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A sense of calm washed over the bard known only as Anastasia, a calm that was quite unexpected given the large population of the province of Euttica. Ordinarily, the presence of people brought within her a fire, a need to drag herself into the centre of attention. The bard's soul within her had cultivated nicely in the nearly four years since she'd begun the nomadic life that the profession entailed. Her feet had traveled thousands of kilometres since she'd left the kingdom of Athenia, her migrations staggered in pattern. There was a duality in her migration, the welling need to entertain paired beautifully with her desire to avoid the bronze bars of a prison cell. Thievery was the unfortunate spawn of her life enslaved, and she sought to assuage the soul of a kleptomaniac that lived inside of her by satisfying the urge as it manifested. She did not regret the life she lived, but rather grew anxious because of it.
But not now, she realized. Her breath drew in pleased gasps as she drew back and forth. Often, her performances were tempered by the existence of crowds and yet, in one of the kingdom's largest provinces she found space ample enough for a form of entertainment she did not take to often enough for her liking. A wide smile set upon her lips as she placed her favored saucer on the floor. If passerby enjoyed her performance, they might stop by and treat her with an offering both to the bard herself and the Gods themselves. After all, the whispered rumour was that Anastasia was a sea nymph that had learned to dwell on dry land. Poseidon, Apollo and Hermes could lay claim to the feats she was reputed to perform. This day, she'd make her personal patron, Hermes, proud.
Once she found a level footing, Anastasia sat herself down on the ground. The young woman was dressed rather plainly compared to the usual flashy dresses she wore in song. Dresses would do no service to her in the avenue of entertainment she sought to indulge in this day. Instead, she wore a form-fitting tunic bound loosely about her waist, dyed a practical forest green. Trousers were donned, loose enough for her to feel comfort in movement but not enough so to have her slip with an unfortunate movement. She wore no shoes, preferring the feel of the ground beneath her feet as she sought purchase on it. Anastasia bent forward in her seated position, easily drawing her hands to her toes before sinking forward. Her breasts pressed soundly against her thighs. She felt the distinct pleasure of a burn within the back of her thighs before lifting up her arms and letting herself collapse to the ground.
The bard stretched out her arms and legs, straight as a pillar before she bent all of her limbs. She raised her hips towards the sky, holding an arch with the length of her body before she grounded her hands firmly in the earth. Anastasia spun around, her back facing the sky before pushing all of her weight into her palms. She let her legs hover up above her, feeling the flow of her blood dive directly into her face. She bent at the knees, pushing her hands into the earth before guiding herself safely to her feet in one fluid motion. She found a wide grin set upon her features before offering a simple wave to passerby. She bowed to the potential patronage before her efforts began in kind, satisfied with the limberness in her lithe body.
Slow was the ascent from stretching to the subtle dance that brought her arms outward. She extended her hands, palms facing in either direction before a breath filled her lungs. She stood still until she allowed herself to throw her weight backwards. She bent at the hips, catching herself on her hands before whirling her legs into the air. In one swift motion, she pulled herself back to her feet, the distinctive path of a backwards cartwheel. A flush set upon her cheeks and a dash of sweat on her brow, Anastasia took a moment to draw breath before she took to a slow spin, taking to a sensuous shift of her hips. She winked at no one in particular before she drew herself lower and lower. She bent at the waist, placing her palms on the floor before she took 'step' after 'step' with her hands, her legs dashing about in the air. At this, her arms began to strain with the effort. Brief was her moment of struggle, for she moved fluidly to return to her feet before taking a rest from the strain of the physical activity.
Eyes hovered along the crowd before she took a low bow. She searched the small crowd she'd gathered, watched as one after the other a patron dropped a coin or two into her saucer. She offered each a wide smile of gratitude before she stole into the satchel she carried with her. She drew out her waterskin, eagerly taking in long sips in her effort at rest. It was only a matter of time before she sought to perform anew.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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There's a quiet charm about this place.
A sense of calm washed over the bard known only as Anastasia, a calm that was quite unexpected given the large population of the province of Euttica. Ordinarily, the presence of people brought within her a fire, a need to drag herself into the centre of attention. The bard's soul within her had cultivated nicely in the nearly four years since she'd begun the nomadic life that the profession entailed. Her feet had traveled thousands of kilometres since she'd left the kingdom of Athenia, her migrations staggered in pattern. There was a duality in her migration, the welling need to entertain paired beautifully with her desire to avoid the bronze bars of a prison cell. Thievery was the unfortunate spawn of her life enslaved, and she sought to assuage the soul of a kleptomaniac that lived inside of her by satisfying the urge as it manifested. She did not regret the life she lived, but rather grew anxious because of it.
But not now, she realized. Her breath drew in pleased gasps as she drew back and forth. Often, her performances were tempered by the existence of crowds and yet, in one of the kingdom's largest provinces she found space ample enough for a form of entertainment she did not take to often enough for her liking. A wide smile set upon her lips as she placed her favored saucer on the floor. If passerby enjoyed her performance, they might stop by and treat her with an offering both to the bard herself and the Gods themselves. After all, the whispered rumour was that Anastasia was a sea nymph that had learned to dwell on dry land. Poseidon, Apollo and Hermes could lay claim to the feats she was reputed to perform. This day, she'd make her personal patron, Hermes, proud.
Once she found a level footing, Anastasia sat herself down on the ground. The young woman was dressed rather plainly compared to the usual flashy dresses she wore in song. Dresses would do no service to her in the avenue of entertainment she sought to indulge in this day. Instead, she wore a form-fitting tunic bound loosely about her waist, dyed a practical forest green. Trousers were donned, loose enough for her to feel comfort in movement but not enough so to have her slip with an unfortunate movement. She wore no shoes, preferring the feel of the ground beneath her feet as she sought purchase on it. Anastasia bent forward in her seated position, easily drawing her hands to her toes before sinking forward. Her breasts pressed soundly against her thighs. She felt the distinct pleasure of a burn within the back of her thighs before lifting up her arms and letting herself collapse to the ground.
The bard stretched out her arms and legs, straight as a pillar before she bent all of her limbs. She raised her hips towards the sky, holding an arch with the length of her body before she grounded her hands firmly in the earth. Anastasia spun around, her back facing the sky before pushing all of her weight into her palms. She let her legs hover up above her, feeling the flow of her blood dive directly into her face. She bent at the knees, pushing her hands into the earth before guiding herself safely to her feet in one fluid motion. She found a wide grin set upon her features before offering a simple wave to passerby. She bowed to the potential patronage before her efforts began in kind, satisfied with the limberness in her lithe body.
Slow was the ascent from stretching to the subtle dance that brought her arms outward. She extended her hands, palms facing in either direction before a breath filled her lungs. She stood still until she allowed herself to throw her weight backwards. She bent at the hips, catching herself on her hands before whirling her legs into the air. In one swift motion, she pulled herself back to her feet, the distinctive path of a backwards cartwheel. A flush set upon her cheeks and a dash of sweat on her brow, Anastasia took a moment to draw breath before she took to a slow spin, taking to a sensuous shift of her hips. She winked at no one in particular before she drew herself lower and lower. She bent at the waist, placing her palms on the floor before she took 'step' after 'step' with her hands, her legs dashing about in the air. At this, her arms began to strain with the effort. Brief was her moment of struggle, for she moved fluidly to return to her feet before taking a rest from the strain of the physical activity.
Eyes hovered along the crowd before she took a low bow. She searched the small crowd she'd gathered, watched as one after the other a patron dropped a coin or two into her saucer. She offered each a wide smile of gratitude before she stole into the satchel she carried with her. She drew out her waterskin, eagerly taking in long sips in her effort at rest. It was only a matter of time before she sought to perform anew.
There's a quiet charm about this place.
A sense of calm washed over the bard known only as Anastasia, a calm that was quite unexpected given the large population of the province of Euttica. Ordinarily, the presence of people brought within her a fire, a need to drag herself into the centre of attention. The bard's soul within her had cultivated nicely in the nearly four years since she'd begun the nomadic life that the profession entailed. Her feet had traveled thousands of kilometres since she'd left the kingdom of Athenia, her migrations staggered in pattern. There was a duality in her migration, the welling need to entertain paired beautifully with her desire to avoid the bronze bars of a prison cell. Thievery was the unfortunate spawn of her life enslaved, and she sought to assuage the soul of a kleptomaniac that lived inside of her by satisfying the urge as it manifested. She did not regret the life she lived, but rather grew anxious because of it.
But not now, she realized. Her breath drew in pleased gasps as she drew back and forth. Often, her performances were tempered by the existence of crowds and yet, in one of the kingdom's largest provinces she found space ample enough for a form of entertainment she did not take to often enough for her liking. A wide smile set upon her lips as she placed her favored saucer on the floor. If passerby enjoyed her performance, they might stop by and treat her with an offering both to the bard herself and the Gods themselves. After all, the whispered rumour was that Anastasia was a sea nymph that had learned to dwell on dry land. Poseidon, Apollo and Hermes could lay claim to the feats she was reputed to perform. This day, she'd make her personal patron, Hermes, proud.
