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Anastasia had truly come to love Vasiliadon in the few years she'd spent in and out of Taengea. Athenia was but a memory, a spectre of the past with large pillars that seemed to poorly hold the weight of her own resentment and it was the capitol of Taengea that truly resonated with her the most. The Wheel City, as she called it, for the circular shape and architectural spokes seemed to resonate with the idea. She reveled as she exited her suite, hearing already the chorus of laughter that wrought higher and louder as the sun began to set. In the shadow of the past, she'd been early to rise and late to bed, always in service. Reborn from the sea and given new legs, the nymph known only as Anastasia rose as she pleased. The sky painted a vivid orange, the horizon streaked with the spill of darkness. The day of trade was drawing nearer to an end, but the night of reverie had just begun.
Always eager to join in the festivities, Anastasia left her panpipes this night, instead allowing her mouth to draw open and closed as from her throat bore the mellifluous training of her vocal cords. She sang each note in sequence as she dressed, a striking black dress cut short to her knees and wrought sleeveless donned upon her lithe form. She tied the dress tightly to her body, allowing her delicate curves to emphasize with the sleek fabric before letting equally dark slips cast upon her feet. Accenting the black facade were sapphires that dangled from her earlobes, small but numerous in a striking show of affluence. The bard wore a pendant with a much larger stone and she carefully assessed herself in the mirror before allowing silver chains to weave into her hair. Each item but the pendant was a stolen treasure, a trophy of her criminal accolades turned into a striking accent to her bard facade. A chuckle escaped her lips just as the last note poured from her lips and she was off.
Immediately, those men near the spectral treasure that was her parted, though not very long passed before she saw the wide stares. Her lips curved into a delicate smile before a slow twist of the neck sent her auburn locks spilling off to one shoulder, her hazel hues glimmering with promises she had no intention of keeping. She found her place within the festival, a circle paved for her to speak. It seemed even that a young boy brought to Anastasia a thin blanket to set on the ground before her. She waved adoringly at the boy before he scampered off to join what the would-be nymph could only see as his mother. Anastasia rose let her slips fall off from her feet, allowing her pale toes to sink into the fabric.
With her vocal cords warmed up by her exercise, she allowed one note to fall from her lips. Softly at first before the tones grew louder and louder. Her voice quivered when she demanded it to, the tune shifting in a cascade of music before she let her raised her arms in a slow, sweeping motion. She mimicked the passing through the tides, the swimming that the rumoured sea nymph would have done in her time within the reaches of Poseidon's depths.
"Come one, come all. Join me and listen. Come and hear the nymph given legs speak on the legends of her people. I am Anastasia, she who speaks for the depths. Poseidon bears many heirs, each given to different territories within his depths. But, upon the surface his influence reigns as well. Hear me and know of the titanic brothers Otos and Ephialtes!"
Anastasia paused in her recounting, eager to see which of the Taengeans might know the fable she was speaking. If they did, they were so very wrong.
"Known as the Aloadae, these brothers were so vile and ambitious that they sought even the Gods themselves as prisoners and wives. High was their reach and their climb to Olympus, but the relentless giants showed no signs of wear at their journey. Hear of their efforts to bed the Goddesses, Artemis and Hera they set their sights on!
However, even the Goddesses were no match for the might of the giants. But, these creatures lacked in brains what they possessed in brawn! They had snared the mighty Ares, fought off the great God Hermes. But they were undone by our lady of wisdom. Artemis offered herself to Otos in exchange for the lives of our pantheon. But, she was wry in her offerings. She looked to Ephialtes as well, and the latter giant grew red in his jealousy. The brothers challenged one another! The prison they'd contained Ares in shattered by their callous disregard, the brothers paid no mind and fought amongst themselves."
The bard whipped back her head, chuckling at the foolishness of the giants. She raised her hands towards the sky, brandishing open palm and fist as she brought praise to the Gods she was about to mention.
"Together, our lords Apollo and Ares slew the giants, and their heads hell from Olympus. So powerful was the shattering of the earth that followed that an earthquake tore through the ground. And to this day, that fissure lives on as a river, tiding its way to nourish the people of Greece."
Anastasia wove myth and fable into one, inspired between the various legends of her youth. Athenia was a library of such stories, and an inquisitive Calliope had sought refuge in legend as her one shield from Alector. Boundless in the joy of their conveyance, Anastasia smiled at her audience, curious to know if they sought another.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Anastasia had truly come to love Vasiliadon in the few years she'd spent in and out of Taengea. Athenia was but a memory, a spectre of the past with large pillars that seemed to poorly hold the weight of her own resentment and it was the capitol of Taengea that truly resonated with her the most. The Wheel City, as she called it, for the circular shape and architectural spokes seemed to resonate with the idea. She reveled as she exited her suite, hearing already the chorus of laughter that wrought higher and louder as the sun began to set. In the shadow of the past, she'd been early to rise and late to bed, always in service. Reborn from the sea and given new legs, the nymph known only as Anastasia rose as she pleased. The sky painted a vivid orange, the horizon streaked with the spill of darkness. The day of trade was drawing nearer to an end, but the night of reverie had just begun.
Always eager to join in the festivities, Anastasia left her panpipes this night, instead allowing her mouth to draw open and closed as from her throat bore the mellifluous training of her vocal cords. She sang each note in sequence as she dressed, a striking black dress cut short to her knees and wrought sleeveless donned upon her lithe form. She tied the dress tightly to her body, allowing her delicate curves to emphasize with the sleek fabric before letting equally dark slips cast upon her feet. Accenting the black facade were sapphires that dangled from her earlobes, small but numerous in a striking show of affluence. The bard wore a pendant with a much larger stone and she carefully assessed herself in the mirror before allowing silver chains to weave into her hair. Each item but the pendant was a stolen treasure, a trophy of her criminal accolades turned into a striking accent to her bard facade. A chuckle escaped her lips just as the last note poured from her lips and she was off.
Immediately, those men near the spectral treasure that was her parted, though not very long passed before she saw the wide stares. Her lips curved into a delicate smile before a slow twist of the neck sent her auburn locks spilling off to one shoulder, her hazel hues glimmering with promises she had no intention of keeping. She found her place within the festival, a circle paved for her to speak. It seemed even that a young boy brought to Anastasia a thin blanket to set on the ground before her. She waved adoringly at the boy before he scampered off to join what the would-be nymph could only see as his mother. Anastasia rose let her slips fall off from her feet, allowing her pale toes to sink into the fabric.
With her vocal cords warmed up by her exercise, she allowed one note to fall from her lips. Softly at first before the tones grew louder and louder. Her voice quivered when she demanded it to, the tune shifting in a cascade of music before she let her raised her arms in a slow, sweeping motion. She mimicked the passing through the tides, the swimming that the rumoured sea nymph would have done in her time within the reaches of Poseidon's depths.
"Come one, come all. Join me and listen. Come and hear the nymph given legs speak on the legends of her people. I am Anastasia, she who speaks for the depths. Poseidon bears many heirs, each given to different territories within his depths. But, upon the surface his influence reigns as well. Hear me and know of the titanic brothers Otos and Ephialtes!"
Anastasia paused in her recounting, eager to see which of the Taengeans might know the fable she was speaking. If they did, they were so very wrong.
"Known as the Aloadae, these brothers were so vile and ambitious that they sought even the Gods themselves as prisoners and wives. High was their reach and their climb to Olympus, but the relentless giants showed no signs of wear at their journey. Hear of their efforts to bed the Goddesses, Artemis and Hera they set their sights on!
However, even the Goddesses were no match for the might of the giants. But, these creatures lacked in brains what they possessed in brawn! They had snared the mighty Ares, fought off the great God Hermes. But they were undone by our lady of wisdom. Artemis offered herself to Otos in exchange for the lives of our pantheon. But, she was wry in her offerings. She looked to Ephialtes as well, and the latter giant grew red in his jealousy. The brothers challenged one another! The prison they'd contained Ares in shattered by their callous disregard, the brothers paid no mind and fought amongst themselves."
The bard whipped back her head, chuckling at the foolishness of the giants. She raised her hands towards the sky, brandishing open palm and fist as she brought praise to the Gods she was about to mention.
"Together, our lords Apollo and Ares slew the giants, and their heads hell from Olympus. So powerful was the shattering of the earth that followed that an earthquake tore through the ground. And to this day, that fissure lives on as a river, tiding its way to nourish the people of Greece."
Anastasia wove myth and fable into one, inspired between the various legends of her youth. Athenia was a library of such stories, and an inquisitive Calliope had sought refuge in legend as her one shield from Alector. Boundless in the joy of their conveyance, Anastasia smiled at her audience, curious to know if they sought another.
Anastasia had truly come to love Vasiliadon in the few years she'd spent in and out of Taengea. Athenia was but a memory, a spectre of the past with large pillars that seemed to poorly hold the weight of her own resentment and it was the capitol of Taengea that truly resonated with her the most. The Wheel City, as she called it, for the circular shape and architectural spokes seemed to resonate with the idea. She reveled as she exited her suite, hearing already the chorus of laughter that wrought higher and louder as the sun began to set. In the shadow of the past, she'd been early to rise and late to bed, always in service. Reborn from the sea and given new legs, the nymph known only as Anastasia rose as she pleased. The sky painted a vivid orange, the horizon streaked with the spill of darkness. The day of trade was drawing nearer to an end, but the night of reverie had just begun.
Always eager to join in the festivities, Anastasia left her panpipes this night, instead allowing her mouth to draw open and closed as from her throat bore the mellifluous training of her vocal cords. She sang each note in sequence as she dressed, a striking black dress cut short to her knees and wrought sleeveless donned upon her lithe form. She tied the dress tightly to her body, allowing her delicate curves to emphasize with the sleek fabric before letting equally dark slips cast upon her feet. Accenting the black facade were sapphires that dangled from her earlobes, small but numerous in a striking show of affluence. The bard wore a pendant with a much larger stone and she carefully assessed herself in the mirror before allowing silver chains to weave into her hair. Each item but the pendant was a stolen treasure, a trophy of her criminal accolades turned into a striking accent to her bard facade. A chuckle escaped her lips just as the last note poured from her lips and she was off.
Immediately, those men near the spectral treasure that was her parted, though not very long passed before she saw the wide stares. Her lips curved into a delicate smile before a slow twist of the neck sent her auburn locks spilling off to one shoulder, her hazel hues glimmering with promises she had no intention of keeping. She found her place within the festival, a circle paved for her to speak. It seemed even that a young boy brought to Anastasia a thin blanket to set on the ground before her. She waved adoringly at the boy before he scampered off to join what the would-be nymph could only see as his mother. Anastasia rose let her slips fall off from her feet, allowing her pale toes to sink into the fabric.
With her vocal cords warmed up by her exercise, she allowed one note to fall from her lips. Softly at first before the tones grew louder and louder. Her voice quivered when she demanded it to, the tune shifting in a cascade of music before she let her raised her arms in a slow, sweeping motion. She mimicked the passing through the tides, the swimming that the rumoured sea nymph would have done in her time within the reaches of Poseidon's depths.
"Come one, come all. Join me and listen. Come and hear the nymph given legs speak on the legends of her people. I am Anastasia, she who speaks for the depths. Poseidon bears many heirs, each given to different territories within his depths. But, upon the surface his influence reigns as well. Hear me and know of the titanic brothers Otos and Ephialtes!"
Anastasia paused in her recounting, eager to see which of the Taengeans might know the fable she was speaking. If they did, they were so very wrong.
"Known as the Aloadae, these brothers were so vile and ambitious that they sought even the Gods themselves as prisoners and wives. High was their reach and their climb to Olympus, but the relentless giants showed no signs of wear at their journey. Hear of their efforts to bed the Goddesses, Artemis and Hera they set their sights on!
However, even the Goddesses were no match for the might of the giants. But, these creatures lacked in brains what they possessed in brawn! They had snared the mighty Ares, fought off the great God Hermes. But they were undone by our lady of wisdom. Artemis offered herself to Otos in exchange for the lives of our pantheon. But, she was wry in her offerings. She looked to Ephialtes as well, and the latter giant grew red in his jealousy. The brothers challenged one another! The prison they'd contained Ares in shattered by their callous disregard, the brothers paid no mind and fought amongst themselves."
The bard whipped back her head, chuckling at the foolishness of the giants. She raised her hands towards the sky, brandishing open palm and fist as she brought praise to the Gods she was about to mention.
"Together, our lords Apollo and Ares slew the giants, and their heads hell from Olympus. So powerful was the shattering of the earth that followed that an earthquake tore through the ground. And to this day, that fissure lives on as a river, tiding its way to nourish the people of Greece."
Anastasia wove myth and fable into one, inspired between the various legends of her youth. Athenia was a library of such stories, and an inquisitive Calliope had sought refuge in legend as her one shield from Alector. Boundless in the joy of their conveyance, Anastasia smiled at her audience, curious to know if they sought another.
Not being bound to duties for the Order tonight, nor needed at the palati, Stephanos took to the streets of Vasiliadon. Of the royal family, he was the most known to the people. Not only was he in the ranks of men who served them via the Order of Vasiliadon, but he moved within their sphere of reach during festivals. In Athenia, their monarchs maintained a cold, aloof distance. Neary godlike. In Colchis, the king was away so much that the people likely would have forgotten his face if it wasn’t stamped on their coins. In Taengea, it was different. The reigning Mikaelidas family did not believe in maintaining the same separation that the other two kingdoms did. Beggars and vagabonds weren’t invited to the palati, but during festivals and grand scale events, the king, his queen, and their sons were more often than not within arm’s reach. Stephanos took this school of thought to heart and had left the designated celebration area far behind.
Wandering the streets, wine jug tucked under his arm, cup in hand, he moved at the pace of the crowd. His patience was infinite with the slowness of the people’s step. With nowhere to be, there was no hurry to get to the destination. Within a few minutes, he found himself stopped by a snarl of people clogging the entire street. Their bodies formed a wide crescent, ringing someone who was in the midst of garnering people’s attention. A boy pushed past him, arms loaded down with a massive blanket to set before the bard and Stephanos stood in the second row of people, interested, but not expecting much. After all, many bards promised much but failed to deliver. What she didn’t fail at, though, was being divinely pretty. The shortness of her dress he found incredibly odd, but not unwelcome.
Taking a long drink from the jug, he listened quietly as she wove her tale about the listening audience. At first, he was trying to place the story she was spinning and couldn’t pin it down. There were aspects that were familiar but the whole thing came together in a way that he was entirely unfamiliar with and he wondered if her version came from further abroad. It certainly wasn’t one he’d ever heard here before. “Excuse me,” he said to the woman whose head he’d been looking over whilst the bard told her story. The girl glanced at him, looked away, did a double take, and slid out of her prince’s way, blushing hard at not having realized she’d been blocking the way of a royal.
