The chatbox has been hidden for this page. It will reopen upon refresh. To hide the CBox permanently, select "Permanently Toggle Cbox" in your profile User Settings.
This chatbox is hidden. To reopen, edit your User Settings.
The Taengean force is now within sight of the Egyptian shoreline. Sure enough, as their intellect had forewarned, within a narrow cove lie several dozen war ships, almost complete in their construction. Months of work on the part of the Egyptians. Now, King Achilleas has the opportunity to render this war moot and forgotten before it has started, as he orders the men to douse their lanterns, bring in the sails that risk reflecting the moonlight, and bring out the oars... quietly...
JD
Staff Team
JD
Staff Team
This post was created by our staff team.
Please contact us with your queries and questions.
The Taengean force is now within sight of the Egyptian shoreline. Sure enough, as their intellect had forewarned, within a narrow cove lie several dozen war ships, almost complete in their construction. Months of work on the part of the Egyptians. Now, King Achilleas has the opportunity to render this war moot and forgotten before it has started, as he orders the men to douse their lanterns, bring in the sails that risk reflecting the moonlight, and bring out the oars... quietly...
Drown Their Efforts Event - Egypt
The Taengean force is now within sight of the Egyptian shoreline. Sure enough, as their intellect had forewarned, within a narrow cove lie several dozen war ships, almost complete in their construction. Months of work on the part of the Egyptians. Now, King Achilleas has the opportunity to render this war moot and forgotten before it has started, as he orders the men to douse their lanterns, bring in the sails that risk reflecting the moonlight, and bring out the oars... quietly...
It had been an easy passage. Favourable winds, a gentle sea, enough to give the Grecians hope that indeed they had the Gods favour in this endeavour. And why would they not? They had sacrificed, begged the indulgence of their immortal masters each in turn. Superstition would not let many a man attempt such a voyage without such preparation, and for King Achilleas himself, he felt the fate of these soldiers in his hands also and wished to leave nothing to chance. sons should return to mothers, fathers to daughters. And if they were to die, then let it be glorious and their names spoken on the lips of their kinsman for years to come. These were the things he had asked in his own pleas to those above him who held such power.
There had been that fire of anticipation in the men: they were not many, but they had an important task to fulfill and one that could shift the trajectory of this war before it was little more than a whisper of a threat. And if nothing else, the days at sea had given Achilleas and Krysto ample time to discuss the plans they had, based on what information their spies had passed their way.
If all went as hoped, they would be able to strike a blow at the Egyptians’ ability to bring the war to Taengea and be back on their way with little bloodshed. Though he could feel the men’s energy grow restless and fevered the nearer they drew to the desert land. Achilleas moved to stand beside the Captain, braced himself and let his knees bend a little to counter the rolling of the waves.
“How long until we make landfall?” he asked of the man, eyes fixed on the distant horizon. “We need darkness to ensure we are not seen, I do not want us coming in close the shoreline until the sun has set and we have that cover” Once assured that the instruction had not been forgotten and that they were making good time to come into sight of the shore once Apollo had stolen the light, Achilleas turned to see the rest of the handful of ships that sailed from Taengea, each cutting through the waves with the breath of the wind and the sweat and efforts of the well-muscled oarsmen. The King wanted their strength conserved as much as possible until it was needed, and they were not quite at that point yet, so the two sails still swelled with wind and gave the Taengean vessels that little assistance in making swift passage through the Aegean.
Searching out his good friend, Achilleas moved toward the man until he drew level with where Krysto stood. “Urion says we are on track to be able to land tonight, with the cover of darkness to hide our arrival. Assuming our friends have not steered us wrong, we should come upon the cove and be able to pull up on to the sands, regroup before we send a party to find and torch those ships.”
It was all as they had discussed as they pored over the maps and charts back in Vasiliadon, but now to be so close to actioning their plans, it made for an anticipatory feeling that could be felt throughout their number. And it was a solid plan, for as much as they knew. Achilleas was prepared to adjust as necessary once they actually reached Egyptian shores, but the basic premise would remain the same. Be as discreet as they could be, destroy as many ships as possible.
And as the hours had slipped away, and with it, the light, sure enough, soon the dark mass of land could just about be seen looming out of dusk, and the first of those required adjustments became apparent.
“Your majesty” came the voice of a young soldier as he skittered to a halt before the King. There was an urgency to his tone that had Achilleas look immediately to him, brows raised an impatient nod for the man to go on. “It is the Egyptian ships, my King. They are not on the beach but on the water!”
And sure enough, when Achilleas strained to see, there was the slight shift of a mast visible against what could only be a rockface beyond. Fuck. Not only did that mean that their foes were further ahead in their preparations than the Greeks had hoped, but it also meant there would need to be a swift amendment to what had been planned. In a handful of long strides, Achilleas had reached Krysto, brought the man over so he too could see what the young hoplite had flagged.
“Different tactics but same outcome required” Achilleas murmured. The sails were already down, there was no light but that offered by the stars and moon above, and little sound bar the gently splash of oars cutting through the water. “ We need the strongest swimmers.” he said to his friend and to the Captain. “We do what we came to do, and then if we need to sail some way down the coast to stop and gather water then that is what we will do. There may still be an opportunity here”
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
It had been an easy passage. Favourable winds, a gentle sea, enough to give the Grecians hope that indeed they had the Gods favour in this endeavour. And why would they not? They had sacrificed, begged the indulgence of their immortal masters each in turn. Superstition would not let many a man attempt such a voyage without such preparation, and for King Achilleas himself, he felt the fate of these soldiers in his hands also and wished to leave nothing to chance. sons should return to mothers, fathers to daughters. And if they were to die, then let it be glorious and their names spoken on the lips of their kinsman for years to come. These were the things he had asked in his own pleas to those above him who held such power.
There had been that fire of anticipation in the men: they were not many, but they had an important task to fulfill and one that could shift the trajectory of this war before it was little more than a whisper of a threat. And if nothing else, the days at sea had given Achilleas and Krysto ample time to discuss the plans they had, based on what information their spies had passed their way.
If all went as hoped, they would be able to strike a blow at the Egyptians’ ability to bring the war to Taengea and be back on their way with little bloodshed. Though he could feel the men’s energy grow restless and fevered the nearer they drew to the desert land. Achilleas moved to stand beside the Captain, braced himself and let his knees bend a little to counter the rolling of the waves.
“How long until we make landfall?” he asked of the man, eyes fixed on the distant horizon. “We need darkness to ensure we are not seen, I do not want us coming in close the shoreline until the sun has set and we have that cover” Once assured that the instruction had not been forgotten and that they were making good time to come into sight of the shore once Apollo had stolen the light, Achilleas turned to see the rest of the handful of ships that sailed from Taengea, each cutting through the waves with the breath of the wind and the sweat and efforts of the well-muscled oarsmen. The King wanted their strength conserved as much as possible until it was needed, and they were not quite at that point yet, so the two sails still swelled with wind and gave the Taengean vessels that little assistance in making swift passage through the Aegean.
Searching out his good friend, Achilleas moved toward the man until he drew level with where Krysto stood. “Urion says we are on track to be able to land tonight, with the cover of darkness to hide our arrival. Assuming our friends have not steered us wrong, we should come upon the cove and be able to pull up on to the sands, regroup before we send a party to find and torch those ships.”
It was all as they had discussed as they pored over the maps and charts back in Vasiliadon, but now to be so close to actioning their plans, it made for an anticipatory feeling that could be felt throughout their number. And it was a solid plan, for as much as they knew. Achilleas was prepared to adjust as necessary once they actually reached Egyptian shores, but the basic premise would remain the same. Be as discreet as they could be, destroy as many ships as possible.
And as the hours had slipped away, and with it, the light, sure enough, soon the dark mass of land could just about be seen looming out of dusk, and the first of those required adjustments became apparent.
“Your majesty” came the voice of a young soldier as he skittered to a halt before the King. There was an urgency to his tone that had Achilleas look immediately to him, brows raised an impatient nod for the man to go on. “It is the Egyptian ships, my King. They are not on the beach but on the water!”
And sure enough, when Achilleas strained to see, there was the slight shift of a mast visible against what could only be a rockface beyond. Fuck. Not only did that mean that their foes were further ahead in their preparations than the Greeks had hoped, but it also meant there would need to be a swift amendment to what had been planned. In a handful of long strides, Achilleas had reached Krysto, brought the man over so he too could see what the young hoplite had flagged.
“Different tactics but same outcome required” Achilleas murmured. The sails were already down, there was no light but that offered by the stars and moon above, and little sound bar the gently splash of oars cutting through the water. “ We need the strongest swimmers.” he said to his friend and to the Captain. “We do what we came to do, and then if we need to sail some way down the coast to stop and gather water then that is what we will do. There may still be an opportunity here”
It had been an easy passage. Favourable winds, a gentle sea, enough to give the Grecians hope that indeed they had the Gods favour in this endeavour. And why would they not? They had sacrificed, begged the indulgence of their immortal masters each in turn. Superstition would not let many a man attempt such a voyage without such preparation, and for King Achilleas himself, he felt the fate of these soldiers in his hands also and wished to leave nothing to chance. sons should return to mothers, fathers to daughters. And if they were to die, then let it be glorious and their names spoken on the lips of their kinsman for years to come. These were the things he had asked in his own pleas to those above him who held such power.
There had been that fire of anticipation in the men: they were not many, but they had an important task to fulfill and one that could shift the trajectory of this war before it was little more than a whisper of a threat. And if nothing else, the days at sea had given Achilleas and Krysto ample time to discuss the plans they had, based on what information their spies had passed their way.
If all went as hoped, they would be able to strike a blow at the Egyptians’ ability to bring the war to Taengea and be back on their way with little bloodshed. Though he could feel the men’s energy grow restless and fevered the nearer they drew to the desert land. Achilleas moved to stand beside the Captain, braced himself and let his knees bend a little to counter the rolling of the waves.
“How long until we make landfall?” he asked of the man, eyes fixed on the distant horizon. “We need darkness to ensure we are not seen, I do not want us coming in close the shoreline until the sun has set and we have that cover” Once assured that the instruction had not been forgotten and that they were making good time to come into sight of the shore once Apollo had stolen the light, Achilleas turned to see the rest of the handful of ships that sailed from Taengea, each cutting through the waves with the breath of the wind and the sweat and efforts of the well-muscled oarsmen. The King wanted their strength conserved as much as possible until it was needed, and they were not quite at that point yet, so the two sails still swelled with wind and gave the Taengean vessels that little assistance in making swift passage through the Aegean.
Searching out his good friend, Achilleas moved toward the man until he drew level with where Krysto stood. “Urion says we are on track to be able to land tonight, with the cover of darkness to hide our arrival. Assuming our friends have not steered us wrong, we should come upon the cove and be able to pull up on to the sands, regroup before we send a party to find and torch those ships.”
It was all as they had discussed as they pored over the maps and charts back in Vasiliadon, but now to be so close to actioning their plans, it made for an anticipatory feeling that could be felt throughout their number. And it was a solid plan, for as much as they knew. Achilleas was prepared to adjust as necessary once they actually reached Egyptian shores, but the basic premise would remain the same. Be as discreet as they could be, destroy as many ships as possible.
And as the hours had slipped away, and with it, the light, sure enough, soon the dark mass of land could just about be seen looming out of dusk, and the first of those required adjustments became apparent.
“Your majesty” came the voice of a young soldier as he skittered to a halt before the King. There was an urgency to his tone that had Achilleas look immediately to him, brows raised an impatient nod for the man to go on. “It is the Egyptian ships, my King. They are not on the beach but on the water!”
And sure enough, when Achilleas strained to see, there was the slight shift of a mast visible against what could only be a rockface beyond. Fuck. Not only did that mean that their foes were further ahead in their preparations than the Greeks had hoped, but it also meant there would need to be a swift amendment to what had been planned. In a handful of long strides, Achilleas had reached Krysto, brought the man over so he too could see what the young hoplite had flagged.
“Different tactics but same outcome required” Achilleas murmured. The sails were already down, there was no light but that offered by the stars and moon above, and little sound bar the gently splash of oars cutting through the water. “ We need the strongest swimmers.” he said to his friend and to the Captain. “We do what we came to do, and then if we need to sail some way down the coast to stop and gather water then that is what we will do. There may still be an opportunity here”
If this were not wartime, Krysto would have found himself restless aboard the ship. He did not dislike sailing. In fact, his past experience in the last Egyptian conflict had shown him that he did have wonderful sea legs. Moving across, up, down, and around the ship was easy and he did not find himself struggling in the same way that many of the soldiers did. Admittedly, the man was thankful that he had brought a pouch of herbs to be used for sea sickness.
Quite a few of the soldiers on the King's own ship had truly needed them, those men never having been on a long voyage before. Many were as young as Krysto and Achilleas had been on their last campaign, and something about that made Krysto sad. A soldier at heart, sure, but the man still valued peace and prosperity above all. They had had it for a short ten or so years, and these boys had been so much younger then and unable to grasp the weight of what war truly meant. The somber atmosphere likely gave away the seriousness of their situation.
This wasn't like sparring or training. This was the big leagues and Krysto was almost sickened by the thought of how many of these young men would not return to Taengea. But that was the reality of war. Krysto had said goodbye to his fair share of friends in the past, lost to the gore and anxiety of a killing field.
The man spent much of his time down in the belly of the ship caring for the horses. The faithful, hardened steeds, trained to kill and with fewer reservations than humans, seemed unbothered by the shifting of the ship. The ate, they shit, they flicked their tails and grunted at the few men who cared for them. One surprising discovery had been the Judean man who had become trapped on the ship once it had set sail. Krysto didn't know a lot of hebrew, but he knew of the man. Some intel from the last few weeks had found the Princess hanging around him briefly.
The Judean was put to work, mostly taking care of the horses. Krysto made a bit of small talk from what he knew of the language, but otherwise kept to himself as he worked. Days of this repeating cycle almost made it difficult to remember how long they were on the water, but the King kept Krysto's mind fresh and alert. Plan upon plan, contingencies, and fallbacks were all mapped out in both of their minds. There was little reason they should fail in their endeavors if all of their information was correct.
He hadn't been up on the top deck for long the first time King Achilleas approached him to let him know that things would go as planned. But he was back down with the horses the second time, only to be dragged to the surface. Crossing muscled arms against his chest, Krysto squinted into the darkness. He caught the sheen of a sail on the water and furrowed his brow just slightly, nodding in agreement to the King. Krysto knew imself to be one of the strongest of the swimmers on this boat. But now they needed to adjust their deliverance of the oils that would send the Egyptian ships straight into an inferno.