Once she found a level footing, Anastasia sat herself down on the ground. The young woman was dressed rather plainly compared to the usual flashy dresses she wore in song. Dresses would do no service to her in the avenue of entertainment she sought to indulge in this day. Instead, she wore a form-fitting tunic bound loosely about her waist, dyed a practical forest green. Trousers were donned, loose enough for her to feel comfort in movement but not enough so to have her slip with an unfortunate movement. She wore no shoes, preferring the feel of the ground beneath her feet as she sought purchase on it. Anastasia bent forward in her seated position, easily drawing her hands to her toes before sinking forward. Her breasts pressed soundly against her thighs. She felt the distinct pleasure of a burn within the back of her thighs before lifting up her arms and letting herself collapse to the ground.
The bard stretched out her arms and legs, straight as a pillar before she bent all of her limbs. She raised her hips towards the sky, holding an arch with the length of her body before she grounded her hands firmly in the earth. Anastasia spun around, her back facing the sky before pushing all of her weight into her palms. She let her legs hover up above her, feeling the flow of her blood dive directly into her face. She bent at the knees, pushing her hands into the earth before guiding herself safely to her feet in one fluid motion. She found a wide grin set upon her features before offering a simple wave to passerby. She bowed to the potential patronage before her efforts began in kind, satisfied with the limberness in her lithe body.
Slow was the ascent from stretching to the subtle dance that brought her arms outward. She extended her hands, palms facing in either direction before a breath filled her lungs. She stood still until she allowed herself to throw her weight backwards. She bent at the hips, catching herself on her hands before whirling her legs into the air. In one swift motion, she pulled herself back to her feet, the distinctive path of a backwards cartwheel. A flush set upon her cheeks and a dash of sweat on her brow, Anastasia took a moment to draw breath before she took to a slow spin, taking to a sensuous shift of her hips. She winked at no one in particular before she drew herself lower and lower. She bent at the waist, placing her palms on the floor before she took 'step' after 'step' with her hands, her legs dashing about in the air. At this, her arms began to strain with the effort. Brief was her moment of struggle, for she moved fluidly to return to her feet before taking a rest from the strain of the physical activity.
Eyes hovered along the crowd before she took a low bow. She searched the small crowd she'd gathered, watched as one after the other a patron dropped a coin or two into her saucer. She offered each a wide smile of gratitude before she stole into the satchel she carried with her. She drew out her waterskin, eagerly taking in long sips in her effort at rest. It was only a matter of time before she sought to perform anew.
It was a rare day of doing little for Achilleas. A balmy day in early summer, he had wandered down into the town where there was some small festival taking place. It never hurt for the baron to show his face at such events, which made him seem more accessible to the people of the province even if he were not.
With a frame that would prove daunting to many, Achilleas stood taller than almost any other in Taengea and boasted the musculature of a man who took his role as a soldier just as seriously as he did his role of baron. He might have made for an intimidating sight were it not for the fact that he was ready with a smile for those that offered one to him, having learned from his father how simple it could be to please the masses that way.
He even stopped and made small talk with the baker's boy who came out and offered the Mikaelidas Lord and the soldier by his side freshly baked bread, sending the lead on his way with a bronze coin and a wide grin on his face.
Thinking he would just wander through the main square and then return to the Manor House that sat proudly upon the hill overlooking the town, Achilleas was not expecting to have his attention drawn by any of the wandering artists or musicians that had descended upon his sleepy province. And it seemed the event had been quite the draw, with small flags hung between the stone houses, and a number of women having set up shop selling refreshments from their front doors. The baron accepted those things offered to him, discreetly passing them off to his Lieutenant because if he were to eat everything then he would be as round as the cow brought down for the slaughter.
But as he and Lycaeus rounded a corner, they were met by a small group of people stopped and gathered to watch one of the performers, and the baron lifted an eyebrow and looked over the heads of the townsfolk to see a young woman- a dancer perhaps?- and he held a hand up to stay his companion, interested to see what had drawn a crowd when there was so much else on offer. She was small and dark-haired, generally pleasing to the eye, Achilleas thought as he observed for a couple of moments. Long enough to see the girl perform some sort of acrobatic style dance that was unlike anything he had seen before, and the baron caught the performer’s eye over the crowd as she stopped, tilted his head to the side and eyed her speculatively for a moment.
He was tempted to go and speak with her, but to do so here in the town square would draw too much attention and so Achilleas went to move on, only to find his way impeded by a gaggle of girls that he really could do without on this day. Daughters of one of Euttica's wealthier merchants, he was convinced the mother had set the girls after him with hope of a bastard child, or some other sort of muddle they could cling to. It could not be marriage surely, he hoped they could not be so deluded, but either way, they were a thorn in his side.
Flawed in that he did not like to give offence or hurt feelings, Achilleas had been gentle in his previous rebuffs of the three sisters. Too gentle perhaps, because they did not seem to take the hint and the baron found himself surrounded by them, chattering and vying for his attention in a way that grated on his nerves. Still he plastered a smile upon his face, because it would not do to be rude.
Lycaeus - who was truly turning out to be a terrible personal guard in Achilleas' less than humble opinion - was standing some way away, engrossed in conversation with an elderly man about the price of good bronze, and so the Mikaelidas Lord resolved himself to weather whatever inanity was to be thrown at him next. There was a reason, he mused, that he only ever made his presence at such events fleeting.
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 a rare day of doing little for Achilleas. A balmy day in early summer, he had wandered down into the town where there was some small festival taking place. It never hurt for the baron to show his face at such events, which made him seem more accessible to the people of the province even if he were not.
With a frame that would prove daunting to many, Achilleas stood taller than almost any other in Taengea and boasted the musculature of a man who took his role as a soldier just as seriously as he did his role of baron. He might have made for an intimidating sight were it not for the fact that he was ready with a smile for those that offered one to him, having learned from his father how simple it could be to please the masses that way.
He even stopped and made small talk with the baker's boy who came out and offered the Mikaelidas Lord and the soldier by his side freshly baked bread, sending the lead on his way with a bronze coin and a wide grin on his face.
Thinking he would just wander through the main square and then return to the Manor House that sat proudly upon the hill overlooking the town, Achilleas was not expecting to have his attention drawn by any of the wandering artists or musicians that had descended upon his sleepy province. And it seemed the event had been quite the draw, with small flags hung between the stone houses, and a number of women having set up shop selling refreshments from their front doors. The baron accepted those things offered to him, discreetly passing them off to his Lieutenant because if he were to eat everything then he would be as round as the cow brought down for the slaughter.
But as he and Lycaeus rounded a corner, they were met by a small group of people stopped and gathered to watch one of the performers, and the baron lifted an eyebrow and looked over the heads of the townsfolk to see a young woman- a dancer perhaps?- and he held a hand up to stay his companion, interested to see what had drawn a crowd when there was so much else on offer. She was small and dark-haired, generally pleasing to the eye, Achilleas thought as he observed for a couple of moments. Long enough to see the girl perform some sort of acrobatic style dance that was unlike anything he had seen before, and the baron caught the performer’s eye over the crowd as she stopped, tilted his head to the side and eyed her speculatively for a moment.
He was tempted to go and speak with her, but to do so here in the town square would draw too much attention and so Achilleas went to move on, only to find his way impeded by a gaggle of girls that he really could do without on this day. Daughters of one of Euttica's wealthier merchants, he was convinced the mother had set the girls after him with hope of a bastard child, or some other sort of muddle they could cling to. It could not be marriage surely, he hoped they could not be so deluded, but either way, they were a thorn in his side.
Flawed in that he did not like to give offence or hurt feelings, Achilleas had been gentle in his previous rebuffs of the three sisters. Too gentle perhaps, because they did not seem to take the hint and the baron found himself surrounded by them, chattering and vying for his attention in a way that grated on his nerves. Still he plastered a smile upon his face, because it would not do to be rude.
Lycaeus - who was truly turning out to be a terrible personal guard in Achilleas' less than humble opinion - was standing some way away, engrossed in conversation with an elderly man about the price of good bronze, and so the Mikaelidas Lord resolved himself to weather whatever inanity was to be thrown at him next. There was a reason, he mused, that he only ever made his presence at such events fleeting.
It was a rare day of doing little for Achilleas. A balmy day in early summer, he had wandered down into the town where there was some small festival taking place. It never hurt for the baron to show his face at such events, which made him seem more accessible to the people of the province even if he were not.
With a frame that would prove daunting to many, Achilleas stood taller than almost any other in Taengea and boasted the musculature of a man who took his role as a soldier just as seriously as he did his role of baron. He might have made for an intimidating sight were it not for the fact that he was ready with a smile for those that offered one to him, having learned from his father how simple it could be to please the masses that way.
He even stopped and made small talk with the baker's boy who came out and offered the Mikaelidas Lord and the soldier by his side freshly baked bread, sending the lead on his way with a bronze coin and a wide grin on his face.
Thinking he would just wander through the main square and then return to the Manor House that sat proudly upon the hill overlooking the town, Achilleas was not expecting to have his attention drawn by any of the wandering artists or musicians that had descended upon his sleepy province. And it seemed the event had been quite the draw, with small flags hung between the stone houses, and a number of women having set up shop selling refreshments from their front doors. The baron accepted those things offered to him, discreetly passing them off to his Lieutenant because if he were to eat everything then he would be as round as the cow brought down for the slaughter.