“I haven’t heard that tale,” Stephanos called lightly to her, across the intervening space. He crossed his arms over the jug and lifted his brows at her. “What other stories do you know? How much for you to spin us another one?” He was dressed in a plain white chiton but the material was fine and the fabric itself was pristine in its cleanliness. That alone, besides the well made nature of his sandals and his ease betrayed him as part of the aristocracy. If she recognized him by face would depend on how much time she spent in Vasiliadon.
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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Not being bound to duties for the Order tonight, nor needed at the palati, Stephanos took to the streets of Vasiliadon. Of the royal family, he was the most known to the people. Not only was he in the ranks of men who served them via the Order of Vasiliadon, but he moved within their sphere of reach during festivals. In Athenia, their monarchs maintained a cold, aloof distance. Neary godlike. In Colchis, the king was away so much that the people likely would have forgotten his face if it wasn’t stamped on their coins. In Taengea, it was different. The reigning Mikaelidas family did not believe in maintaining the same separation that the other two kingdoms did. Beggars and vagabonds weren’t invited to the palati, but during festivals and grand scale events, the king, his queen, and their sons were more often than not within arm’s reach. Stephanos took this school of thought to heart and had left the designated celebration area far behind.
Wandering the streets, wine jug tucked under his arm, cup in hand, he moved at the pace of the crowd. His patience was infinite with the slowness of the people’s step. With nowhere to be, there was no hurry to get to the destination. Within a few minutes, he found himself stopped by a snarl of people clogging the entire street. Their bodies formed a wide crescent, ringing someone who was in the midst of garnering people’s attention. A boy pushed past him, arms loaded down with a massive blanket to set before the bard and Stephanos stood in the second row of people, interested, but not expecting much. After all, many bards promised much but failed to deliver. What she didn’t fail at, though, was being divinely pretty. The shortness of her dress he found incredibly odd, but not unwelcome.
Taking a long drink from the jug, he listened quietly as she wove her tale about the listening audience. At first, he was trying to place the story she was spinning and couldn’t pin it down. There were aspects that were familiar but the whole thing came together in a way that he was entirely unfamiliar with and he wondered if her version came from further abroad. It certainly wasn’t one he’d ever heard here before. “Excuse me,” he said to the woman whose head he’d been looking over whilst the bard told her story. The girl glanced at him, looked away, did a double take, and slid out of her prince’s way, blushing hard at not having realized she’d been blocking the way of a royal.
“I haven’t heard that tale,” Stephanos called lightly to her, across the intervening space. He crossed his arms over the jug and lifted his brows at her. “What other stories do you know? How much for you to spin us another one?” He was dressed in a plain white chiton but the material was fine and the fabric itself was pristine in its cleanliness. That alone, besides the well made nature of his sandals and his ease betrayed him as part of the aristocracy. If she recognized him by face would depend on how much time she spent in Vasiliadon.
Not being bound to duties for the Order tonight, nor needed at the palati, Stephanos took to the streets of Vasiliadon. Of the royal family, he was the most known to the people. Not only was he in the ranks of men who served them via the Order of Vasiliadon, but he moved within their sphere of reach during festivals. In Athenia, their monarchs maintained a cold, aloof distance. Neary godlike. In Colchis, the king was away so much that the people likely would have forgotten his face if it wasn’t stamped on their coins. In Taengea, it was different. The reigning Mikaelidas family did not believe in maintaining the same separation that the other two kingdoms did. Beggars and vagabonds weren’t invited to the palati, but during festivals and grand scale events, the king, his queen, and their sons were more often than not within arm’s reach. Stephanos took this school of thought to heart and had left the designated celebration area far behind.
Wandering the streets, wine jug tucked under his arm, cup in hand, he moved at the pace of the crowd. His patience was infinite with the slowness of the people’s step. With nowhere to be, there was no hurry to get to the destination. Within a few minutes, he found himself stopped by a snarl of people clogging the entire street. Their bodies formed a wide crescent, ringing someone who was in the midst of garnering people’s attention. A boy pushed past him, arms loaded down with a massive blanket to set before the bard and Stephanos stood in the second row of people, interested, but not expecting much. After all, many bards promised much but failed to deliver. What she didn’t fail at, though, was being divinely pretty. The shortness of her dress he found incredibly odd, but not unwelcome.
Taking a long drink from the jug, he listened quietly as she wove her tale about the listening audience. At first, he was trying to place the story she was spinning and couldn’t pin it down. There were aspects that were familiar but the whole thing came together in a way that he was entirely unfamiliar with and he wondered if her version came from further abroad. It certainly wasn’t one he’d ever heard here before. “Excuse me,” he said to the woman whose head he’d been looking over whilst the bard told her story. The girl glanced at him, looked away, did a double take, and slid out of her prince’s way, blushing hard at not having realized she’d been blocking the way of a royal.
“I haven’t heard that tale,” Stephanos called lightly to her, across the intervening space. He crossed his arms over the jug and lifted his brows at her. “What other stories do you know? How much for you to spin us another one?” He was dressed in a plain white chiton but the material was fine and the fabric itself was pristine in its cleanliness. That alone, besides the well made nature of his sandals and his ease betrayed him as part of the aristocracy. If she recognized him by face would depend on how much time she spent in Vasiliadon.
Excuse me,
The words cut into the sky and pierced through the lavish attention that the Siren's song had fetched Ana. Curiosity caught the senses of the bard as she wondered who was attempting to draw nearer. There were many who sought to approach the bard, to ask for specific tales or for more details about her life. Anastasia reveled in that sort of attention, for the greater her mystique was to the world around her, the more coin spilled from their pockets. To please the Gods with her legends was always the foremost advantage of her natural inclinations, for Anastasia had much to be thankful for, reborn from the ashes and risen in resurrection. Often, she reminded herself that she was no siren, but a phoenix, but such esoteric myths hardly made for worthy folklore.
Dazzle them with the legends they can understand. Twist and shape the letters of the past into worthy utterances that can free the people of their common worries. A dash of fantasy sprinkled into the aether of history makes for a delicious telling for all to relish in.
Anastasia nodded to herself at the astute observations given to her by time. She kept the thought in mind even when a prince dashed into view. Ana wasn't personally privy to the beautiful faces of the entire royal family, but she was well-listened. And there was no silencing the crowd behind Stephanos as they spoke on about his identity. An 'ah' of understanding parted Ana's lips, even as she sought to focus her senses and listen to the royal in front of her with her rapt attention.
It wasn't so difficult to become engrossed, after all. Stephanos of Mikaelidas. The surname was all too familiar. A wry expression caught upon Ana's features as she recalled her experience with the baron, Achilleas and a flicker of intrigue cast upon her features. Then, she remembered her place. Anastasia folded her legs into a curtsy, gripping at the waist of her chiton-dress before she rose up to her upright posture and considered his spoken thoughts deeply. Already, Anastasia had a modest sum decorating her saucer, and a chuckle escaped her lips at the idea of being tempted by more.
"My prince," she began, allowing soft pleasure to drip within her intonation. Every syllable was honeyed, though she opted to not allow it to seem so disingenuous. "It would be my pleasure to recount more legends. Though, are they for you alone? Or would you have me spill more stories for the crowd?" she wondered, letting her gaze flicker among the masses before she added,
"I know all of Poseidon's great feats. I know of the history of the Gods painted within caverns since time immemorial. Test my knowledge, if you would, my prince. There is no tale born from Greek lands that you could not get me to spin for you."
Anastasia sought to keep her tone chipper, to bleed out the smooth delight of being lauded upon and asked for more. It was, after all, to bring glory to the great Apollo, patron of the arts and carrier of the sun that she wove her legends. It did not hurt that Hermes delighted from her profiting from them in turn.
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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Excuse me,
The words cut into the sky and pierced through the lavish attention that the Siren's song had fetched Ana. Curiosity caught the senses of the bard as she wondered who was attempting to draw nearer. There were many who sought to approach the bard, to ask for specific tales or for more details about her life. Anastasia reveled in that sort of attention, for the greater her mystique was to the world around her, the more coin spilled from their pockets. To please the Gods with her legends was always the foremost advantage of her natural inclinations, for Anastasia had much to be thankful for, reborn from the ashes and risen in resurrection. Often, she reminded herself that she was no siren, but a phoenix, but such esoteric myths hardly made for worthy folklore.
Dazzle them with the legends they can understand. Twist and shape the letters of the past into worthy utterances that can free the people of their common worries. A dash of fantasy sprinkled into the aether of history makes for a delicious telling for all to relish in.
Anastasia nodded to herself at the astute observations given to her by time. She kept the thought in mind even when a prince dashed into view. Ana wasn't personally privy to the beautiful faces of the entire royal family, but she was well-listened. And there was no silencing the crowd behind Stephanos as they spoke on about his identity. An 'ah' of understanding parted Ana's lips, even as she sought to focus her senses and listen to the royal in front of her with her rapt attention.
It wasn't so difficult to become engrossed, after all. Stephanos of Mikaelidas. The surname was all too familiar. A wry expression caught upon Ana's features as she recalled her experience with the baron, Achilleas and a flicker of intrigue cast upon her features. Then, she remembered her place. Anastasia folded her legs into a curtsy, gripping at the waist of her chiton-dress before she rose up to her upright posture and considered his spoken thoughts deeply. Already, Anastasia had a modest sum decorating her saucer, and a chuckle escaped her lips at the idea of being tempted by more.
"My prince," she began, allowing soft pleasure to drip within her intonation. Every syllable was honeyed, though she opted to not allow it to seem so disingenuous. "It would be my pleasure to recount more legends. Though, are they for you alone? Or would you have me spill more stories for the crowd?" she wondered, letting her gaze flicker among the masses before she added,
"I know all of Poseidon's great feats. I know of the history of the Gods painted within caverns since time immemorial. Test my knowledge, if you would, my prince. There is no tale born from Greek lands that you could not get me to spin for you."
Anastasia sought to keep her tone chipper, to bleed out the smooth delight of being lauded upon and asked for more. It was, after all, to bring glory to the great Apollo, patron of the arts and carrier of the sun that she wove her legends. It did not hurt that Hermes delighted from her profiting from them in turn.
Excuse me,
The words cut into the sky and pierced through the lavish attention that the Siren's song had fetched Ana. Curiosity caught the senses of the bard as she wondered who was attempting to draw nearer. There were many who sought to approach the bard, to ask for specific tales or for more details about her life. Anastasia reveled in that sort of attention, for the greater her mystique was to the world around her, the more coin spilled from their pockets. To please the Gods with her legends was always the foremost advantage of her natural inclinations, for Anastasia had much to be thankful for, reborn from the ashes and risen in resurrection. Often, she reminded herself that she was no siren, but a phoenix, but such esoteric myths hardly made for worthy folklore.
Dazzle them with the legends they can understand. Twist and shape the letters of the past into worthy utterances that can free the people of their common worries. A dash of fantasy sprinkled into the aether of history makes for a delicious telling for all to relish in.
Anastasia nodded to herself at the astute observations given to her by time. She kept the thought in mind even when a prince dashed into view. Ana wasn't personally privy to the beautiful faces of the entire royal family, but she was well-listened. And there was no silencing the crowd behind Stephanos as they spoke on about his identity. An 'ah' of understanding parted Ana's lips, even as she sought to focus her senses and listen to the royal in front of her with her rapt attention.
It wasn't so difficult to become engrossed, after all. Stephanos of Mikaelidas. The surname was all too familiar. A wry expression caught upon Ana's features as she recalled her experience with the baron, Achilleas and a flicker of intrigue cast upon her features. Then, she remembered her place. Anastasia folded her legs into a curtsy, gripping at the waist of her chiton-dress before she rose up to her upright posture and considered his spoken thoughts deeply. Already, Anastasia had a modest sum decorating her saucer, and a chuckle escaped her lips at the idea of being tempted by more.
"My prince," she began, allowing soft pleasure to drip within her intonation. Every syllable was honeyed, though she opted to not allow it to seem so disingenuous. "It would be my pleasure to recount more legends. Though, are they for you alone? Or would you have me spill more stories for the crowd?" she wondered, letting her gaze flicker among the masses before she added,
"I know all of Poseidon's great feats. I know of the history of the Gods painted within caverns since time immemorial. Test my knowledge, if you would, my prince. There is no tale born from Greek lands that you could not get me to spin for you."
Anastasia sought to keep her tone chipper, to bleed out the smooth delight of being lauded upon and asked for more. It was, after all, to bring glory to the great Apollo, patron of the arts and carrier of the sun that she wove her legends. It did not hurt that Hermes delighted from her profiting from them in turn.
He already seen that she was pretty, and was even prettier the closer he came to her, but that was about all that Stephanos thought of her, for now. Unlike some people supposed of him, he did think on other things besides the fairer sex from time to time. For the time being, his intents were simply on being entertained in whatever form that happened to come in. Whether that be from the wine in his arms or her voice as she spoke enchanted words into the air, either was acceptable. If she hadn’t bowed or curtsied to him, he’d have noticed, but because it was so common for people to do it, he thought exactly nothing of the action, being neither gratified nor displeased by it. It was as natural as breathing.
"My prince," the bard’s words poured out in a tone that Stephanos was entirely familiar with and it made him give her a second look. "It would be my pleasure to recount more legends. Though, are they for you alone? Or would you have me spill more stories for the crowd?" He eyed her for a long moment, a grin slowly curving his lips upwards. His gaze wandered from her to the people that flanked him on either side.
“For all the people,” Stephanos declared and reached into the bag at his side, tossing several over generous coins at her feet. “Tell us whatever you like,” he said, but then choruses of request were thrown from around him. Some asked for stories of Zeus, others for Poseidon’s tales. Still others asked for others like Demeter or Athena, but the overwhelming god that everyone asked for was the one Stephanos eventually also asked for her tell about.
“Dionysus, then,” he called over the shouts and found his back being slapped pretty hard in the fervor of excitement by those around him. “We love all the gods,” Stephanos stated, and held up the wine jug. “But Taengeans hold Dionysus particularly dear...and Aphrodite,” he grinned, not sure that one was better than the other. They were each different and necessary. Where would they be without love? But where would they be without a party? Both. “Is there one of Dionysus and Aphrodite?” he asked after a moment. His words could barely be heard over the sudden clamor of voices, each adding their own opinions.
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He already seen that she was pretty, and was even prettier the closer he came to her, but that was about all that Stephanos thought of her, for now. Unlike some people supposed of him, he did think on other things besides the fairer sex from time to time. For the time being, his intents were simply on being entertained in whatever form that happened to come in. Whether that be from the wine in his arms or her voice as she spoke enchanted words into the air, either was acceptable. If she hadn’t bowed or curtsied to him, he’d have noticed, but because it was so common for people to do it, he thought exactly nothing of the action, being neither gratified nor displeased by it. It was as natural as breathing.
"My prince," the bard’s words poured out in a tone that Stephanos was entirely familiar with and it made him give her a second look. "It would be my pleasure to recount more legends. Though, are they for you alone? Or would you have me spill more stories for the crowd?" He eyed her for a long moment, a grin slowly curving his lips upwards. His gaze wandered from her to the people that flanked him on either side.
