow through with the swing.
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Silas gave a tilt of his head to agree with his point, stumbling a little to the side as Nike’s heavy sword met with him. He wasn’t used to fighting against such weighty weapons, so he made sure to find his footing again. The other man was smart, there was no doubt why Nike was a commander. He fell forward as she used his momentum against him, and he felt his cheeks fill with blood. He stepped back and just gave her a single nod to acknowledge her words. Feel, not think. It was easier said than done but Silas had fought in countless battles before. He knew how these things worked, but he was used to fighting with men who weren’t as skilled as he was, or who were his enemies. It didn’t help that he was primarily an archer.
He scowled as she insisted that he meant the blows this time but didn’t open his mouth with a word of protest. He watched her for a few moments before stepping forward with a jab to Nike’s side. There was quite a bit of force to it but with the weight of the sword it should have been easy to block. She wasn’t making much of an attempt to attack him which was another reason he was thrown off. It was pretty well known that he was a pretty defensive fighter. He had to get into the mindset of attack, not just defend. His eyes lingered on Nike’s chin, keeping his body movements in his peripheral vision. There was no way that he was allowing the other man to get a hit on him while he was doing so abysmally at offensive.
He swept his sword forward in a slicing motion towards the commander’s stomach before tilting a little up from its original course. It would cost Nike strength and time to block this swipe if she had positioned herself to block the original path. He was anticipating her to block but ready to follow through with the swing.
Silas gave a tilt of his head to agree with his point, stumbling a little to the side as Nike’s heavy sword met with him. He wasn’t used to fighting against such weighty weapons, so he made sure to find his footing again. The other man was smart, there was no doubt why Nike was a commander. He fell forward as she used his momentum against him, and he felt his cheeks fill with blood. He stepped back and just gave her a single nod to acknowledge her words. Feel, not think. It was easier said than done but Silas had fought in countless battles before. He knew how these things worked, but he was used to fighting with men who weren’t as skilled as he was, or who were his enemies. It didn’t help that he was primarily an archer.
He scowled as she insisted that he meant the blows this time but didn’t open his mouth with a word of protest. He watched her for a few moments before stepping forward with a jab to Nike’s side. There was quite a bit of force to it but with the weight of the sword it should have been easy to block. She wasn’t making much of an attempt to attack him which was another reason he was thrown off. It was pretty well known that he was a pretty defensive fighter. He had to get into the mindset of attack, not just defend. His eyes lingered on Nike’s chin, keeping his body movements in his peripheral vision. There was no way that he was allowing the other man to get a hit on him while he was doing so abysmally at offensive.
He swept his sword forward in a slicing motion towards the commander’s stomach before tilting a little up from its original course. It would cost Nike strength and time to block this swipe if she had positioned herself to block the original path. He was anticipating her to block but ready to follow through with the swing.
If anything, the youngest prince of Kotas was a hard worker, and Nike highly commended that value he held. He was much like the rest of his brothers - not surprising, since the apple didn't fall far from the tree, really. Silas was a good soldier, easily teachable, and Nike always enjoyed parrying with him, for he absorbed advice and information like a sponge, eager to do well.
Her eyes watched him carefully as she stepped forward again,and quickly twisted her wrist downwards towards his jab. The flat of her claymore meant the steel of Silas's sword with a loud clang that vibrated the air around them, and Nike gave a satisfied smile and a nod. Her claymore was heavier and larger then Silas's longsword, but Nike's lack of strength for now meant she was yet to wield it to its full potential, and Silas had plenty of chance yet.
Reacting as quick as she could when he launched for her torso and then angled his weapon up, Nike had to skip a breathe as she brought her own weapon up to block it at her chin's height before it went further up, and then used her legs to pivot away from the Kotas prince, grinning as she almost lost her balance, having to use the tipof her sword dug into the ground to regain it.
"Very good, that's what I'm talking about. Do not stay on the defense when you're in a fight - the enemy isn't about to be very patient forever." And the most dangerous thing was an enemy who was incensed. While to a certain extent, Nike enjoyed taunting until the other lost their temper and control, she also understood that a soldier out of control, in a rage and with a weapon in hand was a dangerous opponent, one who required even more concentration to take down.
Parrying and blocking, occasionally Nike would manage to get a hit in, whilst other times Silas would score a hit as her shoulders got more and more weary in wielding the heavy weapon, and it was a long hour before the sun began to dip lower, the scorching heat giving way to a balmy warmth. By the time they broke apart, a light sheen of sweat on Nike's forehead made her dark locks stick to her skin, her tunic doing the same. The female was out of breathe as she dropped her claymore to the ground, and held her hands up in surrender, her shoulders and forearms burning at the weight she had to bear.