But as he and Lycaeus rounded a corner, they were met by a small group of people stopped and gathered to watch one of the performers, and the baron lifted an eyebrow and looked over the heads of the townsfolk to see a young woman- a dancer perhaps?- and he held a hand up to stay his companion, interested to see what had drawn a crowd when there was so much else on offer. She was small and dark-haired, generally pleasing to the eye, Achilleas thought as he observed for a couple of moments. Long enough to see the girl perform some sort of acrobatic style dance that was unlike anything he had seen before, and the baron caught the performer’s eye over the crowd as she stopped, tilted his head to the side and eyed her speculatively for a moment.
He was tempted to go and speak with her, but to do so here in the town square would draw too much attention and so Achilleas went to move on, only to find his way impeded by a gaggle of girls that he really could do without on this day. Daughters of one of Euttica's wealthier merchants, he was convinced the mother had set the girls after him with hope of a bastard child, or some other sort of muddle they could cling to. It could not be marriage surely, he hoped they could not be so deluded, but either way, they were a thorn in his side.
Flawed in that he did not like to give offence or hurt feelings, Achilleas had been gentle in his previous rebuffs of the three sisters. Too gentle perhaps, because they did not seem to take the hint and the baron found himself surrounded by them, chattering and vying for his attention in a way that grated on his nerves. Still he plastered a smile upon his face, because it would not do to be rude.
Lycaeus - who was truly turning out to be a terrible personal guard in Achilleas' less than humble opinion - was standing some way away, engrossed in conversation with an elderly man about the price of good bronze, and so the Mikaelidas Lord resolved himself to weather whatever inanity was to be thrown at him next. There was a reason, he mused, that he only ever made his presence at such events fleeting.
The baron of Euttica was not a man Anastasia knew by sight, but the presence of Achilleas before her immediately alerted her to the idea that he was a man of prominence. Taller and broader than almost every other man in the province that Ana could see, it was the mystique of beauty that informed the opinion of the lord's significance. She could also ascertain, based on the accompanying militant and the people who hounded the lord's footsteps, that she was on the right track. She finished her performance and collected her coin, bowing graciously and offering her attention to those who donated to the cause of her livelihood. But never did the lord leave the bard's attention for very long. Compulsion, inquisitiveness and the disposition that might endear her to those in power to look upon her kindly were thr assets upon which she drew on to make herself known.
Then, Anastasia heard the familiar gaggle of women that surrounded the lord. Or rather, surrounded the prominent man given gifts and lavished with attention. It was only natural for her to presume, and she was given more than enough to go on once one of the girls shouted out his name and station then lavished him with the praise his station rightfully deserved. However, it seemed, rather than be content with the attention or given naturally to it like some of the royals Ana had known in her lifetime... the lord Achilleas seemed... uncomfortable? It was a testament to his polite disposition that he didn't merely lash out at the moment his discomfort grew. Some men were taken to power and wielded it like a blade... others took to it and used it as a shield to guard their charges with. But then others still seemed uncomfortable at the notion of the notoriety their power granted...
Was that Lord Achilleas in a nutshell? Anastasia was far too curious for her own good, and she took it upon herself to discover more. Just as the gaggle of women lashed out with tendrils in the form of arms, the heads of a hydra made of human flesh all intent on laying claim to flesh with the bite of human lips and adulation, Anastasia collected her things and stepped forward. The woman was ill-dressed to be the lover of a man such as Achilleas, and so, she instead took on a different approach. Graceful steps took her to the lord, her hands taken with a towel to purge the sweat from her brow and along the expanse of her throat. The fabric seeped with the perspiration just above the curve of her breasts when she arrived to Achilleas and gave to him an undue form of familiarity.
"My lord, not to barge in on your... meeting, here. But were we still scheduled for today? I apologize for being ill dressed, but I didn't expect for you to see me so soon! I can leave and return in a better attire, or I can follow you immediately? From what I understood, I'd be changing into something you had prepared for me regardless. A visitation from your father, after all, so important!" she mused aloud.
Anastasia winked at the guard before pulling the lord back and away from the girls, intent on giving the soldier enough time to tame the medusas as she sought to acknowledge the lord properly. She leaned close to whisper into the lord's ear,
"Just go with it. Let me follow you for a time, then we can go our separate ways once you're in a safer environment," she mused. Her words were almost dripping with pity, and along his shoulder Anastasia pressed a reassuring hand. Lord Achilleas was clearly a man built for battle, but being bested by women he was too polite to rebuke gave her quite a strong impression of the man. He was too respectable for his own good, a damsel in the body of a hero. Truly, it was Anastasia' prerogative to get in his good graces if he was tamed so easily as that. It was a flicker of greed mixed in with a sincere desire to help.
After all, shouldn't good deeds be justly rewarded?
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
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The baron of Euttica was not a man Anastasia knew by sight, but the presence of Achilleas before her immediately alerted her to the idea that he was a man of prominence. Taller and broader than almost every other man in the province that Ana could see, it was the mystique of beauty that informed the opinion of the lord's significance. She could also ascertain, based on the accompanying militant and the people who hounded the lord's footsteps, that she was on the right track. She finished her performance and collected her coin, bowing graciously and offering her attention to those who donated to the cause of her livelihood. But never did the lord leave the bard's attention for very long. Compulsion, inquisitiveness and the disposition that might endear her to those in power to look upon her kindly were thr assets upon which she drew on to make herself known.
Then, Anastasia heard the familiar gaggle of women that surrounded the lord. Or rather, surrounded the prominent man given gifts and lavished with attention. It was only natural for her to presume, and she was given more than enough to go on once one of the girls shouted out his name and station then lavished him with the praise his station rightfully deserved. However, it seemed, rather than be content with the attention or given naturally to it like some of the royals Ana had known in her lifetime... the lord Achilleas seemed... uncomfortable? It was a testament to his polite disposition that he didn't merely lash out at the moment his discomfort grew. Some men were taken to power and wielded it like a blade... others took to it and used it as a shield to guard their charges with. But then others still seemed uncomfortable at the notion of the notoriety their power granted...
Was that Lord Achilleas in a nutshell? Anastasia was far too curious for her own good, and she took it upon herself to discover more. Just as the gaggle of women lashed out with tendrils in the form of arms, the heads of a hydra made of human flesh all intent on laying claim to flesh with the bite of human lips and adulation, Anastasia collected her things and stepped forward. The woman was ill-dressed to be the lover of a man such as Achilleas, and so, she instead took on a different approach. Graceful steps took her to the lord, her hands taken with a towel to purge the sweat from her brow and along the expanse of her throat. The fabric seeped with the perspiration just above the curve of her breasts when she arrived to Achilleas and gave to him an undue form of familiarity.
"My lord, not to barge in on your... meeting, here. But were we still scheduled for today? I apologize for being ill dressed, but I didn't expect for you to see me so soon! I can leave and return in a better attire, or I can follow you immediately? From what I understood, I'd be changing into something you had prepared for me regardless. A visitation from your father, after all, so important!" she mused aloud.
Anastasia winked at the guard before pulling the lord back and away from the girls, intent on giving the soldier enough time to tame the medusas as she sought to acknowledge the lord properly. She leaned close to whisper into the lord's ear,
"Just go with it. Let me follow you for a time, then we can go our separate ways once you're in a safer environment," she mused. Her words were almost dripping with pity, and along his shoulder Anastasia pressed a reassuring hand. Lord Achilleas was clearly a man built for battle, but being bested by women he was too polite to rebuke gave her quite a strong impression of the man. He was too respectable for his own good, a damsel in the body of a hero. Truly, it was Anastasia' prerogative to get in his good graces if he was tamed so easily as that. It was a flicker of greed mixed in with a sincere desire to help.
After all, shouldn't good deeds be justly rewarded?
The baron of Euttica was not a man Anastasia knew by sight, but the presence of Achilleas before her immediately alerted her to the idea that he was a man of prominence. Taller and broader than almost every other man in the province that Ana could see, it was the mystique of beauty that informed the opinion of the lord's significance. She could also ascertain, based on the accompanying militant and the people who hounded the lord's footsteps, that she was on the right track. She finished her performance and collected her coin, bowing graciously and offering her attention to those who donated to the cause of her livelihood. But never did the lord leave the bard's attention for very long. Compulsion, inquisitiveness and the disposition that might endear her to those in power to look upon her kindly were thr assets upon which she drew on to make herself known.
Then, Anastasia heard the familiar gaggle of women that surrounded the lord. Or rather, surrounded the prominent man given gifts and lavished with attention. It was only natural for her to presume, and she was given more than enough to go on once one of the girls shouted out his name and station then lavished him with the praise his station rightfully deserved. However, it seemed, rather than be content with the attention or given naturally to it like some of the royals Ana had known in her lifetime... the lord Achilleas seemed... uncomfortable? It was a testament to his polite disposition that he didn't merely lash out at the moment his discomfort grew. Some men were taken to power and wielded it like a blade... others took to it and used it as a shield to guard their charges with. But then others still seemed uncomfortable at the notion of the notoriety their power granted...
Was that Lord Achilleas in a nutshell? Anastasia was far too curious for her own good, and she took it upon herself to discover more. Just as the gaggle of women lashed out with tendrils in the form of arms, the heads of a hydra made of human flesh all intent on laying claim to flesh with the bite of human lips and adulation, Anastasia collected her things and stepped forward. The woman was ill-dressed to be the lover of a man such as Achilleas, and so, she instead took on a different approach. Graceful steps took her to the lord, her hands taken with a towel to purge the sweat from her brow and along the expanse of her throat. The fabric seeped with the perspiration just above the curve of her breasts when she arrived to Achilleas and gave to him an undue form of familiarity.