“For all the people,” Stephanos declared and reached into the bag at his side, tossing several over generous coins at her feet. “Tell us whatever you like,” he said, but then choruses of request were thrown from around him. Some asked for stories of Zeus, others for Poseidon’s tales. Still others asked for others like Demeter or Athena, but the overwhelming god that everyone asked for was the one Stephanos eventually also asked for her tell about.
“Dionysus, then,” he called over the shouts and found his back being slapped pretty hard in the fervor of excitement by those around him. “We love all the gods,” Stephanos stated, and held up the wine jug. “But Taengeans hold Dionysus particularly dear...and Aphrodite,” he grinned, not sure that one was better than the other. They were each different and necessary. Where would they be without love? But where would they be without a party? Both. “Is there one of Dionysus and Aphrodite?” he asked after a moment. His words could barely be heard over the sudden clamor of voices, each adding their own opinions.
He already seen that she was pretty, and was even prettier the closer he came to her, but that was about all that Stephanos thought of her, for now. Unlike some people supposed of him, he did think on other things besides the fairer sex from time to time. For the time being, his intents were simply on being entertained in whatever form that happened to come in. Whether that be from the wine in his arms or her voice as she spoke enchanted words into the air, either was acceptable. If she hadn’t bowed or curtsied to him, he’d have noticed, but because it was so common for people to do it, he thought exactly nothing of the action, being neither gratified nor displeased by it. It was as natural as breathing.
"My prince," the bard’s words poured out in a tone that Stephanos was entirely familiar with and it made him give her a second look. "It would be my pleasure to recount more legends. Though, are they for you alone? Or would you have me spill more stories for the crowd?" He eyed her for a long moment, a grin slowly curving his lips upwards. His gaze wandered from her to the people that flanked him on either side.
“For all the people,” Stephanos declared and reached into the bag at his side, tossing several over generous coins at her feet. “Tell us whatever you like,” he said, but then choruses of request were thrown from around him. Some asked for stories of Zeus, others for Poseidon’s tales. Still others asked for others like Demeter or Athena, but the overwhelming god that everyone asked for was the one Stephanos eventually also asked for her tell about.
“Dionysus, then,” he called over the shouts and found his back being slapped pretty hard in the fervor of excitement by those around him. “We love all the gods,” Stephanos stated, and held up the wine jug. “But Taengeans hold Dionysus particularly dear...and Aphrodite,” he grinned, not sure that one was better than the other. They were each different and necessary. Where would they be without love? But where would they be without a party? Both. “Is there one of Dionysus and Aphrodite?” he asked after a moment. His words could barely be heard over the sudden clamor of voices, each adding their own opinions.
In the time Anastasia had spent within Taengea, she'd come close to the royalty in one form or another. As a gymnast, as a bard, always bearing the name and moniker of Anastasia of the Siren's Song. Today was no different, though the royal she conversed with seemed a different sort altogether. She knew of the Mikaelidas lineage, and though she surmised that the baron of Euttica and the prince in front of her didn't share the same father, nonetheless the regal bearing of the lionhearted family was present upon them both. They held their manner in different ways, but nonetheless, Anastasia saw the same decency, not quite shared by the fathers of both men, but by the sons.
Anastasia could truly appreciate it when those that wielded power did so with decency. It reminded her that not all of those destined for greatness and wealth were the same pigs that saw it right to make others bleed or hurt. The smile cast widely upon Anastasia's lips as she listened to Stephanos request her to share a fable of her own making. But, to do so again was neither in her interests nor of that of the people around them. She raised a hand to her ear, a soft chuckle escaping her lips as she heard tell of Zeus. Of this god there were untold numbers of legends. Zeus was among the triumvirate of godly power, the king of the Gods and the skies themselves. But, the crowd did not speak of him widely enough.
Then, others still asked for Poseidon. Taengea and, indeed, all of Greece, were under the purview of the God of the Seas. Island nations could bow to the might of Poseidon and revel in the legends told of him. In fact, every legend of sea monsters was a legend born of that God, for it was his children that filled those fables. Of all of the Gods, even her own patron Hermes, Anastasia told tales of Poseidon the most. However, it seemed the day landed upon another god altogether, a deity Anastasia gave praise to not quite as often as some of the more relevant ones to her own life, but to whom she raised a goblet to in every festivity, to whom she drank and fucked to long after Apollo's light faded away and gave rise to the reign of Artemis over the sky.
Once the crowd made their choice clear, it seemed that Prince Stephanos agreed with them, but brought in the Goddess Aphrodite into the mixture. There were hundreds upon hundreds of legends of all of the gods, in singularity or in solidarity. But, to combine Aphrodite and Dionysus wasn't particularly difficult. Anastasia's lips curled into a smile as she bowed her head in acquiescence. Anastasia did not allow herself a moment's hesitation. She looked between the prince and the crowd, and reached into her satchel. She took her panpipes and blew into them, a soft melody that sought to slack the crowd's fervor and focus them on the sounds that came from her, instead.
Once she was satisfied with their silence, she lowered the panpipes from her lips,
"There are countless fables of all the Gods, my prince. Dionysus, of course, is among the youngest of the Gods. As we all know, he was born of Zeus and a mortal. But, as all of the Gods can be, Dionysus was charming and beautiful. Aphrodite is a Goddess that cannot be restrained. Her desires know no limits, and her understanding of love teaches us to foster such emotions, to create them if need be. Aphrodite so desired Dionysus that it was all but guaranteed that they'd have an affair that shook Olympus with its fervor. Festivals on the surface of our world took to greater bounty, love swelled and bloomed as the both of them reveled in one another and in the gifts they offered this world."
Setting the stage, in Anastasia's experience, was always an important factor of telling a fable. To invest others in the premise was a necessary thing, if only to tear it apart, rend it in twain and leave the original premise as nothing but a memory. Of course, Anastasia let the silence hover for a moment, casting a glance towards the prince before she elaborated,
"But, where love and desire are without restraint, the vengeful purview of Hera, the Goddess of Marriage, is anything but. Jealous of Aphrodite since time immemorial, and detesting of Dionysus as a permanent reminder of her husband's many infidelities against her... Well, Hera decided that the most fitting punishment to give such a beautiful and revered Goddess was the opposite of her nature in totality. Hera allowed for Aphrodite and Dionysus to continue their affair, but their union resulted in a child in turn. Cursed by Hera, the godling Priapus was born, a boy whose visage revolted the senses, a hideous child."
Anastasia took to a somber visage, a wistful blow of the panpipes following another silence before she turned to the people that surrounded herself and the prince she recounted the story to.
"Priapus grew into a God in his own right, but a God that many overlook, relegate to the most minute of prayer. Priapus is the forgotten son, for his own spheres of influence are overshadowed by those of his parents. Now, my prince, Priapus is known only as the God with an overly large phallus," she said, giggling at the association before she continued her fable. "He's known to believe that it's his greatest asset. What do you think, my prince? Is the size of the phallus the most important thing?" she mused. She didn't mean to embarrass the prince, and hoped he'd take the question in good humour, just as the chuckles permeated throughout the crowd at the audacity of Anastasia's question.
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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In the time Anastasia had spent within Taengea, she'd come close to the royalty in one form or another. As a gymnast, as a bard, always bearing the name and moniker of Anastasia of the Siren's Song. Today was no different, though the royal she conversed with seemed a different sort altogether. She knew of the Mikaelidas lineage, and though she surmised that the baron of Euttica and the prince in front of her didn't share the same father, nonetheless the regal bearing of the lionhearted family was present upon them both. They held their manner in different ways, but nonetheless, Anastasia saw the same decency, not quite shared by the fathers of both men, but by the sons.
Anastasia could truly appreciate it when those that wielded power did so with decency. It reminded her that not all of those destined for greatness and wealth were the same pigs that saw it right to make others bleed or hurt. The smile cast widely upon Anastasia's lips as she listened to Stephanos request her to share a fable of her own making. But, to do so again was neither in her interests nor of that of the people around them. She raised a hand to her ear, a soft chuckle escaping her lips as she heard tell of Zeus. Of this god there were untold numbers of legends. Zeus was among the triumvirate of godly power, the king of the Gods and the skies themselves. But, the crowd did not speak of him widely enough.
Then, others still asked for Poseidon. Taengea and, indeed, all of Greece, were under the purview of the God of the Seas. Island nations could bow to the might of Poseidon and revel in the legends told of him. In fact, every legend of sea monsters was a legend born of that God, for it was his children that filled those fables. Of all of the Gods, even her own patron Hermes, Anastasia told tales of Poseidon the most. However, it seemed the day landed upon another god altogether, a deity Anastasia gave praise to not quite as often as some of the more relevant ones to her own life, but to whom she raised a goblet to in every festivity, to whom she drank and fucked to long after Apollo's light faded away and gave rise to the reign of Artemis over the sky.
Once the crowd made their choice clear, it seemed that Prince Stephanos agreed with them, but brought in the Goddess Aphrodite into the mixture. There were hundreds upon hundreds of legends of all of the gods, in singularity or in solidarity. But, to combine Aphrodite and Dionysus wasn't particularly difficult. Anastasia's lips curled into a smile as she bowed her head in acquiescence. Anastasia did not allow herself a moment's hesitation. She looked between the prince and the crowd, and reached into her satchel. She took her panpipes and blew into them, a soft melody that sought to slack the crowd's fervor and focus them on the sounds that came from her, instead.
Once she was satisfied with their silence, she lowered the panpipes from her lips,
"There are countless fables of all the Gods, my prince. Dionysus, of course, is among the youngest of the Gods. As we all know, he was born of Zeus and a mortal. But, as all of the Gods can be, Dionysus was charming and beautiful. Aphrodite is a Goddess that cannot be restrained. Her desires know no limits, and her understanding of love teaches us to foster such emotions, to create them if need be. Aphrodite so desired Dionysus that it was all but guaranteed that they'd have an affair that shook Olympus with its fervor. Festivals on the surface of our world took to greater bounty, love swelled and bloomed as the both of them reveled in one another and in the gifts they offered this world."
Setting the stage, in Anastasia's experience, was always an important factor of telling a fable. To invest others in the premise was a necessary thing, if only to tear it apart, rend it in twain and leave the original premise as nothing but a memory. Of course, Anastasia let the silence hover for a moment, casting a glance towards the prince before she elaborated,
"But, where love and desire are without restraint, the vengeful purview of Hera, the Goddess of Marriage, is anything but. Jealous of Aphrodite since time immemorial, and detesting of Dionysus as a permanent reminder of her husband's many infidelities against her... Well, Hera decided that the most fitting punishment to give such a beautiful and revered Goddess was the opposite of her nature in totality. Hera allowed for Aphrodite and Dionysus to continue their affair, but their union resulted in a child in turn. Cursed by Hera, the godling Priapus was born, a boy whose visage revolted the senses, a hideous child."
Anastasia took to a somber visage, a wistful blow of the panpipes following another silence before she turned to the people that surrounded herself and the prince she recounted the story to.
"Priapus grew into a God in his own right, but a God that many overlook, relegate to the most minute of prayer. Priapus is the forgotten son, for his own spheres of influence are overshadowed by those of his parents. Now, my prince, Priapus is known only as the God with an overly large phallus," she said, giggling at the association before she continued her fable. "He's known to believe that it's his greatest asset. What do you think, my prince? Is the size of the phallus the most important thing?" she mused. She didn't mean to embarrass the prince, and hoped he'd take the question in good humour, just as the chuckles permeated throughout the crowd at the audacity of Anastasia's question.
In the time Anastasia had spent within Taengea, she'd come close to the royalty in one form or another. As a gymnast, as a bard, always bearing the name and moniker of Anastasia of the Siren's Song. Today was no different, though the royal she conversed with seemed a different sort altogether. She knew of the Mikaelidas lineage, and though she surmised that the baron of Euttica and the prince in front of her didn't share the same father, nonetheless the regal bearing of the lionhearted family was present upon them both. They held their manner in different ways, but nonetheless, Anastasia saw the same decency, not quite shared by the fathers of both men, but by the sons.
Anastasia could truly appreciate it when those that wielded power did so with decency. It reminded her that not all of those destined for greatness and wealth were the same pigs that saw it right to make others bleed or hurt. The smile cast widely upon Anastasia's lips as she listened to Stephanos request her to share a fable of her own making. But, to do so again was neither in her interests nor of that of the people around them. She raised a hand to her ear, a soft chuckle escaping her lips as she heard tell of Zeus. Of this god there were untold numbers of legends. Zeus was among the triumvirate of godly power, the king of the Gods and the skies themselves. But, the crowd did not speak of him widely enough.
Then, others still asked for Poseidon. Taengea and, indeed, all of Greece, were under the purview of the God of the Seas. Island nations could bow to the might of Poseidon and revel in the legends told of him. In fact, every legend of sea monsters was a legend born of that God, for it was his children that filled those fables. Of all of the Gods, even her own patron Hermes, Anastasia told tales of Poseidon the most. However, it seemed the day landed upon another god altogether, a deity Anastasia gave praise to not quite as often as some of the more relevant ones to her own life, but to whom she raised a goblet to in every festivity, to whom she drank and fucked to long after Apollo's light faded away and gave rise to the reign of Artemis over the sky.
Once the crowd made their choice clear, it seemed that Prince Stephanos agreed with them, but brought in the Goddess Aphrodite into the mixture. There were hundreds upon hundreds of legends of all of the gods, in singularity or in solidarity. But, to combine Aphrodite and Dionysus wasn't particularly difficult. Anastasia's lips curled into a smile as she bowed her head in acquiescence. Anastasia did not allow herself a moment's hesitation. She looked between the prince and the crowd, and reached into her satchel. She took her panpipes and blew into them, a soft melody that sought to slack the crowd's fervor and focus them on the sounds that came from her, instead.
Once she was satisfied with their silence, she lowered the panpipes from her lips,
"There are countless fables of all the Gods, my prince. Dionysus, of course, is among the youngest of the Gods. As we all know, he was born of Zeus and a mortal. But, as all of the Gods can be, Dionysus was charming and beautiful. Aphrodite is a Goddess that cannot be restrained. Her desires know no limits, and her understanding of love teaches us to foster such emotions, to create them if need be. Aphrodite so desired Dionysus that it was all but guaranteed that they'd have an affair that shook Olympus with its fervor. Festivals on the surface of our world took to greater bounty, love swelled and bloomed as the both of them reveled in one another and in the gifts they offered this world."
Setting the stage, in Anastasia's experience, was always an important factor of telling a fable. To invest others in the premise was a necessary thing, if only to tear it apart, rend it in twain and leave the original premise as nothing but a memory. Of course, Anastasia let the silence hover for a moment, casting a glance towards the prince before she elaborated,
"But, where love and desire are without restraint, the vengeful purview of Hera, the Goddess of Marriage, is anything but. Jealous of Aphrodite since time immemorial, and detesting of Dionysus as a permanent reminder of her husband's many infidelities against her... Well, Hera decided that the most fitting punishment to give such a beautiful and revered Goddess was the opposite of her nature in totality. Hera allowed for Aphrodite and Dionysus to continue their affair, but their union resulted in a child in turn. Cursed by Hera, the godling Priapus was born, a boy whose visage revolted the senses, a hideous child."