Glancing toward Achilleas, Krysto felt the need to comment, "We may have to use the extra rope. It will not be as easy as walking the oil across the beach," he noted lightly. "You will have to pull us back in when we are finished. Swimming there will be one feat, but back will be difficult if we do not have aid," Krysto noted, already lumping himself in with the group that would be swimming. He silently implored that the King not include himself. If he were to die on a fools errand such as this, it would be an embarrassment to the Grecian peoples.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
If this were not wartime, Krysto would have found himself restless aboard the ship. He did not dislike sailing. In fact, his past experience in the last Egyptian conflict had shown him that he did have wonderful sea legs. Moving across, up, down, and around the ship was easy and he did not find himself struggling in the same way that many of the soldiers did. Admittedly, the man was thankful that he had brought a pouch of herbs to be used for sea sickness.
Quite a few of the soldiers on the King's own ship had truly needed them, those men never having been on a long voyage before. Many were as young as Krysto and Achilleas had been on their last campaign, and something about that made Krysto sad. A soldier at heart, sure, but the man still valued peace and prosperity above all. They had had it for a short ten or so years, and these boys had been so much younger then and unable to grasp the weight of what war truly meant. The somber atmosphere likely gave away the seriousness of their situation.
This wasn't like sparring or training. This was the big leagues and Krysto was almost sickened by the thought of how many of these young men would not return to Taengea. But that was the reality of war. Krysto had said goodbye to his fair share of friends in the past, lost to the gore and anxiety of a killing field.
The man spent much of his time down in the belly of the ship caring for the horses. The faithful, hardened steeds, trained to kill and with fewer reservations than humans, seemed unbothered by the shifting of the ship. The ate, they shit, they flicked their tails and grunted at the few men who cared for them. One surprising discovery had been the Judean man who had become trapped on the ship once it had set sail. Krysto didn't know a lot of hebrew, but he knew of the man. Some intel from the last few weeks had found the Princess hanging around him briefly.
The Judean was put to work, mostly taking care of the horses. Krysto made a bit of small talk from what he knew of the language, but otherwise kept to himself as he worked. Days of this repeating cycle almost made it difficult to remember how long they were on the water, but the King kept Krysto's mind fresh and alert. Plan upon plan, contingencies, and fallbacks were all mapped out in both of their minds. There was little reason they should fail in their endeavors if all of their information was correct.
He hadn't been up on the top deck for long the first time King Achilleas approached him to let him know that things would go as planned. But he was back down with the horses the second time, only to be dragged to the surface. Crossing muscled arms against his chest, Krysto squinted into the darkness. He caught the sheen of a sail on the water and furrowed his brow just slightly, nodding in agreement to the King. Krysto knew imself to be one of the strongest of the swimmers on this boat. But now they needed to adjust their deliverance of the oils that would send the Egyptian ships straight into an inferno.
Glancing toward Achilleas, Krysto felt the need to comment, "We may have to use the extra rope. It will not be as easy as walking the oil across the beach," he noted lightly. "You will have to pull us back in when we are finished. Swimming there will be one feat, but back will be difficult if we do not have aid," Krysto noted, already lumping himself in with the group that would be swimming. He silently implored that the King not include himself. If he were to die on a fools errand such as this, it would be an embarrassment to the Grecian peoples.
If this were not wartime, Krysto would have found himself restless aboard the ship. He did not dislike sailing. In fact, his past experience in the last Egyptian conflict had shown him that he did have wonderful sea legs. Moving across, up, down, and around the ship was easy and he did not find himself struggling in the same way that many of the soldiers did. Admittedly, the man was thankful that he had brought a pouch of herbs to be used for sea sickness.
Quite a few of the soldiers on the King's own ship had truly needed them, those men never having been on a long voyage before. Many were as young as Krysto and Achilleas had been on their last campaign, and something about that made Krysto sad. A soldier at heart, sure, but the man still valued peace and prosperity above all. They had had it for a short ten or so years, and these boys had been so much younger then and unable to grasp the weight of what war truly meant. The somber atmosphere likely gave away the seriousness of their situation.
This wasn't like sparring or training. This was the big leagues and Krysto was almost sickened by the thought of how many of these young men would not return to Taengea. But that was the reality of war. Krysto had said goodbye to his fair share of friends in the past, lost to the gore and anxiety of a killing field.
The man spent much of his time down in the belly of the ship caring for the horses. The faithful, hardened steeds, trained to kill and with fewer reservations than humans, seemed unbothered by the shifting of the ship. The ate, they shit, they flicked their tails and grunted at the few men who cared for them. One surprising discovery had been the Judean man who had become trapped on the ship once it had set sail. Krysto didn't know a lot of hebrew, but he knew of the man. Some intel from the last few weeks had found the Princess hanging around him briefly.
The Judean was put to work, mostly taking care of the horses. Krysto made a bit of small talk from what he knew of the language, but otherwise kept to himself as he worked. Days of this repeating cycle almost made it difficult to remember how long they were on the water, but the King kept Krysto's mind fresh and alert. Plan upon plan, contingencies, and fallbacks were all mapped out in both of their minds. There was little reason they should fail in their endeavors if all of their information was correct.
He hadn't been up on the top deck for long the first time King Achilleas approached him to let him know that things would go as planned. But he was back down with the horses the second time, only to be dragged to the surface. Crossing muscled arms against his chest, Krysto squinted into the darkness. He caught the sheen of a sail on the water and furrowed his brow just slightly, nodding in agreement to the King. Krysto knew imself to be one of the strongest of the swimmers on this boat. But now they needed to adjust their deliverance of the oils that would send the Egyptian ships straight into an inferno.
Glancing toward Achilleas, Krysto felt the need to comment, "We may have to use the extra rope. It will not be as easy as walking the oil across the beach," he noted lightly. "You will have to pull us back in when we are finished. Swimming there will be one feat, but back will be difficult if we do not have aid," Krysto noted, already lumping himself in with the group that would be swimming. He silently implored that the King not include himself. If he were to die on a fools errand such as this, it would be an embarrassment to the Grecian peoples.
There was no use pretending he wasn’t afraid. He wasn’t a soldier, he’d never held a sword before, never had on armor - the only fighting he’d done was pretending to be a city guard when he was a child. Somehow, Isaiah was fairly sure that marching around with a stick stuffed into his belt as a makeshift sword wasn’t going to help him. He’d gotten through most of his nights on this ship by sleeping in the same stall with Achilleas’s horse and seeing to all the beast’s needs. That and speaking to the animal made for nice distractions, because most of the soldiers were all talking about the upcoming battles. Most of them were terribly excited and the ones who were concerned didn’t actually voice those concerns aloud. That made it awfully difficult to relate.
When he was not hiding with the horses, Isaiah was rowing. As much as he hated it, as many years as he’d spent on a galley ship, chained to a bench, rowing until he fell asleep, exhausted and aching, this was familiar. It was horrifying how easy it was to slip back into the mindless blank nothing as he rowed back and forth, back and forth, in time to the drum, staring uninterestedly at the back of the man’s head in front of him. What wasn’t there, this time, was the hopelessness that had been there when he was in the galley ship. He wasn’t chained to this bench, and he was allowed to sleep lying down.
Isaiah sat with his back against the side of Horsey Borsey, Achilleas’s horse, eating a plate of utterly uninspiring food and looking off into a gloomy corner when a soldier approached the stall. The man was familiar in the way that anyone comes to be so after seeing them around for a few days, but Isaiah hadn’t gotten around to being friendly enough with most of the men in order to learn their names. It didn’t seem like the best idea to befriend men who were willing to fling themselves into battle and he truly did not want to lament their loss. Perhaps it was a cold way to go about it, but the less he cared about any single person, the less pain he was bound to feel on the way back to Taengea. If he went back, that was. A gorgeously wonderful plan had been rolling around his mind for the last few days. This was the closest he’d been to his own home in years. He was closer to his wife on the shores of Egypt than he was in the safety of Greece. If he was to disappear into the night, who would miss him? Who would comment on his absence? No one. It was nearly perfect. All he had to do was slip away at the opportune moment. That didn’t solve every problem, of course, but it certainly solved the distance of the ocean between him and Judea.
”Evening,” the soldier greeted in such a congenial way that Isaiah shifted toward him a little.
“Evening,” he answered, slurping off his spoon and looking up at the man expectantly. Obviously the soldier wanted something or he wouldn’t be leaning on the edge of the stall.
”Isaiah, isn’t it?” the man checked and once Isaiah gave him a nod, he continued. ”Do you swim? I mean-” the man smiled and Isaiah gave him a look and slurped more soup, waiting for him to get to the point. ”How well do you swim?”
“Well, I think,” Isaiah set his bowl down, thinking this was the most random conversation starter he’d had on this ship, and that included the man asking about horse clippings. At least those had to do with something in the room.
”Well as in good? Or well as in you probably wouldn’t drown?”
“I’m a good swimmer,” Isaiah squinted at him. “What’s this about?”
”You think you could swim out there if someone needed help?” The soldier pressed on.
“Does someone need help?” Isaiah stood, thinking that this was a pretty odd way to tell him someone was drowning. “I don’t like these questions.”
”So we can count on you?” the soldier’s hand was already closing around his arm as Isaiah gave a distant “Yes,” and found himself being hauled up on deck and thrust towards King Achilleas and Captain Krysto. He stared at the two of them, confused in the extreme, as he heard himself being offered up to swim from this ship to some other ship by the man behind him. Being back in front of the king, Isaiah momentarily lost his voice and didn’t actually dispute anything the soldier said, feeling like this was some sort of weird dream that he’d wake up from at any second.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
There was no use pretending he wasn’t afraid. He wasn’t a soldier, he’d never held a sword before, never had on armor - the only fighting he’d done was pretending to be a city guard when he was a child. Somehow, Isaiah was fairly sure that marching around with a stick stuffed into his belt as a makeshift sword wasn’t going to help him. He’d gotten through most of his nights on this ship by sleeping in the same stall with Achilleas’s horse and seeing to all the beast’s needs. That and speaking to the animal made for nice distractions, because most of the soldiers were all talking about the upcoming battles. Most of them were terribly excited and the ones who were concerned didn’t actually voice those concerns aloud. That made it awfully difficult to relate.
When he was not hiding with the horses, Isaiah was rowing. As much as he hated it, as many years as he’d spent on a galley ship, chained to a bench, rowing until he fell asleep, exhausted and aching, this was familiar. It was horrifying how easy it was to slip back into the mindless blank nothing as he rowed back and forth, back and forth, in time to the drum, staring uninterestedly at the back of the man’s head in front of him. What wasn’t there, this time, was the hopelessness that had been there when he was in the galley ship. He wasn’t chained to this bench, and he was allowed to sleep lying down.
Isaiah sat with his back against the side of Horsey Borsey, Achilleas’s horse, eating a plate of utterly uninspiring food and looking off into a gloomy corner when a soldier approached the stall. The man was familiar in the way that anyone comes to be so after seeing them around for a few days, but Isaiah hadn’t gotten around to being friendly enough with most of the men in order to learn their names. It didn’t seem like the best idea to befriend men who were willing to fling themselves into battle and he truly did not want to lament their loss. Perhaps it was a cold way to go about it, but the less he cared about any single person, the less pain he was bound to feel on the way back to Taengea. If he went back, that was. A gorgeously wonderful plan had been rolling around his mind for the last few days. This was the closest he’d been to his own home in years. He was closer to his wife on the shores of Egypt than he was in the safety of Greece. If he was to disappear into the night, who would miss him? Who would comment on his absence? No one. It was nearly perfect. All he had to do was slip away at the opportune moment. That didn’t solve every problem, of course, but it certainly solved the distance of the ocean between him and Judea.
”Evening,” the soldier greeted in such a congenial way that Isaiah shifted toward him a little.
“Evening,” he answered, slurping off his spoon and looking up at the man expectantly. Obviously the soldier wanted something or he wouldn’t be leaning on the edge of the stall.
”Isaiah, isn’t it?” the man checked and once Isaiah gave him a nod, he continued. ”Do you swim? I mean-” the man smiled and Isaiah gave him a look and slurped more soup, waiting for him to get to the point. ”How well do you swim?”
“Well, I think,” Isaiah set his bowl down, thinking this was the most random conversation starter he’d had on this ship, and that included the man asking about horse clippings. At least those had to do with something in the room.
”Well as in good? Or well as in you probably wouldn’t drown?”
“I’m a good swimmer,” Isaiah squinted at him. “What’s this about?”
”You think you could swim out there if someone needed help?” The soldier pressed on.
“Does someone need help?” Isaiah stood, thinking that this was a pretty odd way to tell him someone was drowning. “I don’t like these questions.”
”So we can count on you?” the soldier’s hand was already closing around his arm as Isaiah gave a distant “Yes,” and found himself being hauled up on deck and thrust towards King Achilleas and Captain Krysto. He stared at the two of them, confused in the extreme, as he heard himself being offered up to swim from this ship to some other ship by the man behind him. Being back in front of the king, Isaiah momentarily lost his voice and didn’t actually dispute anything the soldier said, feeling like this was some sort of weird dream that he’d wake up from at any second.
There was no use pretending he wasn’t afraid. He wasn’t a soldier, he’d never held a sword before, never had on armor - the only fighting he’d done was pretending to be a city guard when he was a child. Somehow, Isaiah was fairly sure that marching around with a stick stuffed into his belt as a makeshift sword wasn’t going to help him. He’d gotten through most of his nights on this ship by sleeping in the same stall with Achilleas’s horse and seeing to all the beast’s needs. That and speaking to the animal made for nice distractions, because most of the soldiers were all talking about the upcoming battles. Most of them were terribly excited and the ones who were concerned didn’t actually voice those concerns aloud. That made it awfully difficult to relate.
When he was not hiding with the horses, Isaiah was rowing. As much as he hated it, as many years as he’d spent on a galley ship, chained to a bench, rowing until he fell asleep, exhausted and aching, this was familiar. It was horrifying how easy it was to slip back into the mindless blank nothing as he rowed back and forth, back and forth, in time to the drum, staring uninterestedly at the back of the man’s head in front of him. What wasn’t there, this time, was the hopelessness that had been there when he was in the galley ship. He wasn’t chained to this bench, and he was allowed to sleep lying down.
Isaiah sat with his back against the side of Horsey Borsey, Achilleas’s horse, eating a plate of utterly uninspiring food and looking off into a gloomy corner when a soldier approached the stall. The man was familiar in the way that anyone comes to be so after seeing them around for a few days, but Isaiah hadn’t gotten around to being friendly enough with most of the men in order to learn their names. It didn’t seem like the best idea to befriend men who were willing to fling themselves into battle and he truly did not want to lament their loss. Perhaps it was a cold way to go about it, but the less he cared about any single person, the less pain he was bound to feel on the way back to Taengea. If he went back, that was. A gorgeously wonderful plan had been rolling around his mind for the last few days. This was the closest he’d been to his own home in years. He was closer to his wife on the shores of Egypt than he was in the safety of Greece. If he was to disappear into the night, who would miss him? Who would comment on his absence? No one. It was nearly perfect. All he had to do was slip away at the opportune moment. That didn’t solve every problem, of course, but it certainly solved the distance of the ocean between him and Judea.