"My lord, not to barge in on your... meeting, here. But were we still scheduled for today? I apologize for being ill dressed, but I didn't expect for you to see me so soon! I can leave and return in a better attire, or I can follow you immediately? From what I understood, I'd be changing into something you had prepared for me regardless. A visitation from your father, after all, so important!" she mused aloud.
Anastasia winked at the guard before pulling the lord back and away from the girls, intent on giving the soldier enough time to tame the medusas as she sought to acknowledge the lord properly. She leaned close to whisper into the lord's ear,
"Just go with it. Let me follow you for a time, then we can go our separate ways once you're in a safer environment," she mused. Her words were almost dripping with pity, and along his shoulder Anastasia pressed a reassuring hand. Lord Achilleas was clearly a man built for battle, but being bested by women he was too polite to rebuke gave her quite a strong impression of the man. He was too respectable for his own good, a damsel in the body of a hero. Truly, it was Anastasia' prerogative to get in his good graces if he was tamed so easily as that. It was a flicker of greed mixed in with a sincere desire to help.
After all, shouldn't good deeds be justly rewarded?
As Achilleas feigned interest in talk of some music recital that he had absolutely no intention of attending, he tried to politely extract himself from the over familiar grip that the eldest of the three girls had taken upon his arm. It was not that he was not flattered - how could one not be - but rather that the Lord had no intention of causing an uproar by availing himself of one of these girls and then dealing with the fallout when it was revealed that he had absolutely no intention of marrying them. Relationships with those prominent figures within the province were more important than the novelty of plowing someone new. And so he endured the attention and was pleasant but nothing beyond that, whilst silently counting down the minutes until he could make his escape.
Tall enough to easily see beyond the gaggle of girls that surrounded him, the Baron had glanced at the approaching street artist briefly before being drawn back into conversation, so he was perhaps less startled by her sudden appearance than he might have otherwise been. But still, Achilleas looked a little bemused by her presence as she deftly slipped between the other girls to draw close to his side.
The momentary look of confusion however was quickly swept away as her whispered words reached him and he comprehended her intent. Though curious as to her motivations, the Lord was not about to refuse the chance of extricating himself from the clutches of the merchant’s daughters and Achilleas lifted his brows and gave a small nod.
“Aah..of course. Forgive me, I had lost track of time it would seem in such delightful company.” The baron offered a smile to his unwanted companions “But you are right, we should make haste in order to allow you to uh..ready yourself” His gaze drifted over the woman’s attire with an appropriate amount of disdain that was not entirely falsified before he returned his attention to the girls who were now eyeing the interloper with varying degrees of dislike. “My apologies, my ladies, but duty calls. Enjoy the rest of the festival won't you?”
With a slight inclination of his head, Achilleas made a polite exit, shooting his guard a look as he allowed the tiny girl to follow him as long, purposeful strides began to carry him away from the central square. He waited until they had rounded a couple of corners and were well away from the crowds until he stopped and turned to look down at the performer.
He stared at her a moment as if trying to figure her out, before addressing her. “ I don’t believe we have met, and I do not like to find myself indebted to a stranger, even if the intervention was unlooked for. What is your name girl?”
The Lord’s blue gaze settled expectantly upon the dark-haired girl, undecided if he were more grateful, or perhaps a little annoyed that she seemed to think him in need of her assistance. Good manners might have seen him suffer the attentions of the Euttican townsfolk, but he was not entirely unable to shut people down if so required. He was a Commander of the Taengean armies for Hades’ sake. Achilleas decided he was curious enough to hear the girl out though, so he waited for her answer.
“Lord Achilleas of Mikaelidas, Baron of Euttica” he offered in response “But I’m assuming you had gathered at least of some of that yourself?”
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As Achilleas feigned interest in talk of some music recital that he had absolutely no intention of attending, he tried to politely extract himself from the over familiar grip that the eldest of the three girls had taken upon his arm. It was not that he was not flattered - how could one not be - but rather that the Lord had no intention of causing an uproar by availing himself of one of these girls and then dealing with the fallout when it was revealed that he had absolutely no intention of marrying them. Relationships with those prominent figures within the province were more important than the novelty of plowing someone new. And so he endured the attention and was pleasant but nothing beyond that, whilst silently counting down the minutes until he could make his escape.
Tall enough to easily see beyond the gaggle of girls that surrounded him, the Baron had glanced at the approaching street artist briefly before being drawn back into conversation, so he was perhaps less startled by her sudden appearance than he might have otherwise been. But still, Achilleas looked a little bemused by her presence as she deftly slipped between the other girls to draw close to his side.
The momentary look of confusion however was quickly swept away as her whispered words reached him and he comprehended her intent. Though curious as to her motivations, the Lord was not about to refuse the chance of extricating himself from the clutches of the merchant’s daughters and Achilleas lifted his brows and gave a small nod.
“Aah..of course. Forgive me, I had lost track of time it would seem in such delightful company.” The baron offered a smile to his unwanted companions “But you are right, we should make haste in order to allow you to uh..ready yourself” His gaze drifted over the woman’s attire with an appropriate amount of disdain that was not entirely falsified before he returned his attention to the girls who were now eyeing the interloper with varying degrees of dislike. “My apologies, my ladies, but duty calls. Enjoy the rest of the festival won't you?”
With a slight inclination of his head, Achilleas made a polite exit, shooting his guard a look as he allowed the tiny girl to follow him as long, purposeful strides began to carry him away from the central square. He waited until they had rounded a couple of corners and were well away from the crowds until he stopped and turned to look down at the performer.
He stared at her a moment as if trying to figure her out, before addressing her. “ I don’t believe we have met, and I do not like to find myself indebted to a stranger, even if the intervention was unlooked for. What is your name girl?”
The Lord’s blue gaze settled expectantly upon the dark-haired girl, undecided if he were more grateful, or perhaps a little annoyed that she seemed to think him in need of her assistance. Good manners might have seen him suffer the attentions of the Euttican townsfolk, but he was not entirely unable to shut people down if so required. He was a Commander of the Taengean armies for Hades’ sake. Achilleas decided he was curious enough to hear the girl out though, so he waited for her answer.
“Lord Achilleas of Mikaelidas, Baron of Euttica” he offered in response “But I’m assuming you had gathered at least of some of that yourself?”
As Achilleas feigned interest in talk of some music recital that he had absolutely no intention of attending, he tried to politely extract himself from the over familiar grip that the eldest of the three girls had taken upon his arm. It was not that he was not flattered - how could one not be - but rather that the Lord had no intention of causing an uproar by availing himself of one of these girls and then dealing with the fallout when it was revealed that he had absolutely no intention of marrying them. Relationships with those prominent figures within the province were more important than the novelty of plowing someone new. And so he endured the attention and was pleasant but nothing beyond that, whilst silently counting down the minutes until he could make his escape.
Tall enough to easily see beyond the gaggle of girls that surrounded him, the Baron had glanced at the approaching street artist briefly before being drawn back into conversation, so he was perhaps less startled by her sudden appearance than he might have otherwise been. But still, Achilleas looked a little bemused by her presence as she deftly slipped between the other girls to draw close to his side.
The momentary look of confusion however was quickly swept away as her whispered words reached him and he comprehended her intent. Though curious as to her motivations, the Lord was not about to refuse the chance of extricating himself from the clutches of the merchant’s daughters and Achilleas lifted his brows and gave a small nod.
“Aah..of course. Forgive me, I had lost track of time it would seem in such delightful company.” The baron offered a smile to his unwanted companions “But you are right, we should make haste in order to allow you to uh..ready yourself” His gaze drifted over the woman’s attire with an appropriate amount of disdain that was not entirely falsified before he returned his attention to the girls who were now eyeing the interloper with varying degrees of dislike. “My apologies, my ladies, but duty calls. Enjoy the rest of the festival won't you?”
With a slight inclination of his head, Achilleas made a polite exit, shooting his guard a look as he allowed the tiny girl to follow him as long, purposeful strides began to carry him away from the central square. He waited until they had rounded a couple of corners and were well away from the crowds until he stopped and turned to look down at the performer.
He stared at her a moment as if trying to figure her out, before addressing her. “ I don’t believe we have met, and I do not like to find myself indebted to a stranger, even if the intervention was unlooked for. What is your name girl?”
The Lord’s blue gaze settled expectantly upon the dark-haired girl, undecided if he were more grateful, or perhaps a little annoyed that she seemed to think him in need of her assistance. Good manners might have seen him suffer the attentions of the Euttican townsfolk, but he was not entirely unable to shut people down if so required. He was a Commander of the Taengean armies for Hades’ sake. Achilleas decided he was curious enough to hear the girl out though, so he waited for her answer.
“Lord Achilleas of Mikaelidas, Baron of Euttica” he offered in response “But I’m assuming you had gathered at least of some of that yourself?”
In another age, Anastasia couldn't help but be a waif in the wind, so enthused by even the slightest bit of royal attention. After all, these figures were enigmatic and so high above a woman such as Calliope of Aetaea. What else could she do but grovel to them? She'd given herself freely to the royal she'd known in Athenia, letting him distract her from the terror that was her life, and reveling in those charms, knowing full well that nothing would come of it.