Anastasia took to a somber visage, a wistful blow of the panpipes following another silence before she turned to the people that surrounded herself and the prince she recounted the story to.
"Priapus grew into a God in his own right, but a God that many overlook, relegate to the most minute of prayer. Priapus is the forgotten son, for his own spheres of influence are overshadowed by those of his parents. Now, my prince, Priapus is known only as the God with an overly large phallus," she said, giggling at the association before she continued her fable. "He's known to believe that it's his greatest asset. What do you think, my prince? Is the size of the phallus the most important thing?" she mused. She didn't mean to embarrass the prince, and hoped he'd take the question in good humour, just as the chuckles permeated throughout the crowd at the audacity of Anastasia's question.
It was obvious that this bard liked being tasked with storytelling. What bard did not? This was their entire purpose in life: to entertain and be entertained in their turn. Bards were famed for their looks, their voices, their talent of transfixing a crowd, and above all, their loose morals. These were things that Stephanos loved. Like the tale Anastasia was currently spinning, he was not usually a man of restraint; at least, not in his personal life. In his princely duties, his military responsibilities, and his life in the Order, he was a man who could be counted upon. But if left to himself and with no guidance, Stephanos typically sought out pleasure, rather than restraint. He loved wine, women, and the promise of an unforgettable time. Thus, he was here.
With Anastasia’s words lilting into the night, he could well see the pictures she was painting in the minds of the enraptured crowd. When the gods loved one another, the human world often paid the price; whether that was the over abundance of flowers, cerulean skies, glassy seas, decadent grape harvests, and good health, or whether it was in raging storms, famine striking prosperous lands, a groaning, quaking earth, poverty as far as the eye can see...the realm of mere mortals was always shaped in one way or another by the gods and their moods.
In the affair of Aphrodite and Dionysus, Stephanos could well imagine a world of eternal spring, where trees wore blooms of soft white and vibrant pink. Where men drank deeply of wine so sweet and satisfying that they could scarce think to taste anything else. In the whirling passions of Aphrodite and Dionysus, there couldn’t be anything but good will from Mount Olympus. When gods were happy, men were happy.
Stephanos stood, listening to the bard spinning her tale, in the same expert way a spider weaves her web. First, it was attaching the little points to anchor down the story, and then laying each word carefully down, making sure each word had the perfect note, intonation, thus drawing in the hearer. The prince was as willing as any to be swept into her story, and drank deeply of his wine as he listened. Though, when she came to the portion of the story where Aphrodite gave birth to a child, Stephanos grinned into his cup, knowing exactly where this was going. Having the sense to lower his cup by the time Anastasia got to the point, he laughed along with everyone else as the crowd, as one, thought like Anastasia did; a god with an overlarge phallus was both funny and embarrassing. Of course, to the Greeks, a man with a penis too large meant he was not a moral man. He was animalistic in his thoughts and clearly stupid as a result.
Though he wasn’t quite prepared for Anastasia to single him out, Stephanos merely grinned back at her as she asked the kind of question that would have made his elder brother die in both embarrassment and contempt: "He's known to believe that it's his greatest asset. What do you think, my prince? Is the size of the phallus the most important thing?" Stephanos wasn’t uptight like the Crown Prince Zacharias, nor did he have an over inflated sense that he needed to be perfect. No one was perfect and Stephanos saw no point in living a lie.
“I think,” he said loudly, holding up his wine glass as though he was toasting the bard. “That it only matters if it is too small or too large and, therefore, remarked upon. Happy is the man who is not stupid, nor shunned.” Stephanos drank the last of his wine and gestured at her. “But you are the story weaver. Tell us what it means to you? Would you rather bed an animal or a scholar?” The joke being, of course, that the smarter a man was, the tinier his member.
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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It was obvious that this bard liked being tasked with storytelling. What bard did not? This was their entire purpose in life: to entertain and be entertained in their turn. Bards were famed for their looks, their voices, their talent of transfixing a crowd, and above all, their loose morals. These were things that Stephanos loved. Like the tale Anastasia was currently spinning, he was not usually a man of restraint; at least, not in his personal life. In his princely duties, his military responsibilities, and his life in the Order, he was a man who could be counted upon. But if left to himself and with no guidance, Stephanos typically sought out pleasure, rather than restraint. He loved wine, women, and the promise of an unforgettable time. Thus, he was here.
With Anastasia’s words lilting into the night, he could well see the pictures she was painting in the minds of the enraptured crowd. When the gods loved one another, the human world often paid the price; whether that was the over abundance of flowers, cerulean skies, glassy seas, decadent grape harvests, and good health, or whether it was in raging storms, famine striking prosperous lands, a groaning, quaking earth, poverty as far as the eye can see...the realm of mere mortals was always shaped in one way or another by the gods and their moods.
In the affair of Aphrodite and Dionysus, Stephanos could well imagine a world of eternal spring, where trees wore blooms of soft white and vibrant pink. Where men drank deeply of wine so sweet and satisfying that they could scarce think to taste anything else. In the whirling passions of Aphrodite and Dionysus, there couldn’t be anything but good will from Mount Olympus. When gods were happy, men were happy.
Stephanos stood, listening to the bard spinning her tale, in the same expert way a spider weaves her web. First, it was attaching the little points to anchor down the story, and then laying each word carefully down, making sure each word had the perfect note, intonation, thus drawing in the hearer. The prince was as willing as any to be swept into her story, and drank deeply of his wine as he listened. Though, when she came to the portion of the story where Aphrodite gave birth to a child, Stephanos grinned into his cup, knowing exactly where this was going. Having the sense to lower his cup by the time Anastasia got to the point, he laughed along with everyone else as the crowd, as one, thought like Anastasia did; a god with an overlarge phallus was both funny and embarrassing. Of course, to the Greeks, a man with a penis too large meant he was not a moral man. He was animalistic in his thoughts and clearly stupid as a result.
Though he wasn’t quite prepared for Anastasia to single him out, Stephanos merely grinned back at her as she asked the kind of question that would have made his elder brother die in both embarrassment and contempt: "He's known to believe that it's his greatest asset. What do you think, my prince? Is the size of the phallus the most important thing?" Stephanos wasn’t uptight like the Crown Prince Zacharias, nor did he have an over inflated sense that he needed to be perfect. No one was perfect and Stephanos saw no point in living a lie.
“I think,” he said loudly, holding up his wine glass as though he was toasting the bard. “That it only matters if it is too small or too large and, therefore, remarked upon. Happy is the man who is not stupid, nor shunned.” Stephanos drank the last of his wine and gestured at her. “But you are the story weaver. Tell us what it means to you? Would you rather bed an animal or a scholar?” The joke being, of course, that the smarter a man was, the tinier his member.
It was obvious that this bard liked being tasked with storytelling. What bard did not? This was their entire purpose in life: to entertain and be entertained in their turn. Bards were famed for their looks, their voices, their talent of transfixing a crowd, and above all, their loose morals. These were things that Stephanos loved. Like the tale Anastasia was currently spinning, he was not usually a man of restraint; at least, not in his personal life. In his princely duties, his military responsibilities, and his life in the Order, he was a man who could be counted upon. But if left to himself and with no guidance, Stephanos typically sought out pleasure, rather than restraint. He loved wine, women, and the promise of an unforgettable time. Thus, he was here.
With Anastasia’s words lilting into the night, he could well see the pictures she was painting in the minds of the enraptured crowd. When the gods loved one another, the human world often paid the price; whether that was the over abundance of flowers, cerulean skies, glassy seas, decadent grape harvests, and good health, or whether it was in raging storms, famine striking prosperous lands, a groaning, quaking earth, poverty as far as the eye can see...the realm of mere mortals was always shaped in one way or another by the gods and their moods.
In the affair of Aphrodite and Dionysus, Stephanos could well imagine a world of eternal spring, where trees wore blooms of soft white and vibrant pink. Where men drank deeply of wine so sweet and satisfying that they could scarce think to taste anything else. In the whirling passions of Aphrodite and Dionysus, there couldn’t be anything but good will from Mount Olympus. When gods were happy, men were happy.
Stephanos stood, listening to the bard spinning her tale, in the same expert way a spider weaves her web. First, it was attaching the little points to anchor down the story, and then laying each word carefully down, making sure each word had the perfect note, intonation, thus drawing in the hearer. The prince was as willing as any to be swept into her story, and drank deeply of his wine as he listened. Though, when she came to the portion of the story where Aphrodite gave birth to a child, Stephanos grinned into his cup, knowing exactly where this was going. Having the sense to lower his cup by the time Anastasia got to the point, he laughed along with everyone else as the crowd, as one, thought like Anastasia did; a god with an overlarge phallus was both funny and embarrassing. Of course, to the Greeks, a man with a penis too large meant he was not a moral man. He was animalistic in his thoughts and clearly stupid as a result.
Though he wasn’t quite prepared for Anastasia to single him out, Stephanos merely grinned back at her as she asked the kind of question that would have made his elder brother die in both embarrassment and contempt: "He's known to believe that it's his greatest asset. What do you think, my prince? Is the size of the phallus the most important thing?" Stephanos wasn’t uptight like the Crown Prince Zacharias, nor did he have an over inflated sense that he needed to be perfect. No one was perfect and Stephanos saw no point in living a lie.
“I think,” he said loudly, holding up his wine glass as though he was toasting the bard. “That it only matters if it is too small or too large and, therefore, remarked upon. Happy is the man who is not stupid, nor shunned.” Stephanos drank the last of his wine and gestured at her. “But you are the story weaver. Tell us what it means to you? Would you rather bed an animal or a scholar?” The joke being, of course, that the smarter a man was, the tinier his member.
Of course Anastasia would single him out.
To keep the attention wholly upon herself was the norm. But, in the midst of the crowd was a prince, a man of extraordinary birth who clearly didn't shy away from the attention as others of the Mikaelidas lineage might. It garnered both Ana's respect and appealed to her sensibilities. Clearly, Prince Stephanos was well-loved by his people so as to place himself so staunchly with them. Always, the bard was treated fairly by royals, never subjugated by them as she might've been by peasants who had clawed their way to means. Though, that wasn't to say very much. Calliope of Aetaea had met royals, but only those whose selfish intentions brought with them a sense of charm as to treat her as prey and render her infatuated.
Had it worked? Anastasia truly couldn't say one way or the other, for she'd never had a second encounter with Rafail of Marikas to judge that. And, suffice it to say, it didn't matter. What mattered in the here and now was Prince Stephanos and the presence of him further drawing in the attentions of the crowd. He took being singled out in good enough humour. Anastasia wasn't a fearful being, confident enough in her capacity for making herself scarce to shy away from altercations that might ensnare her. But, a relief it was nonetheless, that the prince answered so jovially. He even raised his goblet, as if his words were meant to toast the bard and honour her.
As he spoke, Anastasia bowed her head in respect, drawing herself into a curtsy until her lips cracked in a wide smile. She lifted herself properly, drawing her chin up ever so slightly as to look the nearby prince in the face as she tilted her head. Anastasia, if she was being quite honest, preferred to bed neither. She still bore the scars of the ill treatment of a man upon her body, and she would forever hold them on her flesh... even as time passed and they grew fainter. Anastasia would never forget it. She curled her fingers ever so briefly, unable to get the memory out of her mind for a brief moment. Anastasia, rather than flinch or look away, however, kept her gaze trained upon the prince. She lifted one fist up, relaxing her own grasp upon her fingers to press her digits to her chin in a gesture of thought.
Then, she cracked the smile, and all at once, the mask drew itself upon her features once again. She let her lips part in mellifluous laughter, her hazel gaze leaving the prince's after a moment to address the crowd, instead. After all, though Stephanos asked the question, it wasn't his to receive in totality. The crowd drew closer around them, and Anastasia pressed closer to the prince as a result. She kept her hands to herself, for the moment, but instead fixed him with a particular glace. The fire welled within her gaze, fabricated into being so as to further press the prince in front of the masses.
The siren and the prince, she heard whispered among the populace. She was pleased at the thought, but she didn't press any kind of luck. After all, her interest in the moment wasn't very high. Prince Stephanos was a piece of her act, the crown jewel of her offering to the Gods. She answered him after a moment of consideration, lowering her voice so that it forced the crowd to draw even nearer to hear her.
"My prince, I am inclined to agree with you, of course. The beast is... uncomfortable. They know nothing of giving and use their asset in all of the wrong ways. The scholar? Well, a girl has to feel something, doesn't she?" she teased, letting laughter spill from her lips as she continued on, "It's the man who does not boast, the one who knows his worth and is confident in his use of his size that can satisfy this bard," she mused. Then, the bard let her gaze spill across the crowd, singling out one man in the crowd and offering him a wink before she put herself next to the prince. She took the bottle he'd taken from, and let one swig pour down her throat in an easy motion.
"Have you any other requests, my prince? Or am I allowed to retire?" she mused. The offerings she'd been given were plenty enough for her to have a night of drunken ecstasy. It was her custom, of course, to celebrate her offerings in the way of the Gods who had given them to her. Dionysus and Aphrodite? Well, she'd have quite the night, it seemed.
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Of course Anastasia would single him out.
To keep the attention wholly upon herself was the norm. But, in the midst of the crowd was a prince, a man of extraordinary birth who clearly didn't shy away from the attention as others of the Mikaelidas lineage might. It garnered both Ana's respect and appealed to her sensibilities. Clearly, Prince Stephanos was well-loved by his people so as to place himself so staunchly with them. Always, the bard was treated fairly by royals, never subjugated by them as she might've been by peasants who had clawed their way to means. Though, that wasn't to say very much. Calliope of Aetaea had met royals, but only those whose selfish intentions brought with them a sense of charm as to treat her as prey and render her infatuated.
Had it worked? Anastasia truly couldn't say one way or the other, for she'd never had a second encounter with Rafail of Marikas to judge that. And, suffice it to say, it didn't matter. What mattered in the here and now was Prince Stephanos and the presence of him further drawing in the attentions of the crowd. He took being singled out in good enough humour. Anastasia wasn't a fearful being, confident enough in her capacity for making herself scarce to shy away from altercations that might ensnare her. But, a relief it was nonetheless, that the prince answered so jovially. He even raised his goblet, as if his words were meant to toast the bard and honour her.
As he spoke, Anastasia bowed her head in respect, drawing herself into a curtsy until her lips cracked in a wide smile. She lifted herself properly, drawing her chin up ever so slightly as to look the nearby prince in the face as she tilted her head. Anastasia, if she was being quite honest, preferred to bed neither. She still bore the scars of the ill treatment of a man upon her body, and she would forever hold them on her flesh... even as time passed and they grew fainter. Anastasia would never forget it. She curled her fingers ever so briefly, unable to get the memory out of her mind for a brief moment. Anastasia, rather than flinch or look away, however, kept her gaze trained upon the prince. She lifted one fist up, relaxing her own grasp upon her fingers to press her digits to her chin in a gesture of thought.