”Evening,” the soldier greeted in such a congenial way that Isaiah shifted toward him a little.
“Evening,” he answered, slurping off his spoon and looking up at the man expectantly. Obviously the soldier wanted something or he wouldn’t be leaning on the edge of the stall.
”Isaiah, isn’t it?” the man checked and once Isaiah gave him a nod, he continued. ”Do you swim? I mean-” the man smiled and Isaiah gave him a look and slurped more soup, waiting for him to get to the point. ”How well do you swim?”
“Well, I think,” Isaiah set his bowl down, thinking this was the most random conversation starter he’d had on this ship, and that included the man asking about horse clippings. At least those had to do with something in the room.
”Well as in good? Or well as in you probably wouldn’t drown?”
“I’m a good swimmer,” Isaiah squinted at him. “What’s this about?”
”You think you could swim out there if someone needed help?” The soldier pressed on.
“Does someone need help?” Isaiah stood, thinking that this was a pretty odd way to tell him someone was drowning. “I don’t like these questions.”
”So we can count on you?” the soldier’s hand was already closing around his arm as Isaiah gave a distant “Yes,” and found himself being hauled up on deck and thrust towards King Achilleas and Captain Krysto. He stared at the two of them, confused in the extreme, as he heard himself being offered up to swim from this ship to some other ship by the man behind him. Being back in front of the king, Isaiah momentarily lost his voice and didn’t actually dispute anything the soldier said, feeling like this was some sort of weird dream that he’d wake up from at any second.
Achilleas had remained gazing out into the darkness, trying to make a count of the shadowed shapes sitting atop the water ahead. There were more, more ships than he had anticipated and it made the importance of their efforts even greater. Nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen... He stopped counting then, pressed his lips together and gave the slightest shake of his head. Too many.
Their enemies were not playing in this war.
He didn’t doubt that the man beside him had seen the same, and didn’t immediately look at Krysto as his friend began to speak. That he felt the need to state the obvious regarding roping the swimmers was mildly irritating, but what Achilleas heard without the Captain being overt about it was the ‘you will have to pull us back in’, implying of course that Achilleas would not be going, and for a moment, he frowned.
He knew why of course, and it made perfect sense, it was the right thing to do. But for one who fared better with action it was nevertheless a blow. There was nothing worse than having to stand back and let others take on the responsibility of success or failure. It was why even as a Commander, Achilleas had not balked from fighting on the front lines. But things were...different now. He eventually sighed quietly and slid a sideways glance towards Krysto who was looking at him in a manner that suggested he knew exactly what the King’s thoughts had been.
“So we rope those swimming over and as you say, can then haul them back once the oil has been spread. Give me fifteen, twenty men who can swim well.” Achilleas pretended there had been no need for Krysto’s unspoken warning and set about organising what would need to happen in this new, revised plan. “Get a count of the ships and communicate the plan to the other captains” he added to Krysto. He trusted that the man knew what he was about, it was not his place now to bark every order. Krysto knew what he wanted doing, and the King had to trust those around him to get it done.
His arms had folded across his chest, feet braced against the slight swell of the waters below, features drawn into sharp angles by the play of shadow and moonlight. As men hurried into action around him, Achilleas was left to observe, wait for the pieces of the preparation they had done to be pulled together in this one chance they had to set the tone for this war. He would not allow himself to think about what would happen if they should fail. There was no place for that now.
Krysto had returned to his side, and Achilleas turned to speak to him when instead his attention was drawn by the approach of a soldier and the Jewish man, their accidental stowaway. Listening to the soldier who volunteered the man as a swimmer, the King narrowed his gaze upon Isaiah before calling on the man himself to confirm.
“This is true?” he asked, eyes and teeth flashing bright in the darkness. And when he was assured that such was the case, Achilleas hesitated and then beckoned the man follow him a little way away so as not to be overheard. Close enough now that his expression would be easily read, he looked at the Jewish man searchingly before speaking in a low tone.
“It is well that you are a good swimmer, Isaiah, but I will not ask this of you if your heart's not in it. You are no Greek and do not have the same motivation as the rest of these men. As we all do. If you would rather be excused from this, there will be no reprisals. But if you go, and do not do your absolute best to follow orders and support the other men then I will not promise the same. It is your choice.”
One weak link was often enough to see the failure of best-laid plans, and Achilleas’ gaze was firm, unblinking as he waited for the man’s answer. Once he had it, it would be back to Krysto and the other men where the King waited for an update as to readiness to begin this endeavor.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
Achilleas had remained gazing out into the darkness, trying to make a count of the shadowed shapes sitting atop the water ahead. There were more, more ships than he had anticipated and it made the importance of their efforts even greater. Nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen... He stopped counting then, pressed his lips together and gave the slightest shake of his head. Too many.
Their enemies were not playing in this war.
He didn’t doubt that the man beside him had seen the same, and didn’t immediately look at Krysto as his friend began to speak. That he felt the need to state the obvious regarding roping the swimmers was mildly irritating, but what Achilleas heard without the Captain being overt about it was the ‘you will have to pull us back in’, implying of course that Achilleas would not be going, and for a moment, he frowned.
He knew why of course, and it made perfect sense, it was the right thing to do. But for one who fared better with action it was nevertheless a blow. There was nothing worse than having to stand back and let others take on the responsibility of success or failure. It was why even as a Commander, Achilleas had not balked from fighting on the front lines. But things were...different now. He eventually sighed quietly and slid a sideways glance towards Krysto who was looking at him in a manner that suggested he knew exactly what the King’s thoughts had been.
“So we rope those swimming over and as you say, can then haul them back once the oil has been spread. Give me fifteen, twenty men who can swim well.” Achilleas pretended there had been no need for Krysto’s unspoken warning and set about organising what would need to happen in this new, revised plan. “Get a count of the ships and communicate the plan to the other captains” he added to Krysto. He trusted that the man knew what he was about, it was not his place now to bark every order. Krysto knew what he wanted doing, and the King had to trust those around him to get it done.
His arms had folded across his chest, feet braced against the slight swell of the waters below, features drawn into sharp angles by the play of shadow and moonlight. As men hurried into action around him, Achilleas was left to observe, wait for the pieces of the preparation they had done to be pulled together in this one chance they had to set the tone for this war. He would not allow himself to think about what would happen if they should fail. There was no place for that now.
Krysto had returned to his side, and Achilleas turned to speak to him when instead his attention was drawn by the approach of a soldier and the Jewish man, their accidental stowaway. Listening to the soldier who volunteered the man as a swimmer, the King narrowed his gaze upon Isaiah before calling on the man himself to confirm.
“This is true?” he asked, eyes and teeth flashing bright in the darkness. And when he was assured that such was the case, Achilleas hesitated and then beckoned the man follow him a little way away so as not to be overheard. Close enough now that his expression would be easily read, he looked at the Jewish man searchingly before speaking in a low tone.
“It is well that you are a good swimmer, Isaiah, but I will not ask this of you if your heart's not in it. You are no Greek and do not have the same motivation as the rest of these men. As we all do. If you would rather be excused from this, there will be no reprisals. But if you go, and do not do your absolute best to follow orders and support the other men then I will not promise the same. It is your choice.”
One weak link was often enough to see the failure of best-laid plans, and Achilleas’ gaze was firm, unblinking as he waited for the man’s answer. Once he had it, it would be back to Krysto and the other men where the King waited for an update as to readiness to begin this endeavor.
Achilleas had remained gazing out into the darkness, trying to make a count of the shadowed shapes sitting atop the water ahead. There were more, more ships than he had anticipated and it made the importance of their efforts even greater. Nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen... He stopped counting then, pressed his lips together and gave the slightest shake of his head. Too many.
Their enemies were not playing in this war.
He didn’t doubt that the man beside him had seen the same, and didn’t immediately look at Krysto as his friend began to speak. That he felt the need to state the obvious regarding roping the swimmers was mildly irritating, but what Achilleas heard without the Captain being overt about it was the ‘you will have to pull us back in’, implying of course that Achilleas would not be going, and for a moment, he frowned.
He knew why of course, and it made perfect sense, it was the right thing to do. But for one who fared better with action it was nevertheless a blow. There was nothing worse than having to stand back and let others take on the responsibility of success or failure. It was why even as a Commander, Achilleas had not balked from fighting on the front lines. But things were...different now. He eventually sighed quietly and slid a sideways glance towards Krysto who was looking at him in a manner that suggested he knew exactly what the King’s thoughts had been.
“So we rope those swimming over and as you say, can then haul them back once the oil has been spread. Give me fifteen, twenty men who can swim well.” Achilleas pretended there had been no need for Krysto’s unspoken warning and set about organising what would need to happen in this new, revised plan. “Get a count of the ships and communicate the plan to the other captains” he added to Krysto. He trusted that the man knew what he was about, it was not his place now to bark every order. Krysto knew what he wanted doing, and the King had to trust those around him to get it done.
His arms had folded across his chest, feet braced against the slight swell of the waters below, features drawn into sharp angles by the play of shadow and moonlight. As men hurried into action around him, Achilleas was left to observe, wait for the pieces of the preparation they had done to be pulled together in this one chance they had to set the tone for this war. He would not allow himself to think about what would happen if they should fail. There was no place for that now.
Krysto had returned to his side, and Achilleas turned to speak to him when instead his attention was drawn by the approach of a soldier and the Jewish man, their accidental stowaway. Listening to the soldier who volunteered the man as a swimmer, the King narrowed his gaze upon Isaiah before calling on the man himself to confirm.
“This is true?” he asked, eyes and teeth flashing bright in the darkness. And when he was assured that such was the case, Achilleas hesitated and then beckoned the man follow him a little way away so as not to be overheard. Close enough now that his expression would be easily read, he looked at the Jewish man searchingly before speaking in a low tone.
“It is well that you are a good swimmer, Isaiah, but I will not ask this of you if your heart's not in it. You are no Greek and do not have the same motivation as the rest of these men. As we all do. If you would rather be excused from this, there will be no reprisals. But if you go, and do not do your absolute best to follow orders and support the other men then I will not promise the same. It is your choice.”
One weak link was often enough to see the failure of best-laid plans, and Achilleas’ gaze was firm, unblinking as he waited for the man’s answer. Once he had it, it would be back to Krysto and the other men where the King waited for an update as to readiness to begin this endeavor.
Curveball Drown Their Efforts
There is a moment, as the Grecians take time discussing how they wish to go about the plan of attack, where a sentry of the Egyptian forces walks the line of the cliffs. His single torch of flame is obvious in the night but there is little to see in the darkness of the sea below, now that the Greeks have extinguished all lights from their own vessels. They have only to be quiet and still to not be spotted...
JD
Staff Team
JD
Staff Team
This post was created by our staff team.
Please contact us with your queries and questions.
There is a moment, as the Grecians take time discussing how they wish to go about the plan of attack, where a sentry of the Egyptian forces walks the line of the cliffs. His single torch of flame is obvious in the night but there is little to see in the darkness of the sea below, now that the Greeks have extinguished all lights from their own vessels. They have only to be quiet and still to not be spotted...
Curveball Drown Their Efforts
There is a moment, as the Grecians take time discussing how they wish to go about the plan of attack, where a sentry of the Egyptian forces walks the line of the cliffs. His single torch of flame is obvious in the night but there is little to see in the darkness of the sea below, now that the Greeks have extinguished all lights from their own vessels. They have only to be quiet and still to not be spotted...
Krysto's feet were planted firmly atop the deck, his gaze cast out to sea where the foreign ships sat the the preconceived safety of their little cove. He was not bad at math, but the man found himself counting the Egyptian ships many times over until he was absolutely sure that he had counted each and every one accurately. The last thing that the captain wanted to be was wrong, and they needed to make an impact here. Whatever they did or did not do in this moment would set the tone for the remainder of the war.
If Krysto and his men were to fail, then it would be Krysto and his men that would lose the war for Greece. With this many Egyptian ships on the water, it started Krysto's mind moving, wondering, counting, debating. How many other coves were there? How many other ships were there that she did not see? What if this was just a pittance in comparison to what power Egypt really held? Had ten, twelve, fourteen years really made such a massive difference in the strength of their enemy?
The last time that Krysto had set foot on these Egyptian sands had been for war as well. A war that he had hoped would be left in the past and not dredged up in his memories now. The difference was was that Krysto had been much younger, untested, untried, and with little experience at war. Now, now he was a captain. Leading men, his charioteers, that was something he lived and breathed. While the beginning of his battle would not be fought atop a chariot with his axe in hand, this was where it began.
The first strike had not been the declaration of war itself, but this moment here.
His greatest concern with their plan was keeping their oil stable and from drowning in the waters of the cove. This plan could easily backfire and then the waters that carried their boats would be set ablaze, endangering their own chances of making it to the next battle. the King spoke to him, but Krysto was staring out at the ships, his expression set in one of deep contemplation and concentration. He even shifted, showing only Achilleas his concern about their current state. "My only fear is that we lose our oil in the waters," he said lowly. "We must ensure that we do not lose it, or there is no point to this," Krysto asserted, mostly to himself than anyone else.
But he had been given his orders and he moved about the ship on quick, steady feet, gathering the men that he had been instructed to. He had eighteen good men, and that should have been enough. If his count of 15 ships was correct, there would be more than enough men to ensure that the job was done. One of the larger ships could be hit twice just for good measure, and that would bring some sense of security to the war effort. The fewer ships they had to tangle with, the better.
Though they were on the water, a hidden distance from the cove, Krysto still kept his voice low, speaking closely to the men that he was instructing. "Get the ropes. Every one that you can find," he was saying quietly, "We'll tie them around our waists and swim up close to the Egyptian ships in the darkness, douse them in oil, and then let the rest of the crew pull us back in to safety," he murmured, looking from each man to ensure that they all heard and understood what he was ordering them to do. Once each man had nodded his understanding, Krysto gave a curt nod and motioned them off to get working on the rope that they would be using as their safety net.
The captain had deigned to return to the King's side to alert him that he was ready, but he was quickly interrupted by the addition of Isaiah. Krysto immediately frowned, wondering if it was truly best to subject the Judean to a war that was not his own. It seemed pointless if the man died for a cause that did not concern him. Despite Taengea occupying Judea, there was no reason for Isaiah to concern himself with the war unless it was truly a choice that he was willing to make and stick to.
When it seemed as if Isaiah would accept the position as a swimmer, Krysto stepped in beside the King. "I'll pair him with me," he said calmly to Achilleas, "There is a larger ship toward the center of the harbor. Its going to take more than just one dousing of oil to fell it," he admitted, turning his head to take yet another look at the amassing of Egyptian ships. This made him anxious, but not because he volunteered to potentially die with the Judean, but because he was worried that they would fail.
They couldn't fail. Not if they wanted to get anywhere in this war. The less movement the Egyptians could make, the safer Greece on the whole would be.