Calliope of Aetaea allowed herself to be a means to an end, a game for others to play. Now? Anastasia was the player, the influence that drew others to her. Her purposes were numerous, but nonetheless, she couldn't help but continue to see these figures of beauty and might as what they were. After all, now they were her best customers. If the baron of Euttica was to let himself be swept up in the wind to be saved by whichever heroine allowed herself to whisk him into her arms... Then why shouldn't those arms be hers?
"Aah... of course. Forgive me. I had lost track of time it would seem in such delightful company."
It was almost adorable, seeing such a mighty man be forced into lies in order to assuage the concerns of the hydra. Tendrils still coiled about him, so desperate to feel and play along the breadth of such an exquisite form. Under other circumstances, Anastasia might feel similar compulsion, but she foremost, perhaps her fixation would be focused on those waifs that formed the hydra itself. Then, all too eager to pick up on her cues, he pulled away from the hydra and thus, so did Anastasia. Once they were separated from the mess, the bard did not dare touch the lord again. She'd done what she had, and now, there was propriety to follow all over again.
The young woman laid one last glance at the hydra, which had untangled itself to be a group of women, obviously both enraged and jealous of the attention Anastasia received instead. As if to rub salt in the wound, she blew a kiss towards the group and quickly led Lord Achilleas on and away from them. Anastasia let every movement of hers follow with a slight sway of the hips, undisguised glee at the success of her endeavor set. Once they were out of sight and the hydra was out of mind, she felt the scrutinizing stare of the baron of Euttica and met it with a playful smoulder of her own. Anastasia of the Siren's Song was no longer a fearful being, and allowed her emotions to flow freely in the moments where appropriate.
Being the saviour, the heroine, and the subject of such benign questioning? It was perfect for her to make the impression of independence that she always wished to transpose. The wide smile upon her lips did nothing to show the rapid pulse within her chest, nor the nerves that threatened to encase her.
I am the phoenix, she murmured in her thoughts. She imagined herself as the fiery bird, arisen from the ashes, and the smile grew wider still. Anastasia tilted her head as the baron spoke after his question. The bard felt no need to answer him immediately. After all, his words were infinitely more important than hers. The bard knew her place, and she was quite intrigued. That intrigue overwhelmed the bundle of nerves and she let soft laughter catch upon her lips. She wondered if the guard next to her might jump at such laughter, but she was nothing if not agile. No hands that were not given permission would touch her.
"You're quite right, of course. We've never met, my lord. But, of course you wouldn't want to be indebted to much of anyone. Someone in your position might find it... unsavoury. But, it is my privilege to serve. It would be quite damaging to what I'm sure is an utterly untarnished reputation for you to rebuke women harshly. Public appearances must be so difficult for you," she observed, never once lifting the smile from her lips.
"I am Anastasia of the Siren's Song, a storyteller from the seas, given legs to educate and serve Poseidon's will," she let out, a flourish in her motion. If he thought it a mere alias or a truth, it truly didn't matter. The purpose of a bard was to entertain, not to dictate the truth. His introduction was much of what she'd gathered, but seeing that he was a baron...
Lord Achilleas of Mikaelidas.
The baron bore the name of the lionhearted family, famed within Taengea and the seat of the monarchy. It was quite an honour for her to meet him, particularly in the condition she found him in. Her lips curved wider still as she folded her body in a proper curtsy. In the absence of a chiton to grasp, she placed her hands upon her hips, inclining her head so that she was staring directly at his shin before she answered him,
"Judging by the hydra you couldn't slay, your guardsman, and, pardon my forwardness, but the gods-given attractiveness about you... It's impossible for you to be anything but prominent, my lord. However, learning that you're the baron of this province is quite... enlightening. Worry not, my lord, I am not so naive as to try to court you. Though, appreciation given through any of your innumerable means is most gracious," she answered, looking up to him at last.
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In another age, Anastasia couldn't help but be a waif in the wind, so enthused by even the slightest bit of royal attention. After all, these figures were enigmatic and so high above a woman such as Calliope of Aetaea. What else could she do but grovel to them? She'd given herself freely to the royal she'd known in Athenia, letting him distract her from the terror that was her life, and reveling in those charms, knowing full well that nothing would come of it.
Calliope of Aetaea allowed herself to be a means to an end, a game for others to play. Now? Anastasia was the player, the influence that drew others to her. Her purposes were numerous, but nonetheless, she couldn't help but continue to see these figures of beauty and might as what they were. After all, now they were her best customers. If the baron of Euttica was to let himself be swept up in the wind to be saved by whichever heroine allowed herself to whisk him into her arms... Then why shouldn't those arms be hers?
"Aah... of course. Forgive me. I had lost track of time it would seem in such delightful company."
It was almost adorable, seeing such a mighty man be forced into lies in order to assuage the concerns of the hydra. Tendrils still coiled about him, so desperate to feel and play along the breadth of such an exquisite form. Under other circumstances, Anastasia might feel similar compulsion, but she foremost, perhaps her fixation would be focused on those waifs that formed the hydra itself. Then, all too eager to pick up on her cues, he pulled away from the hydra and thus, so did Anastasia. Once they were separated from the mess, the bard did not dare touch the lord again. She'd done what she had, and now, there was propriety to follow all over again.
The young woman laid one last glance at the hydra, which had untangled itself to be a group of women, obviously both enraged and jealous of the attention Anastasia received instead. As if to rub salt in the wound, she blew a kiss towards the group and quickly led Lord Achilleas on and away from them. Anastasia let every movement of hers follow with a slight sway of the hips, undisguised glee at the success of her endeavor set. Once they were out of sight and the hydra was out of mind, she felt the scrutinizing stare of the baron of Euttica and met it with a playful smoulder of her own. Anastasia of the Siren's Song was no longer a fearful being, and allowed her emotions to flow freely in the moments where appropriate.
Being the saviour, the heroine, and the subject of such benign questioning? It was perfect for her to make the impression of independence that she always wished to transpose. The wide smile upon her lips did nothing to show the rapid pulse within her chest, nor the nerves that threatened to encase her.
I am the phoenix, she murmured in her thoughts. She imagined herself as the fiery bird, arisen from the ashes, and the smile grew wider still. Anastasia tilted her head as the baron spoke after his question. The bard felt no need to answer him immediately. After all, his words were infinitely more important than hers. The bard knew her place, and she was quite intrigued. That intrigue overwhelmed the bundle of nerves and she let soft laughter catch upon her lips. She wondered if the guard next to her might jump at such laughter, but she was nothing if not agile. No hands that were not given permission would touch her.
"You're quite right, of course. We've never met, my lord. But, of course you wouldn't want to be indebted to much of anyone. Someone in your position might find it... unsavoury. But, it is my privilege to serve. It would be quite damaging to what I'm sure is an utterly untarnished reputation for you to rebuke women harshly. Public appearances must be so difficult for you," she observed, never once lifting the smile from her lips.
"I am Anastasia of the Siren's Song, a storyteller from the seas, given legs to educate and serve Poseidon's will," she let out, a flourish in her motion. If he thought it a mere alias or a truth, it truly didn't matter. The purpose of a bard was to entertain, not to dictate the truth. His introduction was much of what she'd gathered, but seeing that he was a baron...
Lord Achilleas of Mikaelidas.
The baron bore the name of the lionhearted family, famed within Taengea and the seat of the monarchy. It was quite an honour for her to meet him, particularly in the condition she found him in. Her lips curved wider still as she folded her body in a proper curtsy. In the absence of a chiton to grasp, she placed her hands upon her hips, inclining her head so that she was staring directly at his shin before she answered him,
"Judging by the hydra you couldn't slay, your guardsman, and, pardon my forwardness, but the gods-given attractiveness about you... It's impossible for you to be anything but prominent, my lord. However, learning that you're the baron of this province is quite... enlightening. Worry not, my lord, I am not so naive as to try to court you. Though, appreciation given through any of your innumerable means is most gracious," she answered, looking up to him at last.
In another age, Anastasia couldn't help but be a waif in the wind, so enthused by even the slightest bit of royal attention. After all, these figures were enigmatic and so high above a woman such as Calliope of Aetaea. What else could she do but grovel to them? She'd given herself freely to the royal she'd known in Athenia, letting him distract her from the terror that was her life, and reveling in those charms, knowing full well that nothing would come of it.
Calliope of Aetaea allowed herself to be a means to an end, a game for others to play. Now? Anastasia was the player, the influence that drew others to her. Her purposes were numerous, but nonetheless, she couldn't help but continue to see these figures of beauty and might as what they were. After all, now they were her best customers. If the baron of Euttica was to let himself be swept up in the wind to be saved by whichever heroine allowed herself to whisk him into her arms... Then why shouldn't those arms be hers?
"Aah... of course. Forgive me. I had lost track of time it would seem in such delightful company."
It was almost adorable, seeing such a mighty man be forced into lies in order to assuage the concerns of the hydra. Tendrils still coiled about him, so desperate to feel and play along the breadth of such an exquisite form. Under other circumstances, Anastasia might feel similar compulsion, but she foremost, perhaps her fixation would be focused on those waifs that formed the hydra itself. Then, all too eager to pick up on her cues, he pulled away from the hydra and thus, so did Anastasia. Once they were separated from the mess, the bard did not dare touch the lord again. She'd done what she had, and now, there was propriety to follow all over again.