Then, she cracked the smile, and all at once, the mask drew itself upon her features once again. She let her lips part in mellifluous laughter, her hazel gaze leaving the prince's after a moment to address the crowd, instead. After all, though Stephanos asked the question, it wasn't his to receive in totality. The crowd drew closer around them, and Anastasia pressed closer to the prince as a result. She kept her hands to herself, for the moment, but instead fixed him with a particular glace. The fire welled within her gaze, fabricated into being so as to further press the prince in front of the masses.
The siren and the prince, she heard whispered among the populace. She was pleased at the thought, but she didn't press any kind of luck. After all, her interest in the moment wasn't very high. Prince Stephanos was a piece of her act, the crown jewel of her offering to the Gods. She answered him after a moment of consideration, lowering her voice so that it forced the crowd to draw even nearer to hear her.
"My prince, I am inclined to agree with you, of course. The beast is... uncomfortable. They know nothing of giving and use their asset in all of the wrong ways. The scholar? Well, a girl has to feel something, doesn't she?" she teased, letting laughter spill from her lips as she continued on, "It's the man who does not boast, the one who knows his worth and is confident in his use of his size that can satisfy this bard," she mused. Then, the bard let her gaze spill across the crowd, singling out one man in the crowd and offering him a wink before she put herself next to the prince. She took the bottle he'd taken from, and let one swig pour down her throat in an easy motion.
"Have you any other requests, my prince? Or am I allowed to retire?" she mused. The offerings she'd been given were plenty enough for her to have a night of drunken ecstasy. It was her custom, of course, to celebrate her offerings in the way of the Gods who had given them to her. Dionysus and Aphrodite? Well, she'd have quite the night, it seemed.
Of course Anastasia would single him out.
To keep the attention wholly upon herself was the norm. But, in the midst of the crowd was a prince, a man of extraordinary birth who clearly didn't shy away from the attention as others of the Mikaelidas lineage might. It garnered both Ana's respect and appealed to her sensibilities. Clearly, Prince Stephanos was well-loved by his people so as to place himself so staunchly with them. Always, the bard was treated fairly by royals, never subjugated by them as she might've been by peasants who had clawed their way to means. Though, that wasn't to say very much. Calliope of Aetaea had met royals, but only those whose selfish intentions brought with them a sense of charm as to treat her as prey and render her infatuated.
Had it worked? Anastasia truly couldn't say one way or the other, for she'd never had a second encounter with Rafail of Marikas to judge that. And, suffice it to say, it didn't matter. What mattered in the here and now was Prince Stephanos and the presence of him further drawing in the attentions of the crowd. He took being singled out in good enough humour. Anastasia wasn't a fearful being, confident enough in her capacity for making herself scarce to shy away from altercations that might ensnare her. But, a relief it was nonetheless, that the prince answered so jovially. He even raised his goblet, as if his words were meant to toast the bard and honour her.
As he spoke, Anastasia bowed her head in respect, drawing herself into a curtsy until her lips cracked in a wide smile. She lifted herself properly, drawing her chin up ever so slightly as to look the nearby prince in the face as she tilted her head. Anastasia, if she was being quite honest, preferred to bed neither. She still bore the scars of the ill treatment of a man upon her body, and she would forever hold them on her flesh... even as time passed and they grew fainter. Anastasia would never forget it. She curled her fingers ever so briefly, unable to get the memory out of her mind for a brief moment. Anastasia, rather than flinch or look away, however, kept her gaze trained upon the prince. She lifted one fist up, relaxing her own grasp upon her fingers to press her digits to her chin in a gesture of thought.
Then, she cracked the smile, and all at once, the mask drew itself upon her features once again. She let her lips part in mellifluous laughter, her hazel gaze leaving the prince's after a moment to address the crowd, instead. After all, though Stephanos asked the question, it wasn't his to receive in totality. The crowd drew closer around them, and Anastasia pressed closer to the prince as a result. She kept her hands to herself, for the moment, but instead fixed him with a particular glace. The fire welled within her gaze, fabricated into being so as to further press the prince in front of the masses.
The siren and the prince, she heard whispered among the populace. She was pleased at the thought, but she didn't press any kind of luck. After all, her interest in the moment wasn't very high. Prince Stephanos was a piece of her act, the crown jewel of her offering to the Gods. She answered him after a moment of consideration, lowering her voice so that it forced the crowd to draw even nearer to hear her.
"My prince, I am inclined to agree with you, of course. The beast is... uncomfortable. They know nothing of giving and use their asset in all of the wrong ways. The scholar? Well, a girl has to feel something, doesn't she?" she teased, letting laughter spill from her lips as she continued on, "It's the man who does not boast, the one who knows his worth and is confident in his use of his size that can satisfy this bard," she mused. Then, the bard let her gaze spill across the crowd, singling out one man in the crowd and offering him a wink before she put herself next to the prince. She took the bottle he'd taken from, and let one swig pour down her throat in an easy motion.
"Have you any other requests, my prince? Or am I allowed to retire?" she mused. The offerings she'd been given were plenty enough for her to have a night of drunken ecstasy. It was her custom, of course, to celebrate her offerings in the way of the Gods who had given them to her. Dionysus and Aphrodite? Well, she'd have quite the night, it seemed.
The crowd rippled with laughter, delighted with this bard and her nearly magical ability to entertain them. Stephanos wasn’t immune to her charms and laughed along with everyone else. He was at his ease here amongst the crowd. There were princes and even merchants who wandered around with guards constantly hounding their steps but Stephanos wasn’t one of them. It wasn’t practical, for one thing. He was part of the Order of Vasiliadon. He was the guard. For another, he was definitely beloved by his people because of this fact. It was he who had been seen scrubbing stones on streets or literally helping them rebuild their houses or guarding the gates. He was a general for his father’s army and had led several forays into Egypt. He was affable and charming, and willing to drink and be silly. In short, he wasn’t usually a pompous ass in love with his own self importance. Stephanos wore his title of Prince, General, and Order Member like he wore clothes; he simply took them for granted and forgot them most of the time. They were a given in life and he was too confident in their inherent part of his being to bother being concerned that other people didn’t see him as important enough.
His cup was empty but the wine jug remained in his arms and he held it loosely as Ana sauntered closer and closer to him. He watched her, smile sliding into a smirk when she reached out and plucked the wine from his hold. She was bold. Too bold, probably, but she was pretty and he wasn’t in the least bit fearful of being infringed upon. He could put an immediate stop to it if he chose and so he let her get away with the cheeky move.
“Have you any other requests, my prince? Or am I allowed to retire?”
“Done so soon?” He raised his brows and waited until she’d had her fill of the jug before he took it back. An easy grin and a nod from him let the people closest to him know their entertainment here, at least, was over. By pairs and small groups, people broke away, seeking either worship or some other person to be entranced by. Stephanos, however, remained. He stood casually with his arms hugging the jug, his eyes still on her face. “And where do you come from?” his gaze wandered to her lips, her chin, her collarbone, and back up. “I haven’t seen you perform, I don’t think. I would remember.”
That was a bold statement to make. He might have seen her any number of times. For all of the good and noble things Stephanos could be and sometimes was, he was just as known for his wild nights and raucous parties that sometimes went on for two days together. That was usually when he was with a cousin or a trusted group of friends. Perhaps some of the populace of Vasiliadon loved and trusted Stephanos because it was hard to be afraid of a man who puked his ever living guts up outside of your tavern and then paid extravagantly for the trouble, only to not remember it later due to a blackout in memory. Good times.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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The crowd rippled with laughter, delighted with this bard and her nearly magical ability to entertain them. Stephanos wasn’t immune to her charms and laughed along with everyone else. He was at his ease here amongst the crowd. There were princes and even merchants who wandered around with guards constantly hounding their steps but Stephanos wasn’t one of them. It wasn’t practical, for one thing. He was part of the Order of Vasiliadon. He was the guard. For another, he was definitely beloved by his people because of this fact. It was he who had been seen scrubbing stones on streets or literally helping them rebuild their houses or guarding the gates. He was a general for his father’s army and had led several forays into Egypt. He was affable and charming, and willing to drink and be silly. In short, he wasn’t usually a pompous ass in love with his own self importance. Stephanos wore his title of Prince, General, and Order Member like he wore clothes; he simply took them for granted and forgot them most of the time. They were a given in life and he was too confident in their inherent part of his being to bother being concerned that other people didn’t see him as important enough.
His cup was empty but the wine jug remained in his arms and he held it loosely as Ana sauntered closer and closer to him. He watched her, smile sliding into a smirk when she reached out and plucked the wine from his hold. She was bold. Too bold, probably, but she was pretty and he wasn’t in the least bit fearful of being infringed upon. He could put an immediate stop to it if he chose and so he let her get away with the cheeky move.
“Have you any other requests, my prince? Or am I allowed to retire?”
“Done so soon?” He raised his brows and waited until she’d had her fill of the jug before he took it back. An easy grin and a nod from him let the people closest to him know their entertainment here, at least, was over. By pairs and small groups, people broke away, seeking either worship or some other person to be entranced by. Stephanos, however, remained. He stood casually with his arms hugging the jug, his eyes still on her face. “And where do you come from?” his gaze wandered to her lips, her chin, her collarbone, and back up. “I haven’t seen you perform, I don’t think. I would remember.”
That was a bold statement to make. He might have seen her any number of times. For all of the good and noble things Stephanos could be and sometimes was, he was just as known for his wild nights and raucous parties that sometimes went on for two days together. That was usually when he was with a cousin or a trusted group of friends. Perhaps some of the populace of Vasiliadon loved and trusted Stephanos because it was hard to be afraid of a man who puked his ever living guts up outside of your tavern and then paid extravagantly for the trouble, only to not remember it later due to a blackout in memory. Good times.
The crowd rippled with laughter, delighted with this bard and her nearly magical ability to entertain them. Stephanos wasn’t immune to her charms and laughed along with everyone else. He was at his ease here amongst the crowd. There were princes and even merchants who wandered around with guards constantly hounding their steps but Stephanos wasn’t one of them. It wasn’t practical, for one thing. He was part of the Order of Vasiliadon. He was the guard. For another, he was definitely beloved by his people because of this fact. It was he who had been seen scrubbing stones on streets or literally helping them rebuild their houses or guarding the gates. He was a general for his father’s army and had led several forays into Egypt. He was affable and charming, and willing to drink and be silly. In short, he wasn’t usually a pompous ass in love with his own self importance. Stephanos wore his title of Prince, General, and Order Member like he wore clothes; he simply took them for granted and forgot them most of the time. They were a given in life and he was too confident in their inherent part of his being to bother being concerned that other people didn’t see him as important enough.
His cup was empty but the wine jug remained in his arms and he held it loosely as Ana sauntered closer and closer to him. He watched her, smile sliding into a smirk when she reached out and plucked the wine from his hold. She was bold. Too bold, probably, but she was pretty and he wasn’t in the least bit fearful of being infringed upon. He could put an immediate stop to it if he chose and so he let her get away with the cheeky move.
“Have you any other requests, my prince? Or am I allowed to retire?”
“Done so soon?” He raised his brows and waited until she’d had her fill of the jug before he took it back. An easy grin and a nod from him let the people closest to him know their entertainment here, at least, was over. By pairs and small groups, people broke away, seeking either worship or some other person to be entranced by. Stephanos, however, remained. He stood casually with his arms hugging the jug, his eyes still on her face. “And where do you come from?” his gaze wandered to her lips, her chin, her collarbone, and back up. “I haven’t seen you perform, I don’t think. I would remember.”
That was a bold statement to make. He might have seen her any number of times. For all of the good and noble things Stephanos could be and sometimes was, he was just as known for his wild nights and raucous parties that sometimes went on for two days together. That was usually when he was with a cousin or a trusted group of friends. Perhaps some of the populace of Vasiliadon loved and trusted Stephanos because it was hard to be afraid of a man who puked his ever living guts up outside of your tavern and then paid extravagantly for the trouble, only to not remember it later due to a blackout in memory. Good times.
The crowd gave Anastasia life.
When Calliope of Aetaea escaped from Athenia, she did so as a shade. A specter walking the earth without purpose and without light. She found herself in Colchis, and the realization came that... she was not Calliope. Anastasia, the name given from her resurrection... She was the phoenix that rose from the ashes of Calliope, and in that rise came the realization that she could not be herself and simply life in a bubble. To life for oneself was... foolish.
Life without purpose is not life, she'd realized back then, and thought of it in the moment as the rippling laughter of the crowd affirmed that purpose to her anew. Anastasia reveled in the crowd, and it reveled in her. She walked with confidence, spoke with a cadence that drew others in and lived for those reactions. The darker self that lingered beneath, the thief and the liar were the sickness that persisted, the lingering vestiges of Calliope that she could neither ignore nor rid herself of. Anastasia of the Siren's Song was a being that lived for others while indulging in herself. Two sides to a coin that informed every decision she made.
And she reveled in both sides of it. Complete within, Anastasia felt no reservations within, but did without. While the charming prince of Taengea was a dashing man that she was glad to utilize in her act to entertain the masses, she was keen to separate herself. She found a burgeoning attraction to the man and immediately, the red flags arose. The idea of being too close to him was, while appealing... frightening. Not for the man himself, for he was a beautiful creature and so easy to pass the time with, the questions he asked, the nature of his gaze and how he looked over over.
A slight shiver rolled down Anastasia's spine as he noted that he'd remember her.
A bold lie, she thought as she took yet another sip of the man's wine. However, it was a lie that brought a chuckle to her lips, brought the smile wider and wider still. She tilted her head just slightly at his questions, shrugging her shoulders just slightly. There was no reason for her to leave him, but also... on the same token, no reason for the truth to be given. Anastasia lived in a web of lies and half-truths, keen to keep her identity a secret and up to speculation. After all, the legacy of a storyteller was in her name and her face, not in the past that she was keen to obscure.
"I said it before, my prince. I am Anastasia, she who speaks for the depths. A siren given legs by Poseidon so that those who live within the depths might be known by those who do not."
She took yet another sip of the wine before leaving it on the table for the prince to partake in. The chuckle bubbled from her lips as she added,
"I've had my set of legs for a number of years. I've performed throughout the lands of Greece and given due worship and credit to the Gods everywhere I go. However, just as you'd remember me, I'd certainly remember you. I've not seen your face in my crowds, and it is such a shame. But, as all mistakes are given their time to be rectified, this one has been fixed now."
There's no reason to leave just yet. The prince is fun to look at, after all. And his presence adds to my legend, she assured herself.
This character is currently a work in progress.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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The crowd gave Anastasia life.
When Calliope of Aetaea escaped from Athenia, she did so as a shade. A specter walking the earth without purpose and without light. She found herself in Colchis, and the realization came that... she was not Calliope. Anastasia, the name given from her resurrection... She was the phoenix that rose from the ashes of Calliope, and in that rise came the realization that she could not be herself and simply life in a bubble. To life for oneself was... foolish.