Motioning Isaiah to follow him, they walked together back toward the group of men that were gathering the small barrels of oil and the ropes. Krysto's strides brought him back to the edge of the ship, looking down into the water and thinking deeply. If they all splashed into the water, it would bring the Egyptians running. They needed to make a silent entry into the deep and Krysto's mind was already running again, turning around to look about the deck of the ship. Snapping his fingers at the nearest soldier, he motioned the man to him silently. "Find someone to help you and bring the plank," he started, glancing toward the King, "We'll angle it into the water and use it to slip into the water as silently as we can."
It was then that his gaze caught the sight of the lone sentry far above them on the cliffs. Skirting closer to Achilleas, he motioned the king quietly, "He's alone," he murmured almost in the King's ear, "And we need to not be seen." What Achilleas did with that was up to him, but Krysto hoped that the man would be taken care of before he looked any closer. They had the upper hand of the cover of darkness, but if they weren't careful, it would be all over for them.
Then Krysto was moving back to Isaiah, working on tying the man around the waist with the rope in a way that would not come undone easily. Then he patted down his own person, looking for one of the small knives that he kept on him. He handed it to Isaiah carefully, "If you get caught on anything, use this to cut you away. I'll drag you back in with me if I have to," he murmured before allowing one of the other soldiers to tie Krysto with the rope as well.
Then, with a single silent motion, the men that had gathered the plank had worked it silently into the water, using their own ropes to keep it steady toward the bottom. Other men were gathering atop the deck to take hold of the ropes of their fellow soldiers, and further more men were passing the containers of oil down the line of men slowly and silently sinking into the water.
Krysto paused at Achilleas' side, clapping him lightly on the shoulder and giving his best friend a boyish wink. "Don't wait up, majesty." Then he started his careful trek down the angled plank and silently into the the dark Egyptian waters.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
Krysto's feet were planted firmly atop the deck, his gaze cast out to sea where the foreign ships sat the the preconceived safety of their little cove. He was not bad at math, but the man found himself counting the Egyptian ships many times over until he was absolutely sure that he had counted each and every one accurately. The last thing that the captain wanted to be was wrong, and they needed to make an impact here. Whatever they did or did not do in this moment would set the tone for the remainder of the war.
If Krysto and his men were to fail, then it would be Krysto and his men that would lose the war for Greece. With this many Egyptian ships on the water, it started Krysto's mind moving, wondering, counting, debating. How many other coves were there? How many other ships were there that she did not see? What if this was just a pittance in comparison to what power Egypt really held? Had ten, twelve, fourteen years really made such a massive difference in the strength of their enemy?
The last time that Krysto had set foot on these Egyptian sands had been for war as well. A war that he had hoped would be left in the past and not dredged up in his memories now. The difference was was that Krysto had been much younger, untested, untried, and with little experience at war. Now, now he was a captain. Leading men, his charioteers, that was something he lived and breathed. While the beginning of his battle would not be fought atop a chariot with his axe in hand, this was where it began.
The first strike had not been the declaration of war itself, but this moment here.
His greatest concern with their plan was keeping their oil stable and from drowning in the waters of the cove. This plan could easily backfire and then the waters that carried their boats would be set ablaze, endangering their own chances of making it to the next battle. the King spoke to him, but Krysto was staring out at the ships, his expression set in one of deep contemplation and concentration. He even shifted, showing only Achilleas his concern about their current state. "My only fear is that we lose our oil in the waters," he said lowly. "We must ensure that we do not lose it, or there is no point to this," Krysto asserted, mostly to himself than anyone else.
But he had been given his orders and he moved about the ship on quick, steady feet, gathering the men that he had been instructed to. He had eighteen good men, and that should have been enough. If his count of 15 ships was correct, there would be more than enough men to ensure that the job was done. One of the larger ships could be hit twice just for good measure, and that would bring some sense of security to the war effort. The fewer ships they had to tangle with, the better.
Though they were on the water, a hidden distance from the cove, Krysto still kept his voice low, speaking closely to the men that he was instructing. "Get the ropes. Every one that you can find," he was saying quietly, "We'll tie them around our waists and swim up close to the Egyptian ships in the darkness, douse them in oil, and then let the rest of the crew pull us back in to safety," he murmured, looking from each man to ensure that they all heard and understood what he was ordering them to do. Once each man had nodded his understanding, Krysto gave a curt nod and motioned them off to get working on the rope that they would be using as their safety net.
The captain had deigned to return to the King's side to alert him that he was ready, but he was quickly interrupted by the addition of Isaiah. Krysto immediately frowned, wondering if it was truly best to subject the Judean to a war that was not his own. It seemed pointless if the man died for a cause that did not concern him. Despite Taengea occupying Judea, there was no reason for Isaiah to concern himself with the war unless it was truly a choice that he was willing to make and stick to.
When it seemed as if Isaiah would accept the position as a swimmer, Krysto stepped in beside the King. "I'll pair him with me," he said calmly to Achilleas, "There is a larger ship toward the center of the harbor. Its going to take more than just one dousing of oil to fell it," he admitted, turning his head to take yet another look at the amassing of Egyptian ships. This made him anxious, but not because he volunteered to potentially die with the Judean, but because he was worried that they would fail.
They couldn't fail. Not if they wanted to get anywhere in this war. The less movement the Egyptians could make, the safer Greece on the whole would be.
Motioning Isaiah to follow him, they walked together back toward the group of men that were gathering the small barrels of oil and the ropes. Krysto's strides brought him back to the edge of the ship, looking down into the water and thinking deeply. If they all splashed into the water, it would bring the Egyptians running. They needed to make a silent entry into the deep and Krysto's mind was already running again, turning around to look about the deck of the ship. Snapping his fingers at the nearest soldier, he motioned the man to him silently. "Find someone to help you and bring the plank," he started, glancing toward the King, "We'll angle it into the water and use it to slip into the water as silently as we can."
It was then that his gaze caught the sight of the lone sentry far above them on the cliffs. Skirting closer to Achilleas, he motioned the king quietly, "He's alone," he murmured almost in the King's ear, "And we need to not be seen." What Achilleas did with that was up to him, but Krysto hoped that the man would be taken care of before he looked any closer. They had the upper hand of the cover of darkness, but if they weren't careful, it would be all over for them.
Then Krysto was moving back to Isaiah, working on tying the man around the waist with the rope in a way that would not come undone easily. Then he patted down his own person, looking for one of the small knives that he kept on him. He handed it to Isaiah carefully, "If you get caught on anything, use this to cut you away. I'll drag you back in with me if I have to," he murmured before allowing one of the other soldiers to tie Krysto with the rope as well.
Then, with a single silent motion, the men that had gathered the plank had worked it silently into the water, using their own ropes to keep it steady toward the bottom. Other men were gathering atop the deck to take hold of the ropes of their fellow soldiers, and further more men were passing the containers of oil down the line of men slowly and silently sinking into the water.
Krysto paused at Achilleas' side, clapping him lightly on the shoulder and giving his best friend a boyish wink. "Don't wait up, majesty." Then he started his careful trek down the angled plank and silently into the the dark Egyptian waters.
Krysto's feet were planted firmly atop the deck, his gaze cast out to sea where the foreign ships sat the the preconceived safety of their little cove. He was not bad at math, but the man found himself counting the Egyptian ships many times over until he was absolutely sure that he had counted each and every one accurately. The last thing that the captain wanted to be was wrong, and they needed to make an impact here. Whatever they did or did not do in this moment would set the tone for the remainder of the war.
If Krysto and his men were to fail, then it would be Krysto and his men that would lose the war for Greece. With this many Egyptian ships on the water, it started Krysto's mind moving, wondering, counting, debating. How many other coves were there? How many other ships were there that she did not see? What if this was just a pittance in comparison to what power Egypt really held? Had ten, twelve, fourteen years really made such a massive difference in the strength of their enemy?
The last time that Krysto had set foot on these Egyptian sands had been for war as well. A war that he had hoped would be left in the past and not dredged up in his memories now. The difference was was that Krysto had been much younger, untested, untried, and with little experience at war. Now, now he was a captain. Leading men, his charioteers, that was something he lived and breathed. While the beginning of his battle would not be fought atop a chariot with his axe in hand, this was where it began.
The first strike had not been the declaration of war itself, but this moment here.
His greatest concern with their plan was keeping their oil stable and from drowning in the waters of the cove. This plan could easily backfire and then the waters that carried their boats would be set ablaze, endangering their own chances of making it to the next battle. the King spoke to him, but Krysto was staring out at the ships, his expression set in one of deep contemplation and concentration. He even shifted, showing only Achilleas his concern about their current state. "My only fear is that we lose our oil in the waters," he said lowly. "We must ensure that we do not lose it, or there is no point to this," Krysto asserted, mostly to himself than anyone else.
But he had been given his orders and he moved about the ship on quick, steady feet, gathering the men that he had been instructed to. He had eighteen good men, and that should have been enough. If his count of 15 ships was correct, there would be more than enough men to ensure that the job was done. One of the larger ships could be hit twice just for good measure, and that would bring some sense of security to the war effort. The fewer ships they had to tangle with, the better.
Though they were on the water, a hidden distance from the cove, Krysto still kept his voice low, speaking closely to the men that he was instructing. "Get the ropes. Every one that you can find," he was saying quietly, "We'll tie them around our waists and swim up close to the Egyptian ships in the darkness, douse them in oil, and then let the rest of the crew pull us back in to safety," he murmured, looking from each man to ensure that they all heard and understood what he was ordering them to do. Once each man had nodded his understanding, Krysto gave a curt nod and motioned them off to get working on the rope that they would be using as their safety net.
The captain had deigned to return to the King's side to alert him that he was ready, but he was quickly interrupted by the addition of Isaiah. Krysto immediately frowned, wondering if it was truly best to subject the Judean to a war that was not his own. It seemed pointless if the man died for a cause that did not concern him. Despite Taengea occupying Judea, there was no reason for Isaiah to concern himself with the war unless it was truly a choice that he was willing to make and stick to.
When it seemed as if Isaiah would accept the position as a swimmer, Krysto stepped in beside the King. "I'll pair him with me," he said calmly to Achilleas, "There is a larger ship toward the center of the harbor. Its going to take more than just one dousing of oil to fell it," he admitted, turning his head to take yet another look at the amassing of Egyptian ships. This made him anxious, but not because he volunteered to potentially die with the Judean, but because he was worried that they would fail.
They couldn't fail. Not if they wanted to get anywhere in this war. The less movement the Egyptians could make, the safer Greece on the whole would be.
Motioning Isaiah to follow him, they walked together back toward the group of men that were gathering the small barrels of oil and the ropes. Krysto's strides brought him back to the edge of the ship, looking down into the water and thinking deeply. If they all splashed into the water, it would bring the Egyptians running. They needed to make a silent entry into the deep and Krysto's mind was already running again, turning around to look about the deck of the ship. Snapping his fingers at the nearest soldier, he motioned the man to him silently. "Find someone to help you and bring the plank," he started, glancing toward the King, "We'll angle it into the water and use it to slip into the water as silently as we can."
It was then that his gaze caught the sight of the lone sentry far above them on the cliffs. Skirting closer to Achilleas, he motioned the king quietly, "He's alone," he murmured almost in the King's ear, "And we need to not be seen." What Achilleas did with that was up to him, but Krysto hoped that the man would be taken care of before he looked any closer. They had the upper hand of the cover of darkness, but if they weren't careful, it would be all over for them.
Then Krysto was moving back to Isaiah, working on tying the man around the waist with the rope in a way that would not come undone easily. Then he patted down his own person, looking for one of the small knives that he kept on him. He handed it to Isaiah carefully, "If you get caught on anything, use this to cut you away. I'll drag you back in with me if I have to," he murmured before allowing one of the other soldiers to tie Krysto with the rope as well.
Then, with a single silent motion, the men that had gathered the plank had worked it silently into the water, using their own ropes to keep it steady toward the bottom. Other men were gathering atop the deck to take hold of the ropes of their fellow soldiers, and further more men were passing the containers of oil down the line of men slowly and silently sinking into the water.
Krysto paused at Achilleas' side, clapping him lightly on the shoulder and giving his best friend a boyish wink. "Don't wait up, majesty." Then he started his careful trek down the angled plank and silently into the the dark Egyptian waters.
Time did a curious thing as the soldier dragged him up from the depths of the ship and into the open air. The first thing was that time leaped forward in a stomach lurching blur. A confused struggle, feet scrabbling on steps, and then he was breathing in the salty tang of sea air, peppered with the very real stench of male sweat; not that he was much better. He was sporting horse odor on top of sweat. Then, as they turned towards a crowd, time ground almost to a halt. He saw the king and realized that he was being dragged toward him. As much as he’d have liked to stop right there, he didn’t and the soldier marched firmly on, though it seemed to Isaiah that their pace was that of slogging through a thick marshland. Once again, time lurched forward and Isaiah blinked. The king was speaking to him and he’d somehow missed the intervening moments that prompted the question.
“Yes?” he was guessing at the king asking if he could swim and also beginning to rightly suspect that this meant they were going in the Aegean. There was nowhere else to go. The why was a critical point he was missing. His soft brown eyes rested on the king, his expression intense as he listened for any real hint of what they were doing. None came. The king simply told him that if he did not believe in this cause, that he could be excused.
Ah. That meant it was important. The faces of the men around him all conveyed the same strain about the eyes and tightness in the corners of the mouth. Their jaws were clenched and shoulders held rigid and high. Isaiah was no great lover of Egypt and he looked out at the ships a fair distance away. His best guess was that they were to swim out to the ships and do...he didn’t know what. He wasn’t a soldier. Hurt the ships or crew in some way. He wouldn’t spill more blood, he was sure of that, but the rest?
“I am at your service, sire,” and he bowed low, face toward the ground. The ships were moored and if he could somehow make his way to land from them? Towards Hannah? He would definitely brave the water for that. He’d drink salt water for that.
“I'll pair him with me,” said a familiar voice. Isaiah looked up to find Captain Krysto speaking. He was familiar with the captain enough to put a name to the face but other than that, he didn’t know much about the man. He supposed that was about to change. The next bit was a blur but Isaiah caught the word ‘oil’ and didn’t need to be told more than that. They were going to burn the ships.
He was less concerned about the swim with a rope being tied uncomfortably tight around his middle. The thought of being lost to the depths sometimes awoke him from a deep sleep. He’d already had to fight for his life in the Aegean once before but now it was for a much nobler reason. Or, he assumed it was noble. Isaiah didn’t think that the king of Taengea would order anything undeserved.
What was going to be a bit more difficult was swimming with the oil buckets, but this problem had already been thought of and solved. Yet another tether was tied to Isaiah and as he slipped into the cold water, he found the oil buckets floating beside him, bobbing up and down. Seal skin had been stretched and nailed over the top of the buckets, creating a water tight lid. All they would need to do would be to slice them open once they got to the ships. Someone had handed Isaiah a knife which he secured to his belt.