"Doing well, Your Highness. Not as sloppy as you think it is, actually." she praised. She'll let Vangelis know of the outcome of their sparring. She knew her General would behappy to hear of anything in regarding to his siblings, especially when he was holed up in his room with nothing to do.
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If anything, the youngest prince of Kotas was a hard worker, and Nike highly commended that value he held. He was much like the rest of his brothers - not surprising, since the apple didn't fall far from the tree, really. Silas was a good soldier, easily teachable, and Nike always enjoyed parrying with him, for he absorbed advice and information like a sponge, eager to do well.
Her eyes watched him carefully as she stepped forward again,and quickly twisted her wrist downwards towards his jab. The flat of her claymore meant the steel of Silas's sword with a loud clang that vibrated the air around them, and Nike gave a satisfied smile and a nod. Her claymore was heavier and larger then Silas's longsword, but Nike's lack of strength for now meant she was yet to wield it to its full potential, and Silas had plenty of chance yet.
Reacting as quick as she could when he launched for her torso and then angled his weapon up, Nike had to skip a breathe as she brought her own weapon up to block it at her chin's height before it went further up, and then used her legs to pivot away from the Kotas prince, grinning as she almost lost her balance, having to use the tipof her sword dug into the ground to regain it.
"Very good, that's what I'm talking about. Do not stay on the defense when you're in a fight - the enemy isn't about to be very patient forever." And the most dangerous thing was an enemy who was incensed. While to a certain extent, Nike enjoyed taunting until the other lost their temper and control, she also understood that a soldier out of control, in a rage and with a weapon in hand was a dangerous opponent, one who required even more concentration to take down.
Parrying and blocking, occasionally Nike would manage to get a hit in, whilst other times Silas would score a hit as her shoulders got more and more weary in wielding the heavy weapon, and it was a long hour before the sun began to dip lower, the scorching heat giving way to a balmy warmth. By the time they broke apart, a light sheen of sweat on Nike's forehead made her dark locks stick to her skin, her tunic doing the same. The female was out of breathe as she dropped her claymore to the ground, and held her hands up in surrender, her shoulders and forearms burning at the weight she had to bear.
"Doing well, Your Highness. Not as sloppy as you think it is, actually." she praised. She'll let Vangelis know of the outcome of their sparring. She knew her General would behappy to hear of anything in regarding to his siblings, especially when he was holed up in his room with nothing to do.
If anything, the youngest prince of Kotas was a hard worker, and Nike highly commended that value he held. He was much like the rest of his brothers - not surprising, since the apple didn't fall far from the tree, really. Silas was a good soldier, easily teachable, and Nike always enjoyed parrying with him, for he absorbed advice and information like a sponge, eager to do well.
Her eyes watched him carefully as she stepped forward again,and quickly twisted her wrist downwards towards his jab. The flat of her claymore meant the steel of Silas's sword with a loud clang that vibrated the air around them, and Nike gave a satisfied smile and a nod. Her claymore was heavier and larger then Silas's longsword, but Nike's lack of strength for now meant she was yet to wield it to its full potential, and Silas had plenty of chance yet.
Reacting as quick as she could when he launched for her torso and then angled his weapon up, Nike had to skip a breathe as she brought her own weapon up to block it at her chin's height before it went further up, and then used her legs to pivot away from the Kotas prince, grinning as she almost lost her balance, having to use the tipof her sword dug into the ground to regain it.
"Very good, that's what I'm talking about. Do not stay on the defense when you're in a fight - the enemy isn't about to be very patient forever." And the most dangerous thing was an enemy who was incensed. While to a certain extent, Nike enjoyed taunting until the other lost their temper and control, she also understood that a soldier out of control, in a rage and with a weapon in hand was a dangerous opponent, one who required even more concentration to take down.
Parrying and blocking, occasionally Nike would manage to get a hit in, whilst other times Silas would score a hit as her shoulders got more and more weary in wielding the heavy weapon, and it was a long hour before the sun began to dip lower, the scorching heat giving way to a balmy warmth. By the time they broke apart, a light sheen of sweat on Nike's forehead made her dark locks stick to her skin, her tunic doing the same. The female was out of breathe as she dropped her claymore to the ground, and held her hands up in surrender, her shoulders and forearms burning at the weight she had to bear.
"Doing well, Your Highness. Not as sloppy as you think it is, actually." she praised. She'll let Vangelis know of the outcome of their sparring. She knew her General would behappy to hear of anything in regarding to his siblings, especially when he was holed up in his room with nothing to do.