Life without purpose is not life, she'd realized back then, and thought of it in the moment as the rippling laughter of the crowd affirmed that purpose to her anew. Anastasia reveled in the crowd, and it reveled in her. She walked with confidence, spoke with a cadence that drew others in and lived for those reactions. The darker self that lingered beneath, the thief and the liar were the sickness that persisted, the lingering vestiges of Calliope that she could neither ignore nor rid herself of. Anastasia of the Siren's Song was a being that lived for others while indulging in herself. Two sides to a coin that informed every decision she made.
And she reveled in both sides of it. Complete within, Anastasia felt no reservations within, but did without. While the charming prince of Taengea was a dashing man that she was glad to utilize in her act to entertain the masses, she was keen to separate herself. She found a burgeoning attraction to the man and immediately, the red flags arose. The idea of being too close to him was, while appealing... frightening. Not for the man himself, for he was a beautiful creature and so easy to pass the time with, the questions he asked, the nature of his gaze and how he looked over over.
A slight shiver rolled down Anastasia's spine as he noted that he'd remember her.
A bold lie, she thought as she took yet another sip of the man's wine. However, it was a lie that brought a chuckle to her lips, brought the smile wider and wider still. She tilted her head just slightly at his questions, shrugging her shoulders just slightly. There was no reason for her to leave him, but also... on the same token, no reason for the truth to be given. Anastasia lived in a web of lies and half-truths, keen to keep her identity a secret and up to speculation. After all, the legacy of a storyteller was in her name and her face, not in the past that she was keen to obscure.
"I said it before, my prince. I am Anastasia, she who speaks for the depths. A siren given legs by Poseidon so that those who live within the depths might be known by those who do not."
She took yet another sip of the wine before leaving it on the table for the prince to partake in. The chuckle bubbled from her lips as she added,
"I've had my set of legs for a number of years. I've performed throughout the lands of Greece and given due worship and credit to the Gods everywhere I go. However, just as you'd remember me, I'd certainly remember you. I've not seen your face in my crowds, and it is such a shame. But, as all mistakes are given their time to be rectified, this one has been fixed now."
There's no reason to leave just yet. The prince is fun to look at, after all. And his presence adds to my legend, she assured herself.
The crowd gave Anastasia life.
When Calliope of Aetaea escaped from Athenia, she did so as a shade. A specter walking the earth without purpose and without light. She found herself in Colchis, and the realization came that... she was not Calliope. Anastasia, the name given from her resurrection... She was the phoenix that rose from the ashes of Calliope, and in that rise came the realization that she could not be herself and simply life in a bubble. To life for oneself was... foolish.
Life without purpose is not life, she'd realized back then, and thought of it in the moment as the rippling laughter of the crowd affirmed that purpose to her anew. Anastasia reveled in the crowd, and it reveled in her. She walked with confidence, spoke with a cadence that drew others in and lived for those reactions. The darker self that lingered beneath, the thief and the liar were the sickness that persisted, the lingering vestiges of Calliope that she could neither ignore nor rid herself of. Anastasia of the Siren's Song was a being that lived for others while indulging in herself. Two sides to a coin that informed every decision she made.
And she reveled in both sides of it. Complete within, Anastasia felt no reservations within, but did without. While the charming prince of Taengea was a dashing man that she was glad to utilize in her act to entertain the masses, she was keen to separate herself. She found a burgeoning attraction to the man and immediately, the red flags arose. The idea of being too close to him was, while appealing... frightening. Not for the man himself, for he was a beautiful creature and so easy to pass the time with, the questions he asked, the nature of his gaze and how he looked over over.
A slight shiver rolled down Anastasia's spine as he noted that he'd remember her.
A bold lie, she thought as she took yet another sip of the man's wine. However, it was a lie that brought a chuckle to her lips, brought the smile wider and wider still. She tilted her head just slightly at his questions, shrugging her shoulders just slightly. There was no reason for her to leave him, but also... on the same token, no reason for the truth to be given. Anastasia lived in a web of lies and half-truths, keen to keep her identity a secret and up to speculation. After all, the legacy of a storyteller was in her name and her face, not in the past that she was keen to obscure.
"I said it before, my prince. I am Anastasia, she who speaks for the depths. A siren given legs by Poseidon so that those who live within the depths might be known by those who do not."
She took yet another sip of the wine before leaving it on the table for the prince to partake in. The chuckle bubbled from her lips as she added,
"I've had my set of legs for a number of years. I've performed throughout the lands of Greece and given due worship and credit to the Gods everywhere I go. However, just as you'd remember me, I'd certainly remember you. I've not seen your face in my crowds, and it is such a shame. But, as all mistakes are given their time to be rectified, this one has been fixed now."
There's no reason to leave just yet. The prince is fun to look at, after all. And his presence adds to my legend, she assured herself.
A warm gust of air flitted across the open space, brushing against him with the gentlest caress. Hints of the salty sea and roast boar cooked over the most enormous fire pit wafted atop the breeze. Stephanos lifted his nose, catching the scents for a moment as Anastaia reintroduced herself. He’d missed the first time she’d called to the people by a few seconds, but it’d left her in the delightful position of being an intriguing mystery. Her explanation was every bit as enigmatic as she’d intended and as he brought his eyes back down to hers, he raised his brows at her.
“Poseidon gifted you legs, did he?” He stepped a pace or two back from her to look. She’d had the forethought to wear a dress that was shorter than many women chose to don, but it worked out well for those who wished to see. Her legs were long and shapely. One might even say perfectly suited to never be covered up by fabric too long. “He did well,” Stephanos observed. “You must be proud that the sea god saw fit to give you such graceful legs, though I’m sure the fins you had before were every bit as lovely.”
“I've had my set of legs for a number of years.” Her tone was sultry and hinted of a boast that made Stephanos’s smile curve into a grin. ”I've performed throughout the lands of Greece and given due worship and credit to the Gods everywhere I go. However, just as you'd remember me, I'd certainly remember you. I've not seen your face in my crowds, and it is such a shame. But, as all mistakes are given their time to be rectified, this one has been fixed now.”
“Then we’re agreed,” he said swiping up her cup from the table and backing away with both it and the jug. “You’ve never seen me, I’ve never seen you, and it’s Fate we drink together. Come,” he inclined his head towards the glow of firelight where the boar was currently being cooked a few courtyards over, but it was past that where he intended to take her. He backed up slowly until he was sure she was going to follow, then turned and led her past the square where the boar turned tantalizingly slow over a river of brilliant orange coals.
Dancers momentarily separated the two of them, banners of fabric streaming behind them fluttery scarlet rivers. He tried to follow a pretty blonde one with his eyes but she giggled and twirled around and away from him like a nymph, melting with her sisters into the shadows between the buildings. Gods did he love festivals. Checking for Ana over his shoulder, he again inclined his head towards the edge of the city. Beyond was near darkness. A few bronze bowls of fire burned to light the way down to the beach but once there, it was all moonlight and endless black ocean sweeping in and out from the shore.
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A warm gust of air flitted across the open space, brushing against him with the gentlest caress. Hints of the salty sea and roast boar cooked over the most enormous fire pit wafted atop the breeze. Stephanos lifted his nose, catching the scents for a moment as Anastaia reintroduced herself. He’d missed the first time she’d called to the people by a few seconds, but it’d left her in the delightful position of being an intriguing mystery. Her explanation was every bit as enigmatic as she’d intended and as he brought his eyes back down to hers, he raised his brows at her.
“Poseidon gifted you legs, did he?” He stepped a pace or two back from her to look. She’d had the forethought to wear a dress that was shorter than many women chose to don, but it worked out well for those who wished to see. Her legs were long and shapely. One might even say perfectly suited to never be covered up by fabric too long. “He did well,” Stephanos observed. “You must be proud that the sea god saw fit to give you such graceful legs, though I’m sure the fins you had before were every bit as lovely.”
“I've had my set of legs for a number of years.” Her tone was sultry and hinted of a boast that made Stephanos’s smile curve into a grin. ”I've performed throughout the lands of Greece and given due worship and credit to the Gods everywhere I go. However, just as you'd remember me, I'd certainly remember you. I've not seen your face in my crowds, and it is such a shame. But, as all mistakes are given their time to be rectified, this one has been fixed now.”
“Then we’re agreed,” he said swiping up her cup from the table and backing away with both it and the jug. “You’ve never seen me, I’ve never seen you, and it’s Fate we drink together. Come,” he inclined his head towards the glow of firelight where the boar was currently being cooked a few courtyards over, but it was past that where he intended to take her. He backed up slowly until he was sure she was going to follow, then turned and led her past the square where the boar turned tantalizingly slow over a river of brilliant orange coals.
Dancers momentarily separated the two of them, banners of fabric streaming behind them fluttery scarlet rivers. He tried to follow a pretty blonde one with his eyes but she giggled and twirled around and away from him like a nymph, melting with her sisters into the shadows between the buildings. Gods did he love festivals. Checking for Ana over his shoulder, he again inclined his head towards the edge of the city. Beyond was near darkness. A few bronze bowls of fire burned to light the way down to the beach but once there, it was all moonlight and endless black ocean sweeping in and out from the shore.
A warm gust of air flitted across the open space, brushing against him with the gentlest caress. Hints of the salty sea and roast boar cooked over the most enormous fire pit wafted atop the breeze. Stephanos lifted his nose, catching the scents for a moment as Anastaia reintroduced herself. He’d missed the first time she’d called to the people by a few seconds, but it’d left her in the delightful position of being an intriguing mystery. Her explanation was every bit as enigmatic as she’d intended and as he brought his eyes back down to hers, he raised his brows at her.
“Poseidon gifted you legs, did he?” He stepped a pace or two back from her to look. She’d had the forethought to wear a dress that was shorter than many women chose to don, but it worked out well for those who wished to see. Her legs were long and shapely. One might even say perfectly suited to never be covered up by fabric too long. “He did well,” Stephanos observed. “You must be proud that the sea god saw fit to give you such graceful legs, though I’m sure the fins you had before were every bit as lovely.”
“I've had my set of legs for a number of years.” Her tone was sultry and hinted of a boast that made Stephanos’s smile curve into a grin. ”I've performed throughout the lands of Greece and given due worship and credit to the Gods everywhere I go. However, just as you'd remember me, I'd certainly remember you. I've not seen your face in my crowds, and it is such a shame. But, as all mistakes are given their time to be rectified, this one has been fixed now.”
“Then we’re agreed,” he said swiping up her cup from the table and backing away with both it and the jug. “You’ve never seen me, I’ve never seen you, and it’s Fate we drink together. Come,” he inclined his head towards the glow of firelight where the boar was currently being cooked a few courtyards over, but it was past that where he intended to take her. He backed up slowly until he was sure she was going to follow, then turned and led her past the square where the boar turned tantalizingly slow over a river of brilliant orange coals.
Dancers momentarily separated the two of them, banners of fabric streaming behind them fluttery scarlet rivers. He tried to follow a pretty blonde one with his eyes but she giggled and twirled around and away from him like a nymph, melting with her sisters into the shadows between the buildings. Gods did he love festivals. Checking for Ana over his shoulder, he again inclined his head towards the edge of the city. Beyond was near darkness. A few bronze bowls of fire burned to light the way down to the beach but once there, it was all moonlight and endless black ocean sweeping in and out from the shore.
"Poseidon gifted you legs, did he?"
The question was not turned with the tone of skepticism, which suited Anastasia just fine. To argue about the nature of her facade was, after all, rather counter-intuitive. Most took it for what it was, hyperbole and the sort of escape from reality that arose with the rest of her tales. Those that played along with it, however, always got just a bit more of Ana's attention. She reveled in her facade. After all, who wouldn't want to be born from Poseidon's depths, a vision from under the sea? It was a delicious fantasy that she utilized to draw more and more wealth, attention, and prestige to herself.
"You must be proud that the sea god saw fit to give you such graceful legs..."
The flush that surfaced upon Anastasia's cheeks was not to be missed. A giggle of pleasure at the compliment rose from her lips as she nodded in agreement. She lowered her hands to her thighs, following the shapely curve of her legs as if to trace the tail that would've once existed there. A sort of playful, wistful expression settled upon her lips before the conversation moved onward. Stephanos of Mikaelidas was a dashingly forward man, by his look several years older and dressed plainly, but in clothes of such a fine make that she couldn't help but be fascinated in him.
Often enough, the wealthy cared to drape themselves in their wealth, to lord it over the world, but in the case of this prince, he lived among the people, and while discretely showed his superiority to them, did not present it so ostentatiously as to draw ire or distaste. Well-liked, and effortlessly so, Anastasia couldn't help but feel the same swell of admiration in the way that Stephanos carried himself. And so, she nodded in agreement, intent to follow him wherever it was that he wanted to take them. There was a pull, inexorable and undeniable, the eager curiosity in finding out exactly what it was that drew her to him.
He backed up rather than turning around, coaxing her to follow him until she did. Easy strides carried her to proximity with the young man, hovering just behind the even as she watched the movements of his head to the figure of a pretty blonde. Anastasia's attentions were diverted as well, eyeing the woman along the curves of her body before she split her attention back to Stephanos. He inclined his head to show their direction, checked to see if she'd fallen behind. How gallant, came the teasing thought before she decided to make it impossible for them to separate. She slid forward, hands sliding along the prince's waist and playing along the fabric of his abdomen.
"If you're so concerned, my prince, you could carry me on your back," she offered, a low giggle in her voice before she pressed a kiss to the man's cheek. Then, she wheeled around to walk beside him, the crowd dispersing enough as they left the festivities behind.
He took her to the beach? It was, perhaps, not unexpected, the tale she crafted giving credence to her love for the ocean. And she did, of course. Anastasia swum at every opportunity she could, reveling in the salt and the tide just as a real nymph would.
"It's almost ominous, how the darkness turns the ocean into an abyss," she echoed in his ear, brushing her fingertips along his shoulder before she asked,
"And what was your plan, my prince, bringing us here?"
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"Poseidon gifted you legs, did he?"
The question was not turned with the tone of skepticism, which suited Anastasia just fine. To argue about the nature of her facade was, after all, rather counter-intuitive. Most took it for what it was, hyperbole and the sort of escape from reality that arose with the rest of her tales. Those that played along with it, however, always got just a bit more of Ana's attention. She reveled in her facade. After all, who wouldn't want to be born from Poseidon's depths, a vision from under the sea? It was a delicious fantasy that she utilized to draw more and more wealth, attention, and prestige to herself.
"You must be proud that the sea god saw fit to give you such graceful legs..."
The flush that surfaced upon Anastasia's cheeks was not to be missed. A giggle of pleasure at the compliment rose from her lips as she nodded in agreement. She lowered her hands to her thighs, following the shapely curve of her legs as if to trace the tail that would've once existed there. A sort of playful, wistful expression settled upon her lips before the conversation moved onward. Stephanos of Mikaelidas was a dashingly forward man, by his look several years older and dressed plainly, but in clothes of such a fine make that she couldn't help but be fascinated in him.