Other than a belt and a loincloth, he was naked. Clothing would weigh them down and they had quite a distance to swim. Walking it would be nothing but swimming was a different beast altogether. Following Krysto’s lead, Isaiah struck out across the water towards the ship. Each arm stroke against the choppy waves was a fight and he definitely had to take his time. Thankfully, blessedly, he was not an idle man and he was only a little tired by the time they reached the middle. The trick was to keep relaxed, to ride the waves when you could, and use your own power only when you had to. He had little doubt they’d make it to the ships. It was the way back that would be more precarious after they were tired out.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
Time did a curious thing as the soldier dragged him up from the depths of the ship and into the open air. The first thing was that time leaped forward in a stomach lurching blur. A confused struggle, feet scrabbling on steps, and then he was breathing in the salty tang of sea air, peppered with the very real stench of male sweat; not that he was much better. He was sporting horse odor on top of sweat. Then, as they turned towards a crowd, time ground almost to a halt. He saw the king and realized that he was being dragged toward him. As much as he’d have liked to stop right there, he didn’t and the soldier marched firmly on, though it seemed to Isaiah that their pace was that of slogging through a thick marshland. Once again, time lurched forward and Isaiah blinked. The king was speaking to him and he’d somehow missed the intervening moments that prompted the question.
“Yes?” he was guessing at the king asking if he could swim and also beginning to rightly suspect that this meant they were going in the Aegean. There was nowhere else to go. The why was a critical point he was missing. His soft brown eyes rested on the king, his expression intense as he listened for any real hint of what they were doing. None came. The king simply told him that if he did not believe in this cause, that he could be excused.
Ah. That meant it was important. The faces of the men around him all conveyed the same strain about the eyes and tightness in the corners of the mouth. Their jaws were clenched and shoulders held rigid and high. Isaiah was no great lover of Egypt and he looked out at the ships a fair distance away. His best guess was that they were to swim out to the ships and do...he didn’t know what. He wasn’t a soldier. Hurt the ships or crew in some way. He wouldn’t spill more blood, he was sure of that, but the rest?
“I am at your service, sire,” and he bowed low, face toward the ground. The ships were moored and if he could somehow make his way to land from them? Towards Hannah? He would definitely brave the water for that. He’d drink salt water for that.
“I'll pair him with me,” said a familiar voice. Isaiah looked up to find Captain Krysto speaking. He was familiar with the captain enough to put a name to the face but other than that, he didn’t know much about the man. He supposed that was about to change. The next bit was a blur but Isaiah caught the word ‘oil’ and didn’t need to be told more than that. They were going to burn the ships.
He was less concerned about the swim with a rope being tied uncomfortably tight around his middle. The thought of being lost to the depths sometimes awoke him from a deep sleep. He’d already had to fight for his life in the Aegean once before but now it was for a much nobler reason. Or, he assumed it was noble. Isaiah didn’t think that the king of Taengea would order anything undeserved.
What was going to be a bit more difficult was swimming with the oil buckets, but this problem had already been thought of and solved. Yet another tether was tied to Isaiah and as he slipped into the cold water, he found the oil buckets floating beside him, bobbing up and down. Seal skin had been stretched and nailed over the top of the buckets, creating a water tight lid. All they would need to do would be to slice them open once they got to the ships. Someone had handed Isaiah a knife which he secured to his belt.
Other than a belt and a loincloth, he was naked. Clothing would weigh them down and they had quite a distance to swim. Walking it would be nothing but swimming was a different beast altogether. Following Krysto’s lead, Isaiah struck out across the water towards the ship. Each arm stroke against the choppy waves was a fight and he definitely had to take his time. Thankfully, blessedly, he was not an idle man and he was only a little tired by the time they reached the middle. The trick was to keep relaxed, to ride the waves when you could, and use your own power only when you had to. He had little doubt they’d make it to the ships. It was the way back that would be more precarious after they were tired out.
Time did a curious thing as the soldier dragged him up from the depths of the ship and into the open air. The first thing was that time leaped forward in a stomach lurching blur. A confused struggle, feet scrabbling on steps, and then he was breathing in the salty tang of sea air, peppered with the very real stench of male sweat; not that he was much better. He was sporting horse odor on top of sweat. Then, as they turned towards a crowd, time ground almost to a halt. He saw the king and realized that he was being dragged toward him. As much as he’d have liked to stop right there, he didn’t and the soldier marched firmly on, though it seemed to Isaiah that their pace was that of slogging through a thick marshland. Once again, time lurched forward and Isaiah blinked. The king was speaking to him and he’d somehow missed the intervening moments that prompted the question.
“Yes?” he was guessing at the king asking if he could swim and also beginning to rightly suspect that this meant they were going in the Aegean. There was nowhere else to go. The why was a critical point he was missing. His soft brown eyes rested on the king, his expression intense as he listened for any real hint of what they were doing. None came. The king simply told him that if he did not believe in this cause, that he could be excused.
Ah. That meant it was important. The faces of the men around him all conveyed the same strain about the eyes and tightness in the corners of the mouth. Their jaws were clenched and shoulders held rigid and high. Isaiah was no great lover of Egypt and he looked out at the ships a fair distance away. His best guess was that they were to swim out to the ships and do...he didn’t know what. He wasn’t a soldier. Hurt the ships or crew in some way. He wouldn’t spill more blood, he was sure of that, but the rest?
“I am at your service, sire,” and he bowed low, face toward the ground. The ships were moored and if he could somehow make his way to land from them? Towards Hannah? He would definitely brave the water for that. He’d drink salt water for that.
“I'll pair him with me,” said a familiar voice. Isaiah looked up to find Captain Krysto speaking. He was familiar with the captain enough to put a name to the face but other than that, he didn’t know much about the man. He supposed that was about to change. The next bit was a blur but Isaiah caught the word ‘oil’ and didn’t need to be told more than that. They were going to burn the ships.
He was less concerned about the swim with a rope being tied uncomfortably tight around his middle. The thought of being lost to the depths sometimes awoke him from a deep sleep. He’d already had to fight for his life in the Aegean once before but now it was for a much nobler reason. Or, he assumed it was noble. Isaiah didn’t think that the king of Taengea would order anything undeserved.
What was going to be a bit more difficult was swimming with the oil buckets, but this problem had already been thought of and solved. Yet another tether was tied to Isaiah and as he slipped into the cold water, he found the oil buckets floating beside him, bobbing up and down. Seal skin had been stretched and nailed over the top of the buckets, creating a water tight lid. All they would need to do would be to slice them open once they got to the ships. Someone had handed Isaiah a knife which he secured to his belt.
Other than a belt and a loincloth, he was naked. Clothing would weigh them down and they had quite a distance to swim. Walking it would be nothing but swimming was a different beast altogether. Following Krysto’s lead, Isaiah struck out across the water towards the ship. Each arm stroke against the choppy waves was a fight and he definitely had to take his time. Thankfully, blessedly, he was not an idle man and he was only a little tired by the time they reached the middle. The trick was to keep relaxed, to ride the waves when you could, and use your own power only when you had to. He had little doubt they’d make it to the ships. It was the way back that would be more precarious after they were tired out.
It did not suit Achilleas to be idle. And yet he knew better than to mistrust the capabilities of his Captains, so he did his best not to hover as preparations were made to enact the plan that had seen them sail across the Aegean. He stood beside Krysto looking out at the Egyptian vessels, sharing the man’s thoughts no doubt as two so close were want to do. He gave a nod when Krysto mentioned the concerns about the oil, but if the barrels were roped as well then they could do little else. They would be naturally buoyant and as much as could be done to make them watertight had already been done prior to the voyage. Flammable materials tended to draw forth caution in sailors.
The distant light of a lone sentry slowly creeping the dark mass of land was a reminder to all that stealth and surprise were their allies in this. And whilst Achilleas understood Krysto’s meaning, he judged it more prudent to maintain their current anonymity. Too far above them on the cliff tops to confidently set an archer on the man, there was the risk that doing so would alert others on land as to their presence as well. Let him walk, see nothing, and then walk back again. The King was not going to send men scaling a rock face in the darkness to euthanize a threat that might well just turn about in a moment.
He left Krysto to assemble the men he needed, and in the meantime spoke with the Judean man who as it turned out had been left in the dark as to what he was being asked to do. Achilleas knew no such thing though, and so his words to Isaiah were brief, and given that the man agreed, there was nothing left for the King to do save have a few brief words with those soldiers that Krysto had selected and then to draw the Captain himself aside for a moment before he could slip into the cool waters and begin this.
“Should you find yourselves greeted by any Egyptians” he began, the consideration that the ships might not be empty having asserted itself as he watched them. “Leave the barrels on deck and jump back into the water. Whistle once and I will have the archers open fire anyway. We still stand some chance of setting the fleet alight and you and the men will have some covering fire whilst we haul you back in”
Then it was out of his hands, and all he could do was look on as the Greeks slipped silently into the waters. Meeting Krysto’s eyes as the man paused to set a hand on his shoulder Achilleas managed a small smile, covering the man’s hand with his own a moment. “ May Poseidon and Ares be at your backs. And behind them, you will have us.”
He moved backwards then to give his friend room to manoeuvre down the plank and watched as all the swimmers took to the waters. With them gone, Achilleas moved to assure himself that the ropes anchoring them to the ship were being well - tended, and he stopped to speak to the archery Captain to ensure they were ready too. The men watching the cliff were briefed to advise of any changes, arrows were ready to be nocked. The small boy who stood by with the flint ready to spark the first flaming arrow was all big eyes and nerves, and Achilleas stopped a moment to crouch by his side. “You have the most important job,” he said quietly. “ And I know you have practiced well. This will be the same as all those times. Nothing more”
Little to do then but watch and wait, Achilleas stood at the prow of the vessel, eyes straining to see what he could in the inky blackness, for their fate depended upon the success of those few men.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
It did not suit Achilleas to be idle. And yet he knew better than to mistrust the capabilities of his Captains, so he did his best not to hover as preparations were made to enact the plan that had seen them sail across the Aegean. He stood beside Krysto looking out at the Egyptian vessels, sharing the man’s thoughts no doubt as two so close were want to do. He gave a nod when Krysto mentioned the concerns about the oil, but if the barrels were roped as well then they could do little else. They would be naturally buoyant and as much as could be done to make them watertight had already been done prior to the voyage. Flammable materials tended to draw forth caution in sailors.
The distant light of a lone sentry slowly creeping the dark mass of land was a reminder to all that stealth and surprise were their allies in this. And whilst Achilleas understood Krysto’s meaning, he judged it more prudent to maintain their current anonymity. Too far above them on the cliff tops to confidently set an archer on the man, there was the risk that doing so would alert others on land as to their presence as well. Let him walk, see nothing, and then walk back again. The King was not going to send men scaling a rock face in the darkness to euthanize a threat that might well just turn about in a moment.
He left Krysto to assemble the men he needed, and in the meantime spoke with the Judean man who as it turned out had been left in the dark as to what he was being asked to do. Achilleas knew no such thing though, and so his words to Isaiah were brief, and given that the man agreed, there was nothing left for the King to do save have a few brief words with those soldiers that Krysto had selected and then to draw the Captain himself aside for a moment before he could slip into the cool waters and begin this.
“Should you find yourselves greeted by any Egyptians” he began, the consideration that the ships might not be empty having asserted itself as he watched them. “Leave the barrels on deck and jump back into the water. Whistle once and I will have the archers open fire anyway. We still stand some chance of setting the fleet alight and you and the men will have some covering fire whilst we haul you back in”
Then it was out of his hands, and all he could do was look on as the Greeks slipped silently into the waters. Meeting Krysto’s eyes as the man paused to set a hand on his shoulder Achilleas managed a small smile, covering the man’s hand with his own a moment. “ May Poseidon and Ares be at your backs. And behind them, you will have us.”
He moved backwards then to give his friend room to manoeuvre down the plank and watched as all the swimmers took to the waters. With them gone, Achilleas moved to assure himself that the ropes anchoring them to the ship were being well - tended, and he stopped to speak to the archery Captain to ensure they were ready too. The men watching the cliff were briefed to advise of any changes, arrows were ready to be nocked. The small boy who stood by with the flint ready to spark the first flaming arrow was all big eyes and nerves, and Achilleas stopped a moment to crouch by his side. “You have the most important job,” he said quietly. “ And I know you have practiced well. This will be the same as all those times. Nothing more”
Little to do then but watch and wait, Achilleas stood at the prow of the vessel, eyes straining to see what he could in the inky blackness, for their fate depended upon the success of those few men.
It did not suit Achilleas to be idle. And yet he knew better than to mistrust the capabilities of his Captains, so he did his best not to hover as preparations were made to enact the plan that had seen them sail across the Aegean. He stood beside Krysto looking out at the Egyptian vessels, sharing the man’s thoughts no doubt as two so close were want to do. He gave a nod when Krysto mentioned the concerns about the oil, but if the barrels were roped as well then they could do little else. They would be naturally buoyant and as much as could be done to make them watertight had already been done prior to the voyage. Flammable materials tended to draw forth caution in sailors.
The distant light of a lone sentry slowly creeping the dark mass of land was a reminder to all that stealth and surprise were their allies in this. And whilst Achilleas understood Krysto’s meaning, he judged it more prudent to maintain their current anonymity. Too far above them on the cliff tops to confidently set an archer on the man, there was the risk that doing so would alert others on land as to their presence as well. Let him walk, see nothing, and then walk back again. The King was not going to send men scaling a rock face in the darkness to euthanize a threat that might well just turn about in a moment.
He left Krysto to assemble the men he needed, and in the meantime spoke with the Judean man who as it turned out had been left in the dark as to what he was being asked to do. Achilleas knew no such thing though, and so his words to Isaiah were brief, and given that the man agreed, there was nothing left for the King to do save have a few brief words with those soldiers that Krysto had selected and then to draw the Captain himself aside for a moment before he could slip into the cool waters and begin this.
“Should you find yourselves greeted by any Egyptians” he began, the consideration that the ships might not be empty having asserted itself as he watched them. “Leave the barrels on deck and jump back into the water. Whistle once and I will have the archers open fire anyway. We still stand some chance of setting the fleet alight and you and the men will have some covering fire whilst we haul you back in”
Then it was out of his hands, and all he could do was look on as the Greeks slipped silently into the waters. Meeting Krysto’s eyes as the man paused to set a hand on his shoulder Achilleas managed a small smile, covering the man’s hand with his own a moment. “ May Poseidon and Ares be at your backs. And behind them, you will have us.”