The young woman laid one last glance at the hydra, which had untangled itself to be a group of women, obviously both enraged and jealous of the attention Anastasia received instead. As if to rub salt in the wound, she blew a kiss towards the group and quickly led Lord Achilleas on and away from them. Anastasia let every movement of hers follow with a slight sway of the hips, undisguised glee at the success of her endeavor set. Once they were out of sight and the hydra was out of mind, she felt the scrutinizing stare of the baron of Euttica and met it with a playful smoulder of her own. Anastasia of the Siren's Song was no longer a fearful being, and allowed her emotions to flow freely in the moments where appropriate.
Being the saviour, the heroine, and the subject of such benign questioning? It was perfect for her to make the impression of independence that she always wished to transpose. The wide smile upon her lips did nothing to show the rapid pulse within her chest, nor the nerves that threatened to encase her.
I am the phoenix, she murmured in her thoughts. She imagined herself as the fiery bird, arisen from the ashes, and the smile grew wider still. Anastasia tilted her head as the baron spoke after his question. The bard felt no need to answer him immediately. After all, his words were infinitely more important than hers. The bard knew her place, and she was quite intrigued. That intrigue overwhelmed the bundle of nerves and she let soft laughter catch upon her lips. She wondered if the guard next to her might jump at such laughter, but she was nothing if not agile. No hands that were not given permission would touch her.
"You're quite right, of course. We've never met, my lord. But, of course you wouldn't want to be indebted to much of anyone. Someone in your position might find it... unsavoury. But, it is my privilege to serve. It would be quite damaging to what I'm sure is an utterly untarnished reputation for you to rebuke women harshly. Public appearances must be so difficult for you," she observed, never once lifting the smile from her lips.
"I am Anastasia of the Siren's Song, a storyteller from the seas, given legs to educate and serve Poseidon's will," she let out, a flourish in her motion. If he thought it a mere alias or a truth, it truly didn't matter. The purpose of a bard was to entertain, not to dictate the truth. His introduction was much of what she'd gathered, but seeing that he was a baron...
Lord Achilleas of Mikaelidas.
The baron bore the name of the lionhearted family, famed within Taengea and the seat of the monarchy. It was quite an honour for her to meet him, particularly in the condition she found him in. Her lips curved wider still as she folded her body in a proper curtsy. In the absence of a chiton to grasp, she placed her hands upon her hips, inclining her head so that she was staring directly at his shin before she answered him,
"Judging by the hydra you couldn't slay, your guardsman, and, pardon my forwardness, but the gods-given attractiveness about you... It's impossible for you to be anything but prominent, my lord. However, learning that you're the baron of this province is quite... enlightening. Worry not, my lord, I am not so naive as to try to court you. Though, appreciation given through any of your innumerable means is most gracious," she answered, looking up to him at last.
It would have been a lie to say that Achilleas did not notice the girl’s beauty, delicate and yet her manner suggested otherwise, given that she had been forward enough to step in and extract a nobleman from conversation. Even it had been unwanted. He had to tilt his head a good deal for she was tiny in comparison to his bulk, and yet there was no sign of timidity, and she did not hurry to furnish the Lord with an answer. And when it came, Achilleas could not quite decide if she were being impertinent or not.
‘You're quite right, of course. We've never met, my lord. But, of course you wouldn't want to be indebted to much of anyone. Someone in your position might find it... unsavoury. But, it is my privilege to serve. It would be quite damaging to what I'm sure is an utterly untarnished reputation for you to rebuke women harshly. Public appearances must be so difficult for you’
Nothing she said was untrue, exactly, but it was rather uncommon for those of lower birth to be so candid, and so bold as to make assumptions about what might or might not be difficult for their betters. The Lord glanced briefly at the guard who now had decided that he ought to pay some attention to his baron, and then his blue gaze fell back upon the young woman, taking in the curved smile and looking to see if she hid some mocking beneath its sweetness. For if there was one thing Achilleas of Mikaelidas did take seriously, it was his reputation. That fickle perception that people could cobble together in an instant and yet would be whispered forever after, indeed the baron was careful to ensure what impression he would offer. He held himself to high standards because nothing else would be acceptable to his father, the man who bore the title Prince that he could not pass to his sons. It did not stop the man holding lofty expectations though. Choosing to ignore that rather too perceptive observation, Achilleas turned focus instead to the girl.
“Anastasia of the siren’s song” the Lord repeated, with a brief upward slant of one brow. “Do you have no home you call your own, Anastasia?”
It was common, after all, for those without noble birth to take the name of their province, but perhaps she just liked the theatre of it, he did not know. He offered his own name then, watched her face for any dawning recognition, or worse if she affected no reaction at. That put him on edge almost more than the fawning. At least such women were obvious in their desires and it made such pitfalls easier to sidestep. Those who were quieter and more subtle, it was too easy to misjudge.
This girl though was blunt enough that she coaxed a smile from him, a polite one to deflect a compliment for something he had no control over, and Achilleas was again struck by how easily she seemed to have read his discomfort of before. If such was the case, had it been so visible to others? He would need to work on that. He gave a slightly forced laugh at the her reassurance - or perhaps it was the fact that she thought he needed reassurance, that she did not intend to try and seduce him, shot Lycaueus a look that dared him to do repeat this conversation before he returned his attention to the little woman.
“Well you have my appreciation,” he said, and then furrowed his brow a little in consideration. It was a moment before he spoke on. “Why do you not present yourself at the Kalospiti this evening? I caught a glimpse of your act earlier, if there is something similar you can perform for my guests then perhaps we can find some way to thank you for your..good citizenship, Anastasia.”
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It would have been a lie to say that Achilleas did not notice the girl’s beauty, delicate and yet her manner suggested otherwise, given that she had been forward enough to step in and extract a nobleman from conversation. Even it had been unwanted. He had to tilt his head a good deal for she was tiny in comparison to his bulk, and yet there was no sign of timidity, and she did not hurry to furnish the Lord with an answer. And when it came, Achilleas could not quite decide if she were being impertinent or not.
‘You're quite right, of course. We've never met, my lord. But, of course you wouldn't want to be indebted to much of anyone. Someone in your position might find it... unsavoury. But, it is my privilege to serve. It would be quite damaging to what I'm sure is an utterly untarnished reputation for you to rebuke women harshly. Public appearances must be so difficult for you’
Nothing she said was untrue, exactly, but it was rather uncommon for those of lower birth to be so candid, and so bold as to make assumptions about what might or might not be difficult for their betters. The Lord glanced briefly at the guard who now had decided that he ought to pay some attention to his baron, and then his blue gaze fell back upon the young woman, taking in the curved smile and looking to see if she hid some mocking beneath its sweetness. For if there was one thing Achilleas of Mikaelidas did take seriously, it was his reputation. That fickle perception that people could cobble together in an instant and yet would be whispered forever after, indeed the baron was careful to ensure what impression he would offer. He held himself to high standards because nothing else would be acceptable to his father, the man who bore the title Prince that he could not pass to his sons. It did not stop the man holding lofty expectations though. Choosing to ignore that rather too perceptive observation, Achilleas turned focus instead to the girl.
“Anastasia of the siren’s song” the Lord repeated, with a brief upward slant of one brow. “Do you have no home you call your own, Anastasia?”
It was common, after all, for those without noble birth to take the name of their province, but perhaps she just liked the theatre of it, he did not know. He offered his own name then, watched her face for any dawning recognition, or worse if she affected no reaction at. That put him on edge almost more than the fawning. At least such women were obvious in their desires and it made such pitfalls easier to sidestep. Those who were quieter and more subtle, it was too easy to misjudge.
This girl though was blunt enough that she coaxed a smile from him, a polite one to deflect a compliment for something he had no control over, and Achilleas was again struck by how easily she seemed to have read his discomfort of before. If such was the case, had it been so visible to others? He would need to work on that. He gave a slightly forced laugh at the her reassurance - or perhaps it was the fact that she thought he needed reassurance, that she did not intend to try and seduce him, shot Lycaueus a look that dared him to do repeat this conversation before he returned his attention to the little woman.
“Well you have my appreciation,” he said, and then furrowed his brow a little in consideration. It was a moment before he spoke on. “Why do you not present yourself at the Kalospiti this evening? I caught a glimpse of your act earlier, if there is something similar you can perform for my guests then perhaps we can find some way to thank you for your..good citizenship, Anastasia.”
It would have been a lie to say that Achilleas did not notice the girl’s beauty, delicate and yet her manner suggested otherwise, given that she had been forward enough to step in and extract a nobleman from conversation. Even it had been unwanted. He had to tilt his head a good deal for she was tiny in comparison to his bulk, and yet there was no sign of timidity, and she did not hurry to furnish the Lord with an answer. And when it came, Achilleas could not quite decide if she were being impertinent or not.
‘You're quite right, of course. We've never met, my lord. But, of course you wouldn't want to be indebted to much of anyone. Someone in your position might find it... unsavoury. But, it is my privilege to serve. It would be quite damaging to what I'm sure is an utterly untarnished reputation for you to rebuke women harshly. Public appearances must be so difficult for you’
Nothing she said was untrue, exactly, but it was rather uncommon for those of lower birth to be so candid, and so bold as to make assumptions about what might or might not be difficult for their betters. The Lord glanced briefly at the guard who now had decided that he ought to pay some attention to his baron, and then his blue gaze fell back upon the young woman, taking in the curved smile and looking to see if she hid some mocking beneath its sweetness. For if there was one thing Achilleas of Mikaelidas did take seriously, it was his reputation. That fickle perception that people could cobble together in an instant and yet would be whispered forever after, indeed the baron was careful to ensure what impression he would offer. He held himself to high standards because nothing else would be acceptable to his father, the man who bore the title Prince that he could not pass to his sons. It did not stop the man holding lofty expectations though. Choosing to ignore that rather too perceptive observation, Achilleas turned focus instead to the girl.