Often enough, the wealthy cared to drape themselves in their wealth, to lord it over the world, but in the case of this prince, he lived among the people, and while discretely showed his superiority to them, did not present it so ostentatiously as to draw ire or distaste. Well-liked, and effortlessly so, Anastasia couldn't help but feel the same swell of admiration in the way that Stephanos carried himself. And so, she nodded in agreement, intent to follow him wherever it was that he wanted to take them. There was a pull, inexorable and undeniable, the eager curiosity in finding out exactly what it was that drew her to him.
He backed up rather than turning around, coaxing her to follow him until she did. Easy strides carried her to proximity with the young man, hovering just behind the even as she watched the movements of his head to the figure of a pretty blonde. Anastasia's attentions were diverted as well, eyeing the woman along the curves of her body before she split her attention back to Stephanos. He inclined his head to show their direction, checked to see if she'd fallen behind. How gallant, came the teasing thought before she decided to make it impossible for them to separate. She slid forward, hands sliding along the prince's waist and playing along the fabric of his abdomen.
"If you're so concerned, my prince, you could carry me on your back," she offered, a low giggle in her voice before she pressed a kiss to the man's cheek. Then, she wheeled around to walk beside him, the crowd dispersing enough as they left the festivities behind.
He took her to the beach? It was, perhaps, not unexpected, the tale she crafted giving credence to her love for the ocean. And she did, of course. Anastasia swum at every opportunity she could, reveling in the salt and the tide just as a real nymph would.
"It's almost ominous, how the darkness turns the ocean into an abyss," she echoed in his ear, brushing her fingertips along his shoulder before she asked,
"And what was your plan, my prince, bringing us here?"
"Poseidon gifted you legs, did he?"
The question was not turned with the tone of skepticism, which suited Anastasia just fine. To argue about the nature of her facade was, after all, rather counter-intuitive. Most took it for what it was, hyperbole and the sort of escape from reality that arose with the rest of her tales. Those that played along with it, however, always got just a bit more of Ana's attention. She reveled in her facade. After all, who wouldn't want to be born from Poseidon's depths, a vision from under the sea? It was a delicious fantasy that she utilized to draw more and more wealth, attention, and prestige to herself.
"You must be proud that the sea god saw fit to give you such graceful legs..."
The flush that surfaced upon Anastasia's cheeks was not to be missed. A giggle of pleasure at the compliment rose from her lips as she nodded in agreement. She lowered her hands to her thighs, following the shapely curve of her legs as if to trace the tail that would've once existed there. A sort of playful, wistful expression settled upon her lips before the conversation moved onward. Stephanos of Mikaelidas was a dashingly forward man, by his look several years older and dressed plainly, but in clothes of such a fine make that she couldn't help but be fascinated in him.
Often enough, the wealthy cared to drape themselves in their wealth, to lord it over the world, but in the case of this prince, he lived among the people, and while discretely showed his superiority to them, did not present it so ostentatiously as to draw ire or distaste. Well-liked, and effortlessly so, Anastasia couldn't help but feel the same swell of admiration in the way that Stephanos carried himself. And so, she nodded in agreement, intent to follow him wherever it was that he wanted to take them. There was a pull, inexorable and undeniable, the eager curiosity in finding out exactly what it was that drew her to him.
He backed up rather than turning around, coaxing her to follow him until she did. Easy strides carried her to proximity with the young man, hovering just behind the even as she watched the movements of his head to the figure of a pretty blonde. Anastasia's attentions were diverted as well, eyeing the woman along the curves of her body before she split her attention back to Stephanos. He inclined his head to show their direction, checked to see if she'd fallen behind. How gallant, came the teasing thought before she decided to make it impossible for them to separate. She slid forward, hands sliding along the prince's waist and playing along the fabric of his abdomen.
"If you're so concerned, my prince, you could carry me on your back," she offered, a low giggle in her voice before she pressed a kiss to the man's cheek. Then, she wheeled around to walk beside him, the crowd dispersing enough as they left the festivities behind.
He took her to the beach? It was, perhaps, not unexpected, the tale she crafted giving credence to her love for the ocean. And she did, of course. Anastasia swum at every opportunity she could, reveling in the salt and the tide just as a real nymph would.
"It's almost ominous, how the darkness turns the ocean into an abyss," she echoed in his ear, brushing her fingertips along his shoulder before she asked,
"And what was your plan, my prince, bringing us here?"
Her boldness about slipping her arms about his waist caught him a little off guard but it wasn’t unwelcome. It told him what he’d already guessed; that she was most definitely willing to play along to whatever he felt like doing with her. He put a hand on her arm, never breaking his stride but she didn’t remain glued to him for long. She reminded him strongly of the way a fish might flirt, the light touches, fins brushing its mate as it swirled around in a fluid dance.
“If you're so concerned, my prince, you could carry me on your back,” she laughed and he barely had time to give that a return laugh and a ‘no’ before she’d slid to his side to press a kiss against his cheek. He turned his head, willing to keep the kiss going but she’d already danced away, walking beside now, her eyes teasing, her lips curving, promising more to come later if he played his cards right.
They walked together for a time, stone road giving way to waving dune grasses, the ground softening and then depressing into white sand. Stephanos liked to chase but this story teller wouldn’t need much convincing, unless he missed his guess. There was something liberating in that, too. It took the mystique out of the encounter but it added an element of surety that put him at ease; she definitely didn’t seem like the kind of person he would have to fight off with a stick when the time came to part. He had a rather fanciful notion that they might end up tangled together in the water or further up the beach, or possibly even at the palati, if he felt like really wooing her. They’d join and then she would be gone with the night, like a nymph; caught and then disappearing once he looked away.
As they walked closer to the water, the surf surged up the beach, waves lapping against sand before slithering back out again. Moonlight glittered on the ocean’s undulating surface and it looked a little like a great beast breathing slowly up and down, up and down at the world’s edge. Ana’s voice was a purr in his ear as she pointed out that the black expanse before them seemed more abyss-like and ominous than he personally saw it. Stephanos merely smiled and shrugged, not caring to contradict her assertion. Then, she said, “And what was your plan, my prince, bringing us here?”
Now there was a question he could answer.
Stephanos held up his cup and then pressed it into her hands. “My plan is a wicked one,” he assured her with perfect unconcern. “Hold that up, love, yes, like that.” Once the cup was in place, he tipped the mouth of the wine jug against the cup’s rim and watched as dark liquid spilled into the bottom of the glass. “First I plan to ply you with alcohol. You can take a few sips.”
He took back the jug and crossed his arms over it again in a hug, grinning at her. “Then I planned to walk a little ways, make it nice and romantic. I think you’ll note the clear skies. Stars are on our side, gorgeous sea to serenade us. And if that went well I would slip you some kind of charming line and kiss you. As long as that was agreeable I thought we could fool around a bit and if you’re a very good girl, end up in my bed before morning.”
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Her boldness about slipping her arms about his waist caught him a little off guard but it wasn’t unwelcome. It told him what he’d already guessed; that she was most definitely willing to play along to whatever he felt like doing with her. He put a hand on her arm, never breaking his stride but she didn’t remain glued to him for long. She reminded him strongly of the way a fish might flirt, the light touches, fins brushing its mate as it swirled around in a fluid dance.
“If you're so concerned, my prince, you could carry me on your back,” she laughed and he barely had time to give that a return laugh and a ‘no’ before she’d slid to his side to press a kiss against his cheek. He turned his head, willing to keep the kiss going but she’d already danced away, walking beside now, her eyes teasing, her lips curving, promising more to come later if he played his cards right.
They walked together for a time, stone road giving way to waving dune grasses, the ground softening and then depressing into white sand. Stephanos liked to chase but this story teller wouldn’t need much convincing, unless he missed his guess. There was something liberating in that, too. It took the mystique out of the encounter but it added an element of surety that put him at ease; she definitely didn’t seem like the kind of person he would have to fight off with a stick when the time came to part. He had a rather fanciful notion that they might end up tangled together in the water or further up the beach, or possibly even at the palati, if he felt like really wooing her. They’d join and then she would be gone with the night, like a nymph; caught and then disappearing once he looked away.
As they walked closer to the water, the surf surged up the beach, waves lapping against sand before slithering back out again. Moonlight glittered on the ocean’s undulating surface and it looked a little like a great beast breathing slowly up and down, up and down at the world’s edge. Ana’s voice was a purr in his ear as she pointed out that the black expanse before them seemed more abyss-like and ominous than he personally saw it. Stephanos merely smiled and shrugged, not caring to contradict her assertion. Then, she said, “And what was your plan, my prince, bringing us here?”
Now there was a question he could answer.
Stephanos held up his cup and then pressed it into her hands. “My plan is a wicked one,” he assured her with perfect unconcern. “Hold that up, love, yes, like that.” Once the cup was in place, he tipped the mouth of the wine jug against the cup’s rim and watched as dark liquid spilled into the bottom of the glass. “First I plan to ply you with alcohol. You can take a few sips.”
He took back the jug and crossed his arms over it again in a hug, grinning at her. “Then I planned to walk a little ways, make it nice and romantic. I think you’ll note the clear skies. Stars are on our side, gorgeous sea to serenade us. And if that went well I would slip you some kind of charming line and kiss you. As long as that was agreeable I thought we could fool around a bit and if you’re a very good girl, end up in my bed before morning.”
Her boldness about slipping her arms about his waist caught him a little off guard but it wasn’t unwelcome. It told him what he’d already guessed; that she was most definitely willing to play along to whatever he felt like doing with her. He put a hand on her arm, never breaking his stride but she didn’t remain glued to him for long. She reminded him strongly of the way a fish might flirt, the light touches, fins brushing its mate as it swirled around in a fluid dance.
“If you're so concerned, my prince, you could carry me on your back,” she laughed and he barely had time to give that a return laugh and a ‘no’ before she’d slid to his side to press a kiss against his cheek. He turned his head, willing to keep the kiss going but she’d already danced away, walking beside now, her eyes teasing, her lips curving, promising more to come later if he played his cards right.
They walked together for a time, stone road giving way to waving dune grasses, the ground softening and then depressing into white sand. Stephanos liked to chase but this story teller wouldn’t need much convincing, unless he missed his guess. There was something liberating in that, too. It took the mystique out of the encounter but it added an element of surety that put him at ease; she definitely didn’t seem like the kind of person he would have to fight off with a stick when the time came to part. He had a rather fanciful notion that they might end up tangled together in the water or further up the beach, or possibly even at the palati, if he felt like really wooing her. They’d join and then she would be gone with the night, like a nymph; caught and then disappearing once he looked away.
As they walked closer to the water, the surf surged up the beach, waves lapping against sand before slithering back out again. Moonlight glittered on the ocean’s undulating surface and it looked a little like a great beast breathing slowly up and down, up and down at the world’s edge. Ana’s voice was a purr in his ear as she pointed out that the black expanse before them seemed more abyss-like and ominous than he personally saw it. Stephanos merely smiled and shrugged, not caring to contradict her assertion. Then, she said, “And what was your plan, my prince, bringing us here?”
Now there was a question he could answer.
Stephanos held up his cup and then pressed it into her hands. “My plan is a wicked one,” he assured her with perfect unconcern. “Hold that up, love, yes, like that.” Once the cup was in place, he tipped the mouth of the wine jug against the cup’s rim and watched as dark liquid spilled into the bottom of the glass. “First I plan to ply you with alcohol. You can take a few sips.”
He took back the jug and crossed his arms over it again in a hug, grinning at her. “Then I planned to walk a little ways, make it nice and romantic. I think you’ll note the clear skies. Stars are on our side, gorgeous sea to serenade us. And if that went well I would slip you some kind of charming line and kiss you. As long as that was agreeable I thought we could fool around a bit and if you’re a very good girl, end up in my bed before morning.”
"My plan is a wicked one."
Oh?
The way Stephanos spoke was magnetic, an inexorable pull that couldn't relinquish her attentions even if she was tempted away from him. It was strange, and frightening, in a lot of ways. Anastasia of the Siren's Song lived for thrills and adventure, but the way his words and presence seemed to call her out was so... different. Of course when he asked she lifted up the goblet, watching with delight as the sanguine flowed from jug to the bronze receptacle.
Then, he went on in earnest, explaining his most diabolical of schemes. Given the permission to drink from the goblet, she was by no means dissuaded from agreeing. She wanted to drink. Was it Condos wine? A different tincture? She'd only find out by going along with it after all. She raised the goblet to her lips, making sure that she made perfect eye contact with him all the while.
Nice and romantic? Oh, please.
But as he said that, she couldn't help but feel the flush settle upon her cheeks, as it spread along the length of her neck. Stephanos of Mikaelidas... The man was a presence of his own, something ethereal, inescapable. She reveled in his words and the idea of his plan laid out like a sort of fantasy.
Fascinating... she reflected as he finished up his answer and she was left laughing by the notion of it. A good girl, Ana? If only he knew just how incapable of it she was. But, she'd have her way into his bed either way. She was intrigued by the notion, how he made it seem assured, or grandoise. Stephanos held a sort of confidence about him that was far more intoxicating than any drink he could offer her.
"No dancing under the moonlight, to the music of the crashing tide. my lord? Is nothing more romantic than that? The silver stars bathing us in their blessing?"
Anastasia was certainly no romantic, but the storybook fantasies of romance were among her top-selling fables, the sort that she'd been asked again and again by couples and fanciful noblewomen alike to recount. He was an amusing man, and an exquisite one at that. Her gaze clung to his face, but shifted between exploring the musculature of his arms and the covered plane of his chest. There was no need, after all, to hide the secret of his beauty from him.
He was clearly well aware.
"What sort of charming line? I'm certain that I've heard them all, my prince. But, a kiss? So soon after that? How very scandalous of you. Are you a rapscallion, Prince Stephanos?"
She raised her hand to her heart, as if shocked by the betrayal of it all before she raised a hand to his jawline, fingertips intent upon pulling his face closer to hers.
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"My plan is a wicked one."
Oh?
The way Stephanos spoke was magnetic, an inexorable pull that couldn't relinquish her attentions even if she was tempted away from him. It was strange, and frightening, in a lot of ways. Anastasia of the Siren's Song lived for thrills and adventure, but the way his words and presence seemed to call her out was so... different. Of course when he asked she lifted up the goblet, watching with delight as the sanguine flowed from jug to the bronze receptacle.
Then, he went on in earnest, explaining his most diabolical of schemes. Given the permission to drink from the goblet, she was by no means dissuaded from agreeing. She wanted to drink. Was it Condos wine? A different tincture? She'd only find out by going along with it after all. She raised the goblet to her lips, making sure that she made perfect eye contact with him all the while.
Nice and romantic? Oh, please.
But as he said that, she couldn't help but feel the flush settle upon her cheeks, as it spread along the length of her neck. Stephanos of Mikaelidas... The man was a presence of his own, something ethereal, inescapable. She reveled in his words and the idea of his plan laid out like a sort of fantasy.