He moved backwards then to give his friend room to manoeuvre down the plank and watched as all the swimmers took to the waters. With them gone, Achilleas moved to assure himself that the ropes anchoring them to the ship were being well - tended, and he stopped to speak to the archery Captain to ensure they were ready too. The men watching the cliff were briefed to advise of any changes, arrows were ready to be nocked. The small boy who stood by with the flint ready to spark the first flaming arrow was all big eyes and nerves, and Achilleas stopped a moment to crouch by his side. “You have the most important job,” he said quietly. “ And I know you have practiced well. This will be the same as all those times. Nothing more”
Little to do then but watch and wait, Achilleas stood at the prow of the vessel, eyes straining to see what he could in the inky blackness, for their fate depended upon the success of those few men.
Krysto had long left his clothes on the deck, staring into the blackened waters with a hard expression. He let Isaiah slip into the waters first, following after him carefully as she scaled the plank with a careful swiftness that saw him sinking into the waves in a near silent manner. Even their breaths would have to be quiet from here on out, only taken when the lapping of the waves around them crashed about their bodies and propelled them forward. A man who swam well and somewhat often, he was not idle in the least in his off times.
A captain couldn't be when they had massive contingencies of soldiers to lead, horses to run, and a chariot to control. Krysto did not think back on the words that Achilleas spoke, knowing very well that one slip up in this moment and most of the soldiers in these waters could die. Die because of his ideas and his course of action that they had taken. But the beaches had not been something they could have risked. It would have brought all out war much faster than either side was prepared for. And, being unfamiliar with much of the territory, they would be very likely to lose to begin with.
Taking a soft breath with each stroke of his arms, Krysto followed along behind Isaiah as they swam, making sure to keep an eye on the other groups of soldiers that were swimming to other ships. The smaller ships. Much smaller than the one that they were currently drifting toward. He didn't tire himself quickly for fear of not being able to fight if he were too exhausted, but he was still able to stick with the Judean man. Why Isaiah had decided to do this for a Kingdom that was not his own was a mystery, but many the man just didn't want to die.
Either way, he would have to be give armor soon enough if they wanted to protect the man from harm while they were in Egypt, fighting battle after battle.
The closer they got to the ships, the more anxiety that Krysto felt. Slowly but surely, he sat like a stone in the pit of his stomach. He reached for Isaiah in the water, pausing only to touch his shoulder and silently point him toward their target. They needed to find a way up there without getting caught and the chances of their being men on the decks of the ships was high. His mind was already running, his blue gaze darting up and down the ship for any sign or way that they could bring themselves up to the deck. He reached into the water, feeling for his knife. Maybe they could cut throats if they had to, but Krysto silently wondered if Isaiah would go so far as to murder another person.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
Krysto had long left his clothes on the deck, staring into the blackened waters with a hard expression. He let Isaiah slip into the waters first, following after him carefully as she scaled the plank with a careful swiftness that saw him sinking into the waves in a near silent manner. Even their breaths would have to be quiet from here on out, only taken when the lapping of the waves around them crashed about their bodies and propelled them forward. A man who swam well and somewhat often, he was not idle in the least in his off times.
A captain couldn't be when they had massive contingencies of soldiers to lead, horses to run, and a chariot to control. Krysto did not think back on the words that Achilleas spoke, knowing very well that one slip up in this moment and most of the soldiers in these waters could die. Die because of his ideas and his course of action that they had taken. But the beaches had not been something they could have risked. It would have brought all out war much faster than either side was prepared for. And, being unfamiliar with much of the territory, they would be very likely to lose to begin with.
Taking a soft breath with each stroke of his arms, Krysto followed along behind Isaiah as they swam, making sure to keep an eye on the other groups of soldiers that were swimming to other ships. The smaller ships. Much smaller than the one that they were currently drifting toward. He didn't tire himself quickly for fear of not being able to fight if he were too exhausted, but he was still able to stick with the Judean man. Why Isaiah had decided to do this for a Kingdom that was not his own was a mystery, but many the man just didn't want to die.
Either way, he would have to be give armor soon enough if they wanted to protect the man from harm while they were in Egypt, fighting battle after battle.
The closer they got to the ships, the more anxiety that Krysto felt. Slowly but surely, he sat like a stone in the pit of his stomach. He reached for Isaiah in the water, pausing only to touch his shoulder and silently point him toward their target. They needed to find a way up there without getting caught and the chances of their being men on the decks of the ships was high. His mind was already running, his blue gaze darting up and down the ship for any sign or way that they could bring themselves up to the deck. He reached into the water, feeling for his knife. Maybe they could cut throats if they had to, but Krysto silently wondered if Isaiah would go so far as to murder another person.
Krysto had long left his clothes on the deck, staring into the blackened waters with a hard expression. He let Isaiah slip into the waters first, following after him carefully as she scaled the plank with a careful swiftness that saw him sinking into the waves in a near silent manner. Even their breaths would have to be quiet from here on out, only taken when the lapping of the waves around them crashed about their bodies and propelled them forward. A man who swam well and somewhat often, he was not idle in the least in his off times.
A captain couldn't be when they had massive contingencies of soldiers to lead, horses to run, and a chariot to control. Krysto did not think back on the words that Achilleas spoke, knowing very well that one slip up in this moment and most of the soldiers in these waters could die. Die because of his ideas and his course of action that they had taken. But the beaches had not been something they could have risked. It would have brought all out war much faster than either side was prepared for. And, being unfamiliar with much of the territory, they would be very likely to lose to begin with.
Taking a soft breath with each stroke of his arms, Krysto followed along behind Isaiah as they swam, making sure to keep an eye on the other groups of soldiers that were swimming to other ships. The smaller ships. Much smaller than the one that they were currently drifting toward. He didn't tire himself quickly for fear of not being able to fight if he were too exhausted, but he was still able to stick with the Judean man. Why Isaiah had decided to do this for a Kingdom that was not his own was a mystery, but many the man just didn't want to die.
Either way, he would have to be give armor soon enough if they wanted to protect the man from harm while they were in Egypt, fighting battle after battle.
The closer they got to the ships, the more anxiety that Krysto felt. Slowly but surely, he sat like a stone in the pit of his stomach. He reached for Isaiah in the water, pausing only to touch his shoulder and silently point him toward their target. They needed to find a way up there without getting caught and the chances of their being men on the decks of the ships was high. His mind was already running, his blue gaze darting up and down the ship for any sign or way that they could bring themselves up to the deck. He reached into the water, feeling for his knife. Maybe they could cut throats if they had to, but Krysto silently wondered if Isaiah would go so far as to murder another person.
Swimming in cold ocean was different than the swimming holes back home. There, he could count on seeing the grassy shoreline and its scrubby brush rising up above the lip of earth. He could dive down and expect his fingertips to brush soft, murky mush of mud, for flakes of rock to dig under his fingernails, and then to drop his feet and push himself up to the surface again. The water was fresh and he could wick it away from his eyes. Only the faintest of splashes would lap against his chest and he could pull himself out at any point. That was not like here, where each kick of his feet and swipe of his arm fell away into a deep, black abyss. Water surged against his pursed lips and clogged his nose so that he smelled nothing but wet salt. It was hard to think with the water so cold and no sun to warm his back and head. All he focused on was one arm stroke at a time, one leg kick at a time, and all the while, the same prayer running through his head.
Mighty Yahweh, hear my plea. Forgive me for my lie. Over and over and over he said this prayer. He said it in time with each cut of his arm through the water, each breath he took, each slam of his heart against his ribs. Isaiah was so eager to do this mission because it would get him close to land. Once he was on that ship, he would untie the rope from around his waist, and he’d bolt onto the sandy banks of Egypt. If Yahweh was with him, Hannah would be in his arms inside a month. He didn’t consider what would happen if his God chose not to respond.
Later, he would wonder how he didn’t think about the creatures that lurked in the depths. He would wonder why the swim felt like it was so short and an eternity in the same instant, and he would wonder how he hadn’t foreseen it all going so wrong.
In the dark, he didn’t know where Krysto was expect that he could hear the unavoidable splashes somewhere to his right. The ships loomed up, huge and daunting, creaking against their moorings. This close to the wood, the lapping water sounded hollow and Isaiah tried to cling to the ship’s side but the huge slats were slick. His fingers scrabbled, unable to gain purchase. He was tired but there was nothing for it except to keep swimming until he found a handhold and hoisted himself out of the water. For a long second, he froze, teeth chattering, listening to the water cascading off him into the Aegean below. His eyes were pinned on the railing high above but no dark face blocked the night sky and after a few precious seconds were wasted, he forced himself to climb. His limbs shook with the effort and the bucket of oil tied to him pounded once against the ship’s side. He only let that happen once and reached down to bring the rope up, clamping it between his teeth, and had to deal with that weight dragging on him.
There wasn’t time to picture Hannah, but he thought of her. More like a feeling, than anything else, and it was his desire to hold her that drove him up the ship’s side; a feat he wouldn’t have thought he could perform if he was to stand on the shore and watch. Part of him was glad it was too dark to properly gauge anything. Without his mind telling him he couldn’t, his body simply assumed it could. Isaiah paused once again just below the railing, only his eyes peeking across the deck. The one, at least, was empty.
Slithering over the railing, he stole a few more seconds to catch his breath but then, he set about his purpose. Peeling back the tight skin covering the bucket, he poured his lot across the decking and made sure to let it seep down the back of the ship so that the oil would drip onto the rudder. A ship was no good if it couldn’t be steered.
That done, he waved his hands high above his head at Achilleas’s ship to signal he was ready and then ducked out of sight. His frozen fingers quivered over the sailor’s knot on the rope around his waist but he was having trouble untying it. Jaw set, teeth clamped together, he tried to undo it until his wet nails threatened to bend backwards. No! He looked to the shore and stopped trying to untie the knot. Was that how many people normally camped beside ships? There seemed to be an army of workmen guarding the ships by land, but he wasn’t a sailor, nor had he ever worked in a shipyard. It just seemed...off, but he couldn’t exactly put his fingers on why.
It didn’t matter. Isaiah looked down and set about trying to unwork the knot again.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
Swimming in cold ocean was different than the swimming holes back home. There, he could count on seeing the grassy shoreline and its scrubby brush rising up above the lip of earth. He could dive down and expect his fingertips to brush soft, murky mush of mud, for flakes of rock to dig under his fingernails, and then to drop his feet and push himself up to the surface again. The water was fresh and he could wick it away from his eyes. Only the faintest of splashes would lap against his chest and he could pull himself out at any point. That was not like here, where each kick of his feet and swipe of his arm fell away into a deep, black abyss. Water surged against his pursed lips and clogged his nose so that he smelled nothing but wet salt. It was hard to think with the water so cold and no sun to warm his back and head. All he focused on was one arm stroke at a time, one leg kick at a time, and all the while, the same prayer running through his head.
Mighty Yahweh, hear my plea. Forgive me for my lie. Over and over and over he said this prayer. He said it in time with each cut of his arm through the water, each breath he took, each slam of his heart against his ribs. Isaiah was so eager to do this mission because it would get him close to land. Once he was on that ship, he would untie the rope from around his waist, and he’d bolt onto the sandy banks of Egypt. If Yahweh was with him, Hannah would be in his arms inside a month. He didn’t consider what would happen if his God chose not to respond.
Later, he would wonder how he didn’t think about the creatures that lurked in the depths. He would wonder why the swim felt like it was so short and an eternity in the same instant, and he would wonder how he hadn’t foreseen it all going so wrong.
In the dark, he didn’t know where Krysto was expect that he could hear the unavoidable splashes somewhere to his right. The ships loomed up, huge and daunting, creaking against their moorings. This close to the wood, the lapping water sounded hollow and Isaiah tried to cling to the ship’s side but the huge slats were slick. His fingers scrabbled, unable to gain purchase. He was tired but there was nothing for it except to keep swimming until he found a handhold and hoisted himself out of the water. For a long second, he froze, teeth chattering, listening to the water cascading off him into the Aegean below. His eyes were pinned on the railing high above but no dark face blocked the night sky and after a few precious seconds were wasted, he forced himself to climb. His limbs shook with the effort and the bucket of oil tied to him pounded once against the ship’s side. He only let that happen once and reached down to bring the rope up, clamping it between his teeth, and had to deal with that weight dragging on him.
There wasn’t time to picture Hannah, but he thought of her. More like a feeling, than anything else, and it was his desire to hold her that drove him up the ship’s side; a feat he wouldn’t have thought he could perform if he was to stand on the shore and watch. Part of him was glad it was too dark to properly gauge anything. Without his mind telling him he couldn’t, his body simply assumed it could. Isaiah paused once again just below the railing, only his eyes peeking across the deck. The one, at least, was empty.
Slithering over the railing, he stole a few more seconds to catch his breath but then, he set about his purpose. Peeling back the tight skin covering the bucket, he poured his lot across the decking and made sure to let it seep down the back of the ship so that the oil would drip onto the rudder. A ship was no good if it couldn’t be steered.
That done, he waved his hands high above his head at Achilleas’s ship to signal he was ready and then ducked out of sight. His frozen fingers quivered over the sailor’s knot on the rope around his waist but he was having trouble untying it. Jaw set, teeth clamped together, he tried to undo it until his wet nails threatened to bend backwards. No! He looked to the shore and stopped trying to untie the knot. Was that how many people normally camped beside ships? There seemed to be an army of workmen guarding the ships by land, but he wasn’t a sailor, nor had he ever worked in a shipyard. It just seemed...off, but he couldn’t exactly put his fingers on why.
It didn’t matter. Isaiah looked down and set about trying to unwork the knot again.
Swimming in cold ocean was different than the swimming holes back home. There, he could count on seeing the grassy shoreline and its scrubby brush rising up above the lip of earth. He could dive down and expect his fingertips to brush soft, murky mush of mud, for flakes of rock to dig under his fingernails, and then to drop his feet and push himself up to the surface again. The water was fresh and he could wick it away from his eyes. Only the faintest of splashes would lap against his chest and he could pull himself out at any point. That was not like here, where each kick of his feet and swipe of his arm fell away into a deep, black abyss. Water surged against his pursed lips and clogged his nose so that he smelled nothing but wet salt. It was hard to think with the water so cold and no sun to warm his back and head. All he focused on was one arm stroke at a time, one leg kick at a time, and all the while, the same prayer running through his head.
Mighty Yahweh, hear my plea. Forgive me for my lie. Over and over and over he said this prayer. He said it in time with each cut of his arm through the water, each breath he took, each slam of his heart against his ribs. Isaiah was so eager to do this mission because it would get him close to land. Once he was on that ship, he would untie the rope from around his waist, and he’d bolt onto the sandy banks of Egypt. If Yahweh was with him, Hannah would be in his arms inside a month. He didn’t consider what would happen if his God chose not to respond.
Later, he would wonder how he didn’t think about the creatures that lurked in the depths. He would wonder why the swim felt like it was so short and an eternity in the same instant, and he would wonder how he hadn’t foreseen it all going so wrong.