“Anastasia of the siren’s song” the Lord repeated, with a brief upward slant of one brow. “Do you have no home you call your own, Anastasia?”
It was common, after all, for those without noble birth to take the name of their province, but perhaps she just liked the theatre of it, he did not know. He offered his own name then, watched her face for any dawning recognition, or worse if she affected no reaction at. That put him on edge almost more than the fawning. At least such women were obvious in their desires and it made such pitfalls easier to sidestep. Those who were quieter and more subtle, it was too easy to misjudge.
This girl though was blunt enough that she coaxed a smile from him, a polite one to deflect a compliment for something he had no control over, and Achilleas was again struck by how easily she seemed to have read his discomfort of before. If such was the case, had it been so visible to others? He would need to work on that. He gave a slightly forced laugh at the her reassurance - or perhaps it was the fact that she thought he needed reassurance, that she did not intend to try and seduce him, shot Lycaueus a look that dared him to do repeat this conversation before he returned his attention to the little woman.
“Well you have my appreciation,” he said, and then furrowed his brow a little in consideration. It was a moment before he spoke on. “Why do you not present yourself at the Kalospiti this evening? I caught a glimpse of your act earlier, if there is something similar you can perform for my guests then perhaps we can find some way to thank you for your..good citizenship, Anastasia.”
Anastasia of the siren's song? Do you have no home you call your own, Anastasia?
It was a fair ask, but not one that she heard from anyone before. Looking upon Anastasia, those of lower birth were often enraptured by her words or her appearance, and paid little mind to the eccentric means with which she labeled herself. Did the baron of Euttica truly care? Or was it the curiosity of the matter that drew his attentions. Anastasia always reveled in the making of her legend. Carefully cultivated, she amassed legends and tales to weave into reality. Carefully shaped, she kept her visage, the body and voice she offered to the public a temple in offering to the Gods. Carefully kept, she wove the shroud that was her clout to disguise her true nature.
"A bard needs no home, my lord. One could call Taengea my home, but I do not hail from it. To be a siren is to lull the men of many lands," she mused, the coy smile forged upon her lips as their conversation moved past the point. However, the idea of home was no longer something that appealed to her for the reason described, but there was certainly more to it than simply that. But, the baron seemed to fall silent, as if reflective of something. She hadn't meant to set him on edge with her pulling him away from the hydra, but he seemed disconcerted by... something. It simply didn't do, but the way his laughter afterwards drew from his lips...
Anastasia was amused. Curiosity was a weakness of hers, and while it would be to her detriment to pry deeper, or to insist that she could seduce him if she so chose, she decided against it. This prim and proper prince, while gorgeous in everty way including his polite disposition, simply did not appeal to Anastasia in that particular way. Or, perhaps, the greed nestled within her soul was not so ardent as to coerce him into something he would regret. Anastasia liked having people on her side, and it seemed that the prince took himself a bit too seriously for her interest.
When the conversation turned and he offered his appreciation, however, her eyes grew wide and the smile turned from the coy meanderings of a woman prying to something altogether less playful. The laughter that spilled from her after he made his point was pure, a musical note in every utterance as she took a step back and offered the baron a gracious bow.
"It would be my honour to accept, of course. Performance is my purpose," she mustered, even as a flush dusted her countenance. Was it the heat or was being invited for a personal performance at a royal manor something that made her... warm? It was a pleasurable sensation, and altogether welcome, but she'd have to assess the wya she reacted and fix it. To appear nonplussed, with polite interest and nothing but 'her best foot forward' was the nature of her trade, and being caught by surprise with much of anything set her on edge. Adaptivity was her ally, after all.
Anastasia couldn't help but imagine what sort of bounty could be found in a royal manor, and what sort of watchful eye she'd be under. Even now, the royal garb that the baron wore, the splendor of his dress and the name which he bore told her of the opulence he knew and she was more than curious to find his company and what she could gather from their collective presence. Her thoughts whirled, but the poised neutrality set firmly in her expression as she tilted her head,
"Is my lord having a house party? Or is this entertainment for a family? I ask, of course, in the interest of knowing what sort of show to put on for you," she mused, a soft click of her tongue following the question as she shifted her garb. She was eager to leave, for the sweat of her performance was making her uncomfortable. Assembling the proper dress was critical to her success in an endeavor involving any sort of higher born company.
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Anastasia of the siren's song? Do you have no home you call your own, Anastasia?
It was a fair ask, but not one that she heard from anyone before. Looking upon Anastasia, those of lower birth were often enraptured by her words or her appearance, and paid little mind to the eccentric means with which she labeled herself. Did the baron of Euttica truly care? Or was it the curiosity of the matter that drew his attentions. Anastasia always reveled in the making of her legend. Carefully cultivated, she amassed legends and tales to weave into reality. Carefully shaped, she kept her visage, the body and voice she offered to the public a temple in offering to the Gods. Carefully kept, she wove the shroud that was her clout to disguise her true nature.
"A bard needs no home, my lord. One could call Taengea my home, but I do not hail from it. To be a siren is to lull the men of many lands," she mused, the coy smile forged upon her lips as their conversation moved past the point. However, the idea of home was no longer something that appealed to her for the reason described, but there was certainly more to it than simply that. But, the baron seemed to fall silent, as if reflective of something. She hadn't meant to set him on edge with her pulling him away from the hydra, but he seemed disconcerted by... something. It simply didn't do, but the way his laughter afterwards drew from his lips...
Anastasia was amused. Curiosity was a weakness of hers, and while it would be to her detriment to pry deeper, or to insist that she could seduce him if she so chose, she decided against it. This prim and proper prince, while gorgeous in everty way including his polite disposition, simply did not appeal to Anastasia in that particular way. Or, perhaps, the greed nestled within her soul was not so ardent as to coerce him into something he would regret. Anastasia liked having people on her side, and it seemed that the prince took himself a bit too seriously for her interest.
When the conversation turned and he offered his appreciation, however, her eyes grew wide and the smile turned from the coy meanderings of a woman prying to something altogether less playful. The laughter that spilled from her after he made his point was pure, a musical note in every utterance as she took a step back and offered the baron a gracious bow.
"It would be my honour to accept, of course. Performance is my purpose," she mustered, even as a flush dusted her countenance. Was it the heat or was being invited for a personal performance at a royal manor something that made her... warm? It was a pleasurable sensation, and altogether welcome, but she'd have to assess the wya she reacted and fix it. To appear nonplussed, with polite interest and nothing but 'her best foot forward' was the nature of her trade, and being caught by surprise with much of anything set her on edge. Adaptivity was her ally, after all.
Anastasia couldn't help but imagine what sort of bounty could be found in a royal manor, and what sort of watchful eye she'd be under. Even now, the royal garb that the baron wore, the splendor of his dress and the name which he bore told her of the opulence he knew and she was more than curious to find his company and what she could gather from their collective presence. Her thoughts whirled, but the poised neutrality set firmly in her expression as she tilted her head,
"Is my lord having a house party? Or is this entertainment for a family? I ask, of course, in the interest of knowing what sort of show to put on for you," she mused, a soft click of her tongue following the question as she shifted her garb. She was eager to leave, for the sweat of her performance was making her uncomfortable. Assembling the proper dress was critical to her success in an endeavor involving any sort of higher born company.
Anastasia of the siren's song? Do you have no home you call your own, Anastasia?
It was a fair ask, but not one that she heard from anyone before. Looking upon Anastasia, those of lower birth were often enraptured by her words or her appearance, and paid little mind to the eccentric means with which she labeled herself. Did the baron of Euttica truly care? Or was it the curiosity of the matter that drew his attentions. Anastasia always reveled in the making of her legend. Carefully cultivated, she amassed legends and tales to weave into reality. Carefully shaped, she kept her visage, the body and voice she offered to the public a temple in offering to the Gods. Carefully kept, she wove the shroud that was her clout to disguise her true nature.
"A bard needs no home, my lord. One could call Taengea my home, but I do not hail from it. To be a siren is to lull the men of many lands," she mused, the coy smile forged upon her lips as their conversation moved past the point. However, the idea of home was no longer something that appealed to her for the reason described, but there was certainly more to it than simply that. But, the baron seemed to fall silent, as if reflective of something. She hadn't meant to set him on edge with her pulling him away from the hydra, but he seemed disconcerted by... something. It simply didn't do, but the way his laughter afterwards drew from his lips...
Anastasia was amused. Curiosity was a weakness of hers, and while it would be to her detriment to pry deeper, or to insist that she could seduce him if she so chose, she decided against it. This prim and proper prince, while gorgeous in everty way including his polite disposition, simply did not appeal to Anastasia in that particular way. Or, perhaps, the greed nestled within her soul was not so ardent as to coerce him into something he would regret. Anastasia liked having people on her side, and it seemed that the prince took himself a bit too seriously for her interest.
When the conversation turned and he offered his appreciation, however, her eyes grew wide and the smile turned from the coy meanderings of a woman prying to something altogether less playful. The laughter that spilled from her after he made his point was pure, a musical note in every utterance as she took a step back and offered the baron a gracious bow.