Fascinating... she reflected as he finished up his answer and she was left laughing by the notion of it. A good girl, Ana? If only he knew just how incapable of it she was. But, she'd have her way into his bed either way. She was intrigued by the notion, how he made it seem assured, or grandoise. Stephanos held a sort of confidence about him that was far more intoxicating than any drink he could offer her.
"No dancing under the moonlight, to the music of the crashing tide. my lord? Is nothing more romantic than that? The silver stars bathing us in their blessing?"
Anastasia was certainly no romantic, but the storybook fantasies of romance were among her top-selling fables, the sort that she'd been asked again and again by couples and fanciful noblewomen alike to recount. He was an amusing man, and an exquisite one at that. Her gaze clung to his face, but shifted between exploring the musculature of his arms and the covered plane of his chest. There was no need, after all, to hide the secret of his beauty from him.
He was clearly well aware.
"What sort of charming line? I'm certain that I've heard them all, my prince. But, a kiss? So soon after that? How very scandalous of you. Are you a rapscallion, Prince Stephanos?"
She raised her hand to her heart, as if shocked by the betrayal of it all before she raised a hand to his jawline, fingertips intent upon pulling his face closer to hers.
"My plan is a wicked one."
Oh?
The way Stephanos spoke was magnetic, an inexorable pull that couldn't relinquish her attentions even if she was tempted away from him. It was strange, and frightening, in a lot of ways. Anastasia of the Siren's Song lived for thrills and adventure, but the way his words and presence seemed to call her out was so... different. Of course when he asked she lifted up the goblet, watching with delight as the sanguine flowed from jug to the bronze receptacle.
Then, he went on in earnest, explaining his most diabolical of schemes. Given the permission to drink from the goblet, she was by no means dissuaded from agreeing. She wanted to drink. Was it Condos wine? A different tincture? She'd only find out by going along with it after all. She raised the goblet to her lips, making sure that she made perfect eye contact with him all the while.
Nice and romantic? Oh, please.
But as he said that, she couldn't help but feel the flush settle upon her cheeks, as it spread along the length of her neck. Stephanos of Mikaelidas... The man was a presence of his own, something ethereal, inescapable. She reveled in his words and the idea of his plan laid out like a sort of fantasy.
Fascinating... she reflected as he finished up his answer and she was left laughing by the notion of it. A good girl, Ana? If only he knew just how incapable of it she was. But, she'd have her way into his bed either way. She was intrigued by the notion, how he made it seem assured, or grandoise. Stephanos held a sort of confidence about him that was far more intoxicating than any drink he could offer her.
"No dancing under the moonlight, to the music of the crashing tide. my lord? Is nothing more romantic than that? The silver stars bathing us in their blessing?"
Anastasia was certainly no romantic, but the storybook fantasies of romance were among her top-selling fables, the sort that she'd been asked again and again by couples and fanciful noblewomen alike to recount. He was an amusing man, and an exquisite one at that. Her gaze clung to his face, but shifted between exploring the musculature of his arms and the covered plane of his chest. There was no need, after all, to hide the secret of his beauty from him.
He was clearly well aware.
"What sort of charming line? I'm certain that I've heard them all, my prince. But, a kiss? So soon after that? How very scandalous of you. Are you a rapscallion, Prince Stephanos?"
She raised her hand to her heart, as if shocked by the betrayal of it all before she raised a hand to his jawline, fingertips intent upon pulling his face closer to hers.
“No dancing under the moonlight, to the music of the crashing tide, my lord?” Ana checked and Stephanos grinned, arching a brow at her. ”Is nothing more romantic than that? The silver stars bathing us in their blessing?”
“We would,” he promised, reaching down to take her hand. They were on the sand now. He stopped to work his feet out of his sandals, leaving them there on the last of the grasses before stepping onto pristine, undisturbed sand. The coast ran in a white ribbon, curving in and out until it disappeared into a rocky black copse some distance off. Stepping back, her hand still in his, he held her out, their hands joined only by their fingertips, as though they were about to start a magnificent dance. Musicians might be hidden amongst the tall grasses and courtiers could possibly swoop down from the air, spinning and twirling in fine fabrics and glittering jewels. “Except you’re beyond such romance.”
“What sort of charming line? I'm certain that I've heard them all, my prince. But, a kiss? So soon after that? How very scandalous of you. Are you a rapscallion, Prince Stephanos?”
He dropped her hand, took his wine, threw a smirk at her over his shoulder, and kept walking. “Coming?” he asked innocently. “I’ll only tell you the answer if you walk further with me.”
These were only games - feeling each other out. He had as much intention of getting her into his bed as she had to be there. Once he had her at his side, he shrugged. “I might be a rapscallion,” he agreed, taking a swig from the wine jug. “I may be worse than that. But,” and here he side eyed her. “I don’t think you were looking for a marriage proposal and I have no intention of giving one. So what are we to do now, Ana of the Siren Song? You with your high morals and me with my low ones?”
They were not far away from the city. The lights still burned brightly and music filtered to them even from here. They really could dance if she was so inclined. But they were also plunged into shadow, quite safe from prying eyes. It would be easy to tumble into sand or grass and be disturbed by no one.
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“No dancing under the moonlight, to the music of the crashing tide, my lord?” Ana checked and Stephanos grinned, arching a brow at her. ”Is nothing more romantic than that? The silver stars bathing us in their blessing?”
“We would,” he promised, reaching down to take her hand. They were on the sand now. He stopped to work his feet out of his sandals, leaving them there on the last of the grasses before stepping onto pristine, undisturbed sand. The coast ran in a white ribbon, curving in and out until it disappeared into a rocky black copse some distance off. Stepping back, her hand still in his, he held her out, their hands joined only by their fingertips, as though they were about to start a magnificent dance. Musicians might be hidden amongst the tall grasses and courtiers could possibly swoop down from the air, spinning and twirling in fine fabrics and glittering jewels. “Except you’re beyond such romance.”
“What sort of charming line? I'm certain that I've heard them all, my prince. But, a kiss? So soon after that? How very scandalous of you. Are you a rapscallion, Prince Stephanos?”
He dropped her hand, took his wine, threw a smirk at her over his shoulder, and kept walking. “Coming?” he asked innocently. “I’ll only tell you the answer if you walk further with me.”
These were only games - feeling each other out. He had as much intention of getting her into his bed as she had to be there. Once he had her at his side, he shrugged. “I might be a rapscallion,” he agreed, taking a swig from the wine jug. “I may be worse than that. But,” and here he side eyed her. “I don’t think you were looking for a marriage proposal and I have no intention of giving one. So what are we to do now, Ana of the Siren Song? You with your high morals and me with my low ones?”
They were not far away from the city. The lights still burned brightly and music filtered to them even from here. They really could dance if she was so inclined. But they were also plunged into shadow, quite safe from prying eyes. It would be easy to tumble into sand or grass and be disturbed by no one.
“No dancing under the moonlight, to the music of the crashing tide, my lord?” Ana checked and Stephanos grinned, arching a brow at her. ”Is nothing more romantic than that? The silver stars bathing us in their blessing?”
“We would,” he promised, reaching down to take her hand. They were on the sand now. He stopped to work his feet out of his sandals, leaving them there on the last of the grasses before stepping onto pristine, undisturbed sand. The coast ran in a white ribbon, curving in and out until it disappeared into a rocky black copse some distance off. Stepping back, her hand still in his, he held her out, their hands joined only by their fingertips, as though they were about to start a magnificent dance. Musicians might be hidden amongst the tall grasses and courtiers could possibly swoop down from the air, spinning and twirling in fine fabrics and glittering jewels. “Except you’re beyond such romance.”
“What sort of charming line? I'm certain that I've heard them all, my prince. But, a kiss? So soon after that? How very scandalous of you. Are you a rapscallion, Prince Stephanos?”
He dropped her hand, took his wine, threw a smirk at her over his shoulder, and kept walking. “Coming?” he asked innocently. “I’ll only tell you the answer if you walk further with me.”
These were only games - feeling each other out. He had as much intention of getting her into his bed as she had to be there. Once he had her at his side, he shrugged. “I might be a rapscallion,” he agreed, taking a swig from the wine jug. “I may be worse than that. But,” and here he side eyed her. “I don’t think you were looking for a marriage proposal and I have no intention of giving one. So what are we to do now, Ana of the Siren Song? You with your high morals and me with my low ones?”
They were not far away from the city. The lights still burned brightly and music filtered to them even from here. They really could dance if she was so inclined. But they were also plunged into shadow, quite safe from prying eyes. It would be easy to tumble into sand or grass and be disturbed by no one.
Ana wondered if part of her might have craved the romance of star-crossed lovers under the moonlight. Perhaps, in another life, she might have been so fortunate to be struck with that sort of lightning. But, circumstance prevented such a thing from being so. And now, the nymph held herself back from such dangerous feelings.
"We would."
A simple enough beginning, coaxing the bard's attentions so that she fixed her gaze inexorably upon the visage of Stephanos of Mikaelidas, his features draped in steep shadows that glimmered with the dash of starlight above them. It was a tantalizing thing, watching the man as he stepped back, as Ana was held out and their fingertips just barely brushed together. It gave of an illusion that would never be. Anastasia allowed herself to relish in the moment, up until he completed his thought.
He's right.
the fables of star-crossed lovers and predestined romance were in the realm of myths and legends that stirred throughout the ages. They were stories that Ana told to young gossiping noble girls, with a well-chosen cadence so as to earn herself their praises, preferably in the form of a greater bounty of gold to take to the tavern and waste the night away with. Certainly, Anastasia was beyond such fairytale romance, and yet... she felt the pout cross her features at the Stephanos' notion.
But, she dismissed it. She spoke out and in turn, was teased with the premise of an answer without anything else to go on. Oh, how intriguing it might be, to learn that answer. She pulled back her hand and felt the girlish giggle pry her lips apart when the prince turned away. Of course she followed. Curious and more than a bit touched by Prince Stephanos and his coy tactics.
She listened intently, her lips curving easily into a smile, nodding her head in agreement with his assessment. She closed the distance between them, letting the fingertips trace along the prince's spine as her other captured the bicep of the arm holding the wine jug.
"Worse than a rapscallion?!" she gasped, note sarcasm bleeding into her overtly shocked expression. She quirked a brow behind him, then pressed forward to mesh her chest against the curve of the prince's back.
"You think too much of me, it seems. My morals," she began, settling her lips upon the flesh of the prince's neck, the hand at her arm slipping against the fabric of his chiton to splay her fingertips along the dip between fabric and the flesh of his chest.
"Are anything but high. I am beyond such romance, as you claimed. So, prince Stephanos of Mikaelidas, what would two such as us, beneath the stars, do with morals as low as ours?"
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Ana wondered if part of her might have craved the romance of star-crossed lovers under the moonlight. Perhaps, in another life, she might have been so fortunate to be struck with that sort of lightning. But, circumstance prevented such a thing from being so. And now, the nymph held herself back from such dangerous feelings.
"We would."
A simple enough beginning, coaxing the bard's attentions so that she fixed her gaze inexorably upon the visage of Stephanos of Mikaelidas, his features draped in steep shadows that glimmered with the dash of starlight above them. It was a tantalizing thing, watching the man as he stepped back, as Ana was held out and their fingertips just barely brushed together. It gave of an illusion that would never be. Anastasia allowed herself to relish in the moment, up until he completed his thought.
He's right.
the fables of star-crossed lovers and predestined romance were in the realm of myths and legends that stirred throughout the ages. They were stories that Ana told to young gossiping noble girls, with a well-chosen cadence so as to earn herself their praises, preferably in the form of a greater bounty of gold to take to the tavern and waste the night away with. Certainly, Anastasia was beyond such fairytale romance, and yet... she felt the pout cross her features at the Stephanos' notion.
But, she dismissed it. She spoke out and in turn, was teased with the premise of an answer without anything else to go on. Oh, how intriguing it might be, to learn that answer. She pulled back her hand and felt the girlish giggle pry her lips apart when the prince turned away. Of course she followed. Curious and more than a bit touched by Prince Stephanos and his coy tactics.
She listened intently, her lips curving easily into a smile, nodding her head in agreement with his assessment. She closed the distance between them, letting the fingertips trace along the prince's spine as her other captured the bicep of the arm holding the wine jug.
"Worse than a rapscallion?!" she gasped, note sarcasm bleeding into her overtly shocked expression. She quirked a brow behind him, then pressed forward to mesh her chest against the curve of the prince's back.
"You think too much of me, it seems. My morals," she began, settling her lips upon the flesh of the prince's neck, the hand at her arm slipping against the fabric of his chiton to splay her fingertips along the dip between fabric and the flesh of his chest.
"Are anything but high. I am beyond such romance, as you claimed. So, prince Stephanos of Mikaelidas, what would two such as us, beneath the stars, do with morals as low as ours?"
Ana wondered if part of her might have craved the romance of star-crossed lovers under the moonlight. Perhaps, in another life, she might have been so fortunate to be struck with that sort of lightning. But, circumstance prevented such a thing from being so. And now, the nymph held herself back from such dangerous feelings.
"We would."
A simple enough beginning, coaxing the bard's attentions so that she fixed her gaze inexorably upon the visage of Stephanos of Mikaelidas, his features draped in steep shadows that glimmered with the dash of starlight above them. It was a tantalizing thing, watching the man as he stepped back, as Ana was held out and their fingertips just barely brushed together. It gave of an illusion that would never be. Anastasia allowed herself to relish in the moment, up until he completed his thought.
He's right.
the fables of star-crossed lovers and predestined romance were in the realm of myths and legends that stirred throughout the ages. They were stories that Ana told to young gossiping noble girls, with a well-chosen cadence so as to earn herself their praises, preferably in the form of a greater bounty of gold to take to the tavern and waste the night away with. Certainly, Anastasia was beyond such fairytale romance, and yet... she felt the pout cross her features at the Stephanos' notion.
But, she dismissed it. She spoke out and in turn, was teased with the premise of an answer without anything else to go on. Oh, how intriguing it might be, to learn that answer. She pulled back her hand and felt the girlish giggle pry her lips apart when the prince turned away. Of course she followed. Curious and more than a bit touched by Prince Stephanos and his coy tactics.
She listened intently, her lips curving easily into a smile, nodding her head in agreement with his assessment. She closed the distance between them, letting the fingertips trace along the prince's spine as her other captured the bicep of the arm holding the wine jug.
"Worse than a rapscallion?!" she gasped, note sarcasm bleeding into her overtly shocked expression. She quirked a brow behind him, then pressed forward to mesh her chest against the curve of the prince's back.
"You think too much of me, it seems. My morals," she began, settling her lips upon the flesh of the prince's neck, the hand at her arm slipping against the fabric of his chiton to splay her fingertips along the dip between fabric and the flesh of his chest.
"Are anything but high. I am beyond such romance, as you claimed. So, prince Stephanos of Mikaelidas, what would two such as us, beneath the stars, do with morals as low as ours?"