In the dark, he didn’t know where Krysto was expect that he could hear the unavoidable splashes somewhere to his right. The ships loomed up, huge and daunting, creaking against their moorings. This close to the wood, the lapping water sounded hollow and Isaiah tried to cling to the ship’s side but the huge slats were slick. His fingers scrabbled, unable to gain purchase. He was tired but there was nothing for it except to keep swimming until he found a handhold and hoisted himself out of the water. For a long second, he froze, teeth chattering, listening to the water cascading off him into the Aegean below. His eyes were pinned on the railing high above but no dark face blocked the night sky and after a few precious seconds were wasted, he forced himself to climb. His limbs shook with the effort and the bucket of oil tied to him pounded once against the ship’s side. He only let that happen once and reached down to bring the rope up, clamping it between his teeth, and had to deal with that weight dragging on him.
There wasn’t time to picture Hannah, but he thought of her. More like a feeling, than anything else, and it was his desire to hold her that drove him up the ship’s side; a feat he wouldn’t have thought he could perform if he was to stand on the shore and watch. Part of him was glad it was too dark to properly gauge anything. Without his mind telling him he couldn’t, his body simply assumed it could. Isaiah paused once again just below the railing, only his eyes peeking across the deck. The one, at least, was empty.
Slithering over the railing, he stole a few more seconds to catch his breath but then, he set about his purpose. Peeling back the tight skin covering the bucket, he poured his lot across the decking and made sure to let it seep down the back of the ship so that the oil would drip onto the rudder. A ship was no good if it couldn’t be steered.
That done, he waved his hands high above his head at Achilleas’s ship to signal he was ready and then ducked out of sight. His frozen fingers quivered over the sailor’s knot on the rope around his waist but he was having trouble untying it. Jaw set, teeth clamped together, he tried to undo it until his wet nails threatened to bend backwards. No! He looked to the shore and stopped trying to untie the knot. Was that how many people normally camped beside ships? There seemed to be an army of workmen guarding the ships by land, but he wasn’t a sailor, nor had he ever worked in a shipyard. It just seemed...off, but he couldn’t exactly put his fingers on why.
It didn’t matter. Isaiah looked down and set about trying to unwork the knot again.
Standing idly by and doing nothing was not Achilleas’ strong point. He was too much of a control freak, too much of a perfectionist to ever be content letting everything rest with others. It was what brought him even this far: There might be Kings who would have dispatched men to complete such a task, stayed safe at home within the well-guarded walls of their palaces. Indeed, such a course of action had been suggested to him by his own nobility, but Achilleas had rejected it then just as he had rejected it in his initial conversations with his advisors.
And yet, as he stood by and strained his eyes to pick out the progress of the swimmers, he could not help but feel it was what he had ended up doing anyway. Pressing his lips together as he looked for the tiny telltale disturbances in the water that heralded the progress of Krysto and the others, he kept his focus razor-sharp upon their surroundings. There were many variables that could affect the success of this endeavour, and his job from here was to make sure he had accounted for every single one of them. He wanted his men back safely and those ships blazing brighter than Helios himself as he raced across the sky in his chariot. If that were accomplished then they could sail for home, safe in the knowledge that they had cut the Egyptian’s ability to threaten the Grecian Kingdoms out from under them.
He could not afford to think on that now though, not until that success was safe within their grasp. Now, he followed as best as he could the men in the water, having to trust in the dedication and ability of those around him to play their parts for this shared goal.
The waters were not warm at this time of year, but the distances were not too great. With the added buoyancy of the oil barrels, he did not doubt the men would reach the Egyptian craft easily enough. Climbing aboard would be more taxing, but nothing beyond these men whose very profession demanded strength and agility. He had faith in Krysto’s judgement, his friend would not have taken those who were not up to the task.
Minutes slid by sluggishly as was always the way in such situations, but it wasn’t too long before one of the soldiers manning the ropes gave a low whistle through his teeth to signal a tension on the lines as the first swimmer signalled themselves ready to be hauled back. Immediately, men aboard began to draw the rope in, taking the work away from the one who had - hopefully- done his part.
Achilleas could not help but feel a swell of relief as another and then another of the ropes were pulled taut, suggesting there had been no interruptions at the other end, no Egyptians lying in wait to greet the would-be arsonists. Soon nearly all the ropes from their vessel were being pulled in, save for one. The King lifted an eyebrow at the man tending it.
“The Judean, your majesty.” came the response and Achilleas frowned. What was the delay? Soon they would need to light arrows. Pursing his lips he considered a moment.
“Pull him back,” he said after a moment. The soldier bowed and nodded and immediately took a grip upon the woven fibres to haul the foreigner back, inconsiderate of any resistance he might encounter. Whatever the delay was, Achilleas was not going to delay any longer.
When the swimmers were all in sight, the King gave the nod to the archery Captain, the flint was struck and in a perfectly coordinated dance, the sky was suddenly a hail of flaming arrows. With bated breath, Achilleas watched as they cut through the darkness, shattering any secrecy they had held on to. It was risky, but as the whistle of bolts turned to the thud of impact, the presence of the Greeks became even more obvious.
Flames licked hungrily across oil-doused wood until soon there was a dull roar and sharp crackles. Ships burned, the surface of the water burned too as it reflected the fires. With it came a small glow of satisfaction, and Achilleas caught hold of Urion’s arm. “Have men ready upon the oars. The moment we have the last man aboard we row, and fast. I don’t think our Egyptian friends will be too pleased with this bonfire we have started.” Eyes bright and teeth flashing in the dark, it was victory that Achilleas could taste on his tongue.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
Standing idly by and doing nothing was not Achilleas’ strong point. He was too much of a control freak, too much of a perfectionist to ever be content letting everything rest with others. It was what brought him even this far: There might be Kings who would have dispatched men to complete such a task, stayed safe at home within the well-guarded walls of their palaces. Indeed, such a course of action had been suggested to him by his own nobility, but Achilleas had rejected it then just as he had rejected it in his initial conversations with his advisors.
And yet, as he stood by and strained his eyes to pick out the progress of the swimmers, he could not help but feel it was what he had ended up doing anyway. Pressing his lips together as he looked for the tiny telltale disturbances in the water that heralded the progress of Krysto and the others, he kept his focus razor-sharp upon their surroundings. There were many variables that could affect the success of this endeavour, and his job from here was to make sure he had accounted for every single one of them. He wanted his men back safely and those ships blazing brighter than Helios himself as he raced across the sky in his chariot. If that were accomplished then they could sail for home, safe in the knowledge that they had cut the Egyptian’s ability to threaten the Grecian Kingdoms out from under them.
He could not afford to think on that now though, not until that success was safe within their grasp. Now, he followed as best as he could the men in the water, having to trust in the dedication and ability of those around him to play their parts for this shared goal.
The waters were not warm at this time of year, but the distances were not too great. With the added buoyancy of the oil barrels, he did not doubt the men would reach the Egyptian craft easily enough. Climbing aboard would be more taxing, but nothing beyond these men whose very profession demanded strength and agility. He had faith in Krysto’s judgement, his friend would not have taken those who were not up to the task.
Minutes slid by sluggishly as was always the way in such situations, but it wasn’t too long before one of the soldiers manning the ropes gave a low whistle through his teeth to signal a tension on the lines as the first swimmer signalled themselves ready to be hauled back. Immediately, men aboard began to draw the rope in, taking the work away from the one who had - hopefully- done his part.
Achilleas could not help but feel a swell of relief as another and then another of the ropes were pulled taut, suggesting there had been no interruptions at the other end, no Egyptians lying in wait to greet the would-be arsonists. Soon nearly all the ropes from their vessel were being pulled in, save for one. The King lifted an eyebrow at the man tending it.
“The Judean, your majesty.” came the response and Achilleas frowned. What was the delay? Soon they would need to light arrows. Pursing his lips he considered a moment.
“Pull him back,” he said after a moment. The soldier bowed and nodded and immediately took a grip upon the woven fibres to haul the foreigner back, inconsiderate of any resistance he might encounter. Whatever the delay was, Achilleas was not going to delay any longer.
When the swimmers were all in sight, the King gave the nod to the archery Captain, the flint was struck and in a perfectly coordinated dance, the sky was suddenly a hail of flaming arrows. With bated breath, Achilleas watched as they cut through the darkness, shattering any secrecy they had held on to. It was risky, but as the whistle of bolts turned to the thud of impact, the presence of the Greeks became even more obvious.
Flames licked hungrily across oil-doused wood until soon there was a dull roar and sharp crackles. Ships burned, the surface of the water burned too as it reflected the fires. With it came a small glow of satisfaction, and Achilleas caught hold of Urion’s arm. “Have men ready upon the oars. The moment we have the last man aboard we row, and fast. I don’t think our Egyptian friends will be too pleased with this bonfire we have started.” Eyes bright and teeth flashing in the dark, it was victory that Achilleas could taste on his tongue.
Standing idly by and doing nothing was not Achilleas’ strong point. He was too much of a control freak, too much of a perfectionist to ever be content letting everything rest with others. It was what brought him even this far: There might be Kings who would have dispatched men to complete such a task, stayed safe at home within the well-guarded walls of their palaces. Indeed, such a course of action had been suggested to him by his own nobility, but Achilleas had rejected it then just as he had rejected it in his initial conversations with his advisors.
And yet, as he stood by and strained his eyes to pick out the progress of the swimmers, he could not help but feel it was what he had ended up doing anyway. Pressing his lips together as he looked for the tiny telltale disturbances in the water that heralded the progress of Krysto and the others, he kept his focus razor-sharp upon their surroundings. There were many variables that could affect the success of this endeavour, and his job from here was to make sure he had accounted for every single one of them. He wanted his men back safely and those ships blazing brighter than Helios himself as he raced across the sky in his chariot. If that were accomplished then they could sail for home, safe in the knowledge that they had cut the Egyptian’s ability to threaten the Grecian Kingdoms out from under them.
He could not afford to think on that now though, not until that success was safe within their grasp. Now, he followed as best as he could the men in the water, having to trust in the dedication and ability of those around him to play their parts for this shared goal.
The waters were not warm at this time of year, but the distances were not too great. With the added buoyancy of the oil barrels, he did not doubt the men would reach the Egyptian craft easily enough. Climbing aboard would be more taxing, but nothing beyond these men whose very profession demanded strength and agility. He had faith in Krysto’s judgement, his friend would not have taken those who were not up to the task.
Minutes slid by sluggishly as was always the way in such situations, but it wasn’t too long before one of the soldiers manning the ropes gave a low whistle through his teeth to signal a tension on the lines as the first swimmer signalled themselves ready to be hauled back. Immediately, men aboard began to draw the rope in, taking the work away from the one who had - hopefully- done his part.
Achilleas could not help but feel a swell of relief as another and then another of the ropes were pulled taut, suggesting there had been no interruptions at the other end, no Egyptians lying in wait to greet the would-be arsonists. Soon nearly all the ropes from their vessel were being pulled in, save for one. The King lifted an eyebrow at the man tending it.
“The Judean, your majesty.” came the response and Achilleas frowned. What was the delay? Soon they would need to light arrows. Pursing his lips he considered a moment.
“Pull him back,” he said after a moment. The soldier bowed and nodded and immediately took a grip upon the woven fibres to haul the foreigner back, inconsiderate of any resistance he might encounter. Whatever the delay was, Achilleas was not going to delay any longer.
When the swimmers were all in sight, the King gave the nod to the archery Captain, the flint was struck and in a perfectly coordinated dance, the sky was suddenly a hail of flaming arrows. With bated breath, Achilleas watched as they cut through the darkness, shattering any secrecy they had held on to. It was risky, but as the whistle of bolts turned to the thud of impact, the presence of the Greeks became even more obvious.
Flames licked hungrily across oil-doused wood until soon there was a dull roar and sharp crackles. Ships burned, the surface of the water burned too as it reflected the fires. With it came a small glow of satisfaction, and Achilleas caught hold of Urion’s arm. “Have men ready upon the oars. The moment we have the last man aboard we row, and fast. I don’t think our Egyptian friends will be too pleased with this bonfire we have started.” Eyes bright and teeth flashing in the dark, it was victory that Achilleas could taste on his tongue.
Krysto's movements were much the same as the Judean's, except he did not have as hard of a time dragging himself up the side of the ship. He did, however, struggle to keep the barrel of oil tried to him from bouncing against the side of the ship. After the third time, the soldier finally got the rope in his teeth and hauled himself up the rest of the way. He and Isaiah, separated in two different directions to ensure that the massive ship was going to well and truly burn.
Krysto's oil was spread across the front of the ship, connecting eventually with the lines of Isaiah's mess. He noted then the way that the man seemed to struggle with the rope around his waist, his brows starting to furrow as he approached Isaiah on light feet. He was not stupid enough to speak, but he was irritated enough by the signs that Isaiah was trying to abandon them, that he nudged the man from behind to get him to move back toward the edge of the ship. It was the only signal that he would give to the man that they both needed to get off the ship. As soon as possible.
His gaze trailed the waters, watching the darkness as his fellow soldiers were dragged back toward their own boat. The last thing that Krysto wanted was to be stuck upon his vessel when it went up in flames, and he was keen on not allowing Isaiah to keep him there. Not when he had family and an unborn child back at home, waiting for him to return safely. Isaiah's freedom, or whatever it was that he was looking for, was not important to Krysto in this moment. Making it out alive and unseen upon the top of this boat was the highest priority.
If Krysto died because of Isaiah, then Krysto was going to hunt the man down in the afterlife, crossing the barriers of gods and pantheon's to ensure that the man suffered in death just as he must have in life. There was nothing that was going to keep him from Eurydice, most especially not this foreign man who seemed to have no care for the soldiers he swam with now that he had a chance to maybe take his freedom. All because Krysto wasn't going to leave the Judean man up there on the boat without Krysto himself. If things went alight, then Isaiah would need to jump anyway.
But his own sense of self-preservation hit first and Krysto took his dive back off into the water so that he could be pulled back toward the boat. He watched as Isaiah's rope was tugged hard from their own ship and tried not to watch the result of that motion. Hitting the water the wrong way because you were screwing around could be painful and Krysto wasn't keen on seeing that. There would be enough pain in the future.
The man allowed himself to be pulled back toward the boat, and by the time they made it back to their own ship, Krysto was shivering hard, unable to ignore the cold of the water any longer as he crawled his way back up the gangplank and back up onto the ship. Like the other soldiers that had been in the water, he sunk down onto his back on the first open spot he could find on the deck, trying to catch his breath and letting his gaze wander the stars above their heads. Someone threw him a towel of sorts and he started to dry himself off, almost wishing there was the warmth of the sunlight to take the chill from his bones in this moment.