"It would be my honour to accept, of course. Performance is my purpose," she mustered, even as a flush dusted her countenance. Was it the heat or was being invited for a personal performance at a royal manor something that made her... warm? It was a pleasurable sensation, and altogether welcome, but she'd have to assess the wya she reacted and fix it. To appear nonplussed, with polite interest and nothing but 'her best foot forward' was the nature of her trade, and being caught by surprise with much of anything set her on edge. Adaptivity was her ally, after all.
Anastasia couldn't help but imagine what sort of bounty could be found in a royal manor, and what sort of watchful eye she'd be under. Even now, the royal garb that the baron wore, the splendor of his dress and the name which he bore told her of the opulence he knew and she was more than curious to find his company and what she could gather from their collective presence. Her thoughts whirled, but the poised neutrality set firmly in her expression as she tilted her head,
"Is my lord having a house party? Or is this entertainment for a family? I ask, of course, in the interest of knowing what sort of show to put on for you," she mused, a soft click of her tongue following the question as she shifted her garb. She was eager to leave, for the sweat of her performance was making her uncomfortable. Assembling the proper dress was critical to her success in an endeavor involving any sort of higher born company.
Achilleas nodded, but he could not really understand the appeal of a rootless existence. He valued the familiar, liked the comfort and security of his home in Euttica, and would choose it over Vasiliadon everyday. Truly, it was only when he set foot over the threshold that he ever felt he could really relax, take a breath. He was not naturally the most gregarious of people, though his role in life had seen the behaviour trained into him: it was expected that he would show his face court functions, he had to attend the senate, and he had perfected the social niceties that enabled him to do so. Almost to the extent that he forgot he was pretending to enjoy himself, until he was away from it all and he felt that bone-deep weariness that came from playing a part for so long. It was a sharp contrast indeed to the young girl before him who seemingly thrived off a transient existence, but from performing too.
Admittedly, his own efforts were a good deal more subtle than the kind of act that he had seen from Anastasia in the preceding moments. There was entertainment to be found in that at least, and an opportunity for him to offer some form of thanks for her efforts, for though uninvited they were not unwelcome.
When she asked if he was having a party, Achilleas pulled a face that suggested not and gave the girl a clue as to what his feelings toward that were before he moved to answer verbally. “No. Nothing like that. Family and some visiting acquaintances” And not even acquaintances of his, but rather of his mother. It would make the evening pass that much more quickly if there were something other to focus on other than the well-meaning interrogation he was likely to receive otherwise. Poorly veiled questions pertaining to his marriage prospects and the inevitable unburdening of whatever woes his mother’s friends had been nursing that somehow he was supposed to be able to address instantly because he was baron...no. No thankyou.
“Do you know where you are going?” Achilleas asked the girl, unsure how familiar she was with the town. Not that it would take much effort to locate the sprawling manor house atop the hill that was the seat of the Mikaelidas barony. Situated in amongst the olive groves and orchards, it felt secluded enough but boasted charming views out over the town below. It was one of Achilleas’ favourite places.
“When you present yourself, ask for Petros. He’ll deal with you” the baron said, not intending it to sound quite as dismissive as it perhaps did. Petros was as much part of the furniture as anything else in the manor, and ran the place when his Lord was called away to war, or back to Vasiliadon as was often the case. When Achilleas had first taken on the barony at just sixteen years old, it had been the old steward who’d guided him quietly when the younger man had been so desperate to prove himself to his father. Many years had passed since then, though not all things changed: Achilleas quest to somehow satisfy the prince of the realm not abating, nor growing any easier.
His mother at least was easier to please, and Achilleas was quite sure this arrangement would be a welcome diversion for her and her friends. “ Until later then, Anastasia” The baron gave a crisp nod and turned on his heel, moving away, the guard shooting Ana a quick look and a slight bow before hurrying to catch up with his Lord. It would give the young girl a handful of hours to prepare herself for her evening engagement.
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Achilleas nodded, but he could not really understand the appeal of a rootless existence. He valued the familiar, liked the comfort and security of his home in Euttica, and would choose it over Vasiliadon everyday. Truly, it was only when he set foot over the threshold that he ever felt he could really relax, take a breath. He was not naturally the most gregarious of people, though his role in life had seen the behaviour trained into him: it was expected that he would show his face court functions, he had to attend the senate, and he had perfected the social niceties that enabled him to do so. Almost to the extent that he forgot he was pretending to enjoy himself, until he was away from it all and he felt that bone-deep weariness that came from playing a part for so long. It was a sharp contrast indeed to the young girl before him who seemingly thrived off a transient existence, but from performing too.
Admittedly, his own efforts were a good deal more subtle than the kind of act that he had seen from Anastasia in the preceding moments. There was entertainment to be found in that at least, and an opportunity for him to offer some form of thanks for her efforts, for though uninvited they were not unwelcome.
When she asked if he was having a party, Achilleas pulled a face that suggested not and gave the girl a clue as to what his feelings toward that were before he moved to answer verbally. “No. Nothing like that. Family and some visiting acquaintances” And not even acquaintances of his, but rather of his mother. It would make the evening pass that much more quickly if there were something other to focus on other than the well-meaning interrogation he was likely to receive otherwise. Poorly veiled questions pertaining to his marriage prospects and the inevitable unburdening of whatever woes his mother’s friends had been nursing that somehow he was supposed to be able to address instantly because he was baron...no. No thankyou.
“Do you know where you are going?” Achilleas asked the girl, unsure how familiar she was with the town. Not that it would take much effort to locate the sprawling manor house atop the hill that was the seat of the Mikaelidas barony. Situated in amongst the olive groves and orchards, it felt secluded enough but boasted charming views out over the town below. It was one of Achilleas’ favourite places.
“When you present yourself, ask for Petros. He’ll deal with you” the baron said, not intending it to sound quite as dismissive as it perhaps did. Petros was as much part of the furniture as anything else in the manor, and ran the place when his Lord was called away to war, or back to Vasiliadon as was often the case. When Achilleas had first taken on the barony at just sixteen years old, it had been the old steward who’d guided him quietly when the younger man had been so desperate to prove himself to his father. Many years had passed since then, though not all things changed: Achilleas quest to somehow satisfy the prince of the realm not abating, nor growing any easier.
His mother at least was easier to please, and Achilleas was quite sure this arrangement would be a welcome diversion for her and her friends. “ Until later then, Anastasia” The baron gave a crisp nod and turned on his heel, moving away, the guard shooting Ana a quick look and a slight bow before hurrying to catch up with his Lord. It would give the young girl a handful of hours to prepare herself for her evening engagement.
Achilleas nodded, but he could not really understand the appeal of a rootless existence. He valued the familiar, liked the comfort and security of his home in Euttica, and would choose it over Vasiliadon everyday. Truly, it was only when he set foot over the threshold that he ever felt he could really relax, take a breath. He was not naturally the most gregarious of people, though his role in life had seen the behaviour trained into him: it was expected that he would show his face court functions, he had to attend the senate, and he had perfected the social niceties that enabled him to do so. Almost to the extent that he forgot he was pretending to enjoy himself, until he was away from it all and he felt that bone-deep weariness that came from playing a part for so long. It was a sharp contrast indeed to the young girl before him who seemingly thrived off a transient existence, but from performing too.
Admittedly, his own efforts were a good deal more subtle than the kind of act that he had seen from Anastasia in the preceding moments. There was entertainment to be found in that at least, and an opportunity for him to offer some form of thanks for her efforts, for though uninvited they were not unwelcome.
When she asked if he was having a party, Achilleas pulled a face that suggested not and gave the girl a clue as to what his feelings toward that were before he moved to answer verbally. “No. Nothing like that. Family and some visiting acquaintances” And not even acquaintances of his, but rather of his mother. It would make the evening pass that much more quickly if there were something other to focus on other than the well-meaning interrogation he was likely to receive otherwise. Poorly veiled questions pertaining to his marriage prospects and the inevitable unburdening of whatever woes his mother’s friends had been nursing that somehow he was supposed to be able to address instantly because he was baron...no. No thankyou.
“Do you know where you are going?” Achilleas asked the girl, unsure how familiar she was with the town. Not that it would take much effort to locate the sprawling manor house atop the hill that was the seat of the Mikaelidas barony. Situated in amongst the olive groves and orchards, it felt secluded enough but boasted charming views out over the town below. It was one of Achilleas’ favourite places.
“When you present yourself, ask for Petros. He’ll deal with you” the baron said, not intending it to sound quite as dismissive as it perhaps did. Petros was as much part of the furniture as anything else in the manor, and ran the place when his Lord was called away to war, or back to Vasiliadon as was often the case. When Achilleas had first taken on the barony at just sixteen years old, it had been the old steward who’d guided him quietly when the younger man had been so desperate to prove himself to his father. Many years had passed since then, though not all things changed: Achilleas quest to somehow satisfy the prince of the realm not abating, nor growing any easier.
His mother at least was easier to please, and Achilleas was quite sure this arrangement would be a welcome diversion for her and her friends. “ Until later then, Anastasia” The baron gave a crisp nod and turned on his heel, moving away, the guard shooting Ana a quick look and a slight bow before hurrying to catch up with his Lord. It would give the young girl a handful of hours to prepare herself for her evening engagement.