Soon rising to his feet, Krysto wanted to see the ships go up in flames and moved sluggishly toward the king to stand beside him. Glancing toward Achilleas, Krysto let the words hand between them, "He was trying to undo the rope around his waist," was all he said, knowing that Achilleas likely didn't and wouldn't do much about it this time. Isaiah was not a soldier and he was not part of the military. There wasn't much punishment that could be given. But a second betrayal of trust? That could end badly for the Judean. This was war, and nothing would really make sense from here on out.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
Krysto's movements were much the same as the Judean's, except he did not have as hard of a time dragging himself up the side of the ship. He did, however, struggle to keep the barrel of oil tried to him from bouncing against the side of the ship. After the third time, the soldier finally got the rope in his teeth and hauled himself up the rest of the way. He and Isaiah, separated in two different directions to ensure that the massive ship was going to well and truly burn.
Krysto's oil was spread across the front of the ship, connecting eventually with the lines of Isaiah's mess. He noted then the way that the man seemed to struggle with the rope around his waist, his brows starting to furrow as he approached Isaiah on light feet. He was not stupid enough to speak, but he was irritated enough by the signs that Isaiah was trying to abandon them, that he nudged the man from behind to get him to move back toward the edge of the ship. It was the only signal that he would give to the man that they both needed to get off the ship. As soon as possible.
His gaze trailed the waters, watching the darkness as his fellow soldiers were dragged back toward their own boat. The last thing that Krysto wanted was to be stuck upon his vessel when it went up in flames, and he was keen on not allowing Isaiah to keep him there. Not when he had family and an unborn child back at home, waiting for him to return safely. Isaiah's freedom, or whatever it was that he was looking for, was not important to Krysto in this moment. Making it out alive and unseen upon the top of this boat was the highest priority.
If Krysto died because of Isaiah, then Krysto was going to hunt the man down in the afterlife, crossing the barriers of gods and pantheon's to ensure that the man suffered in death just as he must have in life. There was nothing that was going to keep him from Eurydice, most especially not this foreign man who seemed to have no care for the soldiers he swam with now that he had a chance to maybe take his freedom. All because Krysto wasn't going to leave the Judean man up there on the boat without Krysto himself. If things went alight, then Isaiah would need to jump anyway.
But his own sense of self-preservation hit first and Krysto took his dive back off into the water so that he could be pulled back toward the boat. He watched as Isaiah's rope was tugged hard from their own ship and tried not to watch the result of that motion. Hitting the water the wrong way because you were screwing around could be painful and Krysto wasn't keen on seeing that. There would be enough pain in the future.
The man allowed himself to be pulled back toward the boat, and by the time they made it back to their own ship, Krysto was shivering hard, unable to ignore the cold of the water any longer as he crawled his way back up the gangplank and back up onto the ship. Like the other soldiers that had been in the water, he sunk down onto his back on the first open spot he could find on the deck, trying to catch his breath and letting his gaze wander the stars above their heads. Someone threw him a towel of sorts and he started to dry himself off, almost wishing there was the warmth of the sunlight to take the chill from his bones in this moment.
Soon rising to his feet, Krysto wanted to see the ships go up in flames and moved sluggishly toward the king to stand beside him. Glancing toward Achilleas, Krysto let the words hand between them, "He was trying to undo the rope around his waist," was all he said, knowing that Achilleas likely didn't and wouldn't do much about it this time. Isaiah was not a soldier and he was not part of the military. There wasn't much punishment that could be given. But a second betrayal of trust? That could end badly for the Judean. This was war, and nothing would really make sense from here on out.
Krysto's movements were much the same as the Judean's, except he did not have as hard of a time dragging himself up the side of the ship. He did, however, struggle to keep the barrel of oil tried to him from bouncing against the side of the ship. After the third time, the soldier finally got the rope in his teeth and hauled himself up the rest of the way. He and Isaiah, separated in two different directions to ensure that the massive ship was going to well and truly burn.
Krysto's oil was spread across the front of the ship, connecting eventually with the lines of Isaiah's mess. He noted then the way that the man seemed to struggle with the rope around his waist, his brows starting to furrow as he approached Isaiah on light feet. He was not stupid enough to speak, but he was irritated enough by the signs that Isaiah was trying to abandon them, that he nudged the man from behind to get him to move back toward the edge of the ship. It was the only signal that he would give to the man that they both needed to get off the ship. As soon as possible.
His gaze trailed the waters, watching the darkness as his fellow soldiers were dragged back toward their own boat. The last thing that Krysto wanted was to be stuck upon his vessel when it went up in flames, and he was keen on not allowing Isaiah to keep him there. Not when he had family and an unborn child back at home, waiting for him to return safely. Isaiah's freedom, or whatever it was that he was looking for, was not important to Krysto in this moment. Making it out alive and unseen upon the top of this boat was the highest priority.
If Krysto died because of Isaiah, then Krysto was going to hunt the man down in the afterlife, crossing the barriers of gods and pantheon's to ensure that the man suffered in death just as he must have in life. There was nothing that was going to keep him from Eurydice, most especially not this foreign man who seemed to have no care for the soldiers he swam with now that he had a chance to maybe take his freedom. All because Krysto wasn't going to leave the Judean man up there on the boat without Krysto himself. If things went alight, then Isaiah would need to jump anyway.
But his own sense of self-preservation hit first and Krysto took his dive back off into the water so that he could be pulled back toward the boat. He watched as Isaiah's rope was tugged hard from their own ship and tried not to watch the result of that motion. Hitting the water the wrong way because you were screwing around could be painful and Krysto wasn't keen on seeing that. There would be enough pain in the future.
The man allowed himself to be pulled back toward the boat, and by the time they made it back to their own ship, Krysto was shivering hard, unable to ignore the cold of the water any longer as he crawled his way back up the gangplank and back up onto the ship. Like the other soldiers that had been in the water, he sunk down onto his back on the first open spot he could find on the deck, trying to catch his breath and letting his gaze wander the stars above their heads. Someone threw him a towel of sorts and he started to dry himself off, almost wishing there was the warmth of the sunlight to take the chill from his bones in this moment.
Soon rising to his feet, Krysto wanted to see the ships go up in flames and moved sluggishly toward the king to stand beside him. Glancing toward Achilleas, Krysto let the words hand between them, "He was trying to undo the rope around his waist," was all he said, knowing that Achilleas likely didn't and wouldn't do much about it this time. Isaiah was not a soldier and he was not part of the military. There wasn't much punishment that could be given. But a second betrayal of trust? That could end badly for the Judean. This was war, and nothing would really make sense from here on out.
Over the brine of salt and the stench of the oil gathering in the back of his throat, Isaiah could smell home. It was the smoke of the fires that did it, drifting over the ships and out towards the water. Dung fires. Camel dung, specifically, mingled with burning straw, built up in little mounds. Easy fuel, easily and nearly completely Egyptian. He’d have had a dung fire of dry donkey dung at home. Cheap, renewable, and so totally potent that he’d recognize it anywhere. It made him stop and stare out across the beach. He hadn’t smelled this in Greece and that was something he might have been thankful for, except it lit a burning coal inside his chest, so aching and familiar that he couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t breathe until he felt a wet elbow nudge his spine as Krysto wordlessly moved past him. The man’s expression was clear and he didn’t need to speak Greek to understand it: hurry.
Isaiah looked back down at his knot and paused, resting his numbed fingers for a moment and waving Krysto on. He didn’t promise to follow but still Krysto lingered and he felt a warning tug on his rope still tethering him to the ship. This was such a risky thing to do. He had no clothes. No money. He didn’t even speak Coptic. But this was just so close. Hundreds of miles and weeks of walking away but so close. At the moment, he didn’t care what Krysto thought. Krysto hadn’t been violently parted from his pregnant wife with the understanding he’d never see them again.
Resolve hardened in Isaiah’s chest and he ignored Krysto and the man’s lingering. Even in the darkness Isaiah could feel annoyance radiating off Krysto like waves lapping constantly against the shore and he didn’t bother to look up again. Not when he heard the hollow, rapid thuds of Krysto’s steps across the deck, and not when the man plopped into the water below. Isaiah didn’t have time. He thought he had the knot starting to come loose but the rope pulled again and the knot tightened again. He groaned in exasperation but then the rope jerked. Isaiah stumbled, resisted, and pulled backwards, now thinking maybe he could just shed the loop over his hip bones but he didn’t have time. Again the rope jerked, harder, and he slid on the slick oil of the deck. It was either a testament to how oily his body now was, or the strength of the sailors on the other ship, but Isaiah literally slid up and over the railing, leaving a glistening snail trail behind.
“NOO-!” he hit the water with an audible smack. The slap and then give of the water burned and enfolded him into the depths but he wasn’t allowed to crumple there like he wanted to. It didn’t matter if he strained, every limb wheeling through the choppy, oily waves, trying to swim, he was pulled backwards. He surfaced, spit water out of his mouth, wicked burning saltwater from his eyes and watched with open mouth horror and some kind of groan as flaming arrows arced above him in a graceful wall of fire. The ships ignited in an explosive inferno and for a single moment, he was afraid he was too close. Sparks flew into the air. There was so much light pollution that the stars had entirely vanished. He was dragged through a sea of scarlet and fiery orange, and deep, fathomless cold.
There was no way he could or would untie the knot now and he went limp. He watched the shoreline shrink away, close enough to swim to but it might as well have been across the world for all that he could do to reach it. Isaiah did nothing anymore to help or hinder his being pulled up onto the deck. He remained like a ragdoll, letting the wet rope coil squeeze his ribs painfully while the Greek ship’s side scraped against his back. Hands, searing hot compared to the cold ocean gripped him and laid him out on the deck where he flopped down like a gutted fish, still staring up at the black abyss.
The only sign of life he gave was an indifferent sniff, then a sneeze, and then he was silent again. Krysto would no doubt have already reported what happened on the other ship. Isaiah shivered the deep, uncontrollable shiver of a man well past cold. He was totally and completely numb. If Yahweh hadn’t permitted him to go home now, he would never make it. It was dramatic and pathetic and he knew it, but he could not bring himself to do anything else but mentally shut down and let these pagan Greeks do what they liked. He was done.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
Over the brine of salt and the stench of the oil gathering in the back of his throat, Isaiah could smell home. It was the smoke of the fires that did it, drifting over the ships and out towards the water. Dung fires. Camel dung, specifically, mingled with burning straw, built up in little mounds. Easy fuel, easily and nearly completely Egyptian. He’d have had a dung fire of dry donkey dung at home. Cheap, renewable, and so totally potent that he’d recognize it anywhere. It made him stop and stare out across the beach. He hadn’t smelled this in Greece and that was something he might have been thankful for, except it lit a burning coal inside his chest, so aching and familiar that he couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t breathe until he felt a wet elbow nudge his spine as Krysto wordlessly moved past him. The man’s expression was clear and he didn’t need to speak Greek to understand it: hurry.
Isaiah looked back down at his knot and paused, resting his numbed fingers for a moment and waving Krysto on. He didn’t promise to follow but still Krysto lingered and he felt a warning tug on his rope still tethering him to the ship. This was such a risky thing to do. He had no clothes. No money. He didn’t even speak Coptic. But this was just so close. Hundreds of miles and weeks of walking away but so close. At the moment, he didn’t care what Krysto thought. Krysto hadn’t been violently parted from his pregnant wife with the understanding he’d never see them again.
Resolve hardened in Isaiah’s chest and he ignored Krysto and the man’s lingering. Even in the darkness Isaiah could feel annoyance radiating off Krysto like waves lapping constantly against the shore and he didn’t bother to look up again. Not when he heard the hollow, rapid thuds of Krysto’s steps across the deck, and not when the man plopped into the water below. Isaiah didn’t have time. He thought he had the knot starting to come loose but the rope pulled again and the knot tightened again. He groaned in exasperation but then the rope jerked. Isaiah stumbled, resisted, and pulled backwards, now thinking maybe he could just shed the loop over his hip bones but he didn’t have time. Again the rope jerked, harder, and he slid on the slick oil of the deck. It was either a testament to how oily his body now was, or the strength of the sailors on the other ship, but Isaiah literally slid up and over the railing, leaving a glistening snail trail behind.
“NOO-!” he hit the water with an audible smack. The slap and then give of the water burned and enfolded him into the depths but he wasn’t allowed to crumple there like he wanted to. It didn’t matter if he strained, every limb wheeling through the choppy, oily waves, trying to swim, he was pulled backwards. He surfaced, spit water out of his mouth, wicked burning saltwater from his eyes and watched with open mouth horror and some kind of groan as flaming arrows arced above him in a graceful wall of fire. The ships ignited in an explosive inferno and for a single moment, he was afraid he was too close. Sparks flew into the air. There was so much light pollution that the stars had entirely vanished. He was dragged through a sea of scarlet and fiery orange, and deep, fathomless cold.
There was no way he could or would untie the knot now and he went limp. He watched the shoreline shrink away, close enough to swim to but it might as well have been across the world for all that he could do to reach it. Isaiah did nothing anymore to help or hinder his being pulled up onto the deck. He remained like a ragdoll, letting the wet rope coil squeeze his ribs painfully while the Greek ship’s side scraped against his back. Hands, searing hot compared to the cold ocean gripped him and laid him out on the deck where he flopped down like a gutted fish, still staring up at the black abyss.
The only sign of life he gave was an indifferent sniff, then a sneeze, and then he was silent again. Krysto would no doubt have already reported what happened on the other ship. Isaiah shivered the deep, uncontrollable shiver of a man well past cold. He was totally and completely numb. If Yahweh hadn’t permitted him to go home now, he would never make it. It was dramatic and pathetic and he knew it, but he could not bring himself to do anything else but mentally shut down and let these pagan Greeks do what they liked. He was done.
Over the brine of salt and the stench of the oil gathering in the back of his throat, Isaiah could smell home. It was the smoke of the fires that did it, drifting over the ships and out towards the water. Dung fires. Camel dung, specifically, mingled with burning straw, built up in little mounds. Easy fuel, easily and nearly completely Egyptian. He’d have had a dung fire of dry donkey dung at home. Cheap, renewable, and so totally potent that he’d recognize it anywhere. It made him stop and stare out across the beach. He hadn’t smelled this in Greece and that was something he might have been thankful for, except it lit a burning coal inside his chest, so aching and familiar that he couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t breathe until he felt a wet elbow nudge his spine as Krysto wordlessly moved past him. The man’s expression was clear and he didn’t need to speak Greek to understand it: hurry.
Isaiah looked back down at his knot and paused, resting his numbed fingers for a moment and waving Krysto on. He didn’t promise to follow but still Krysto lingered and he felt a warning tug on his rope still tethering him to the ship. This was such a risky thing to do. He had no clothes. No money. He didn’t even speak Coptic. But this was just so close. Hundreds of miles and weeks of walking away but so close. At the moment, he didn’t care what Krysto thought. Krysto hadn’t been violently parted from his pregnant wife with the understanding he’d never see them again.
Resolve hardened in Isaiah’s chest and he ignored Krysto and the man’s lingering. Even in the darkness Isaiah could feel annoyance radiating off Krysto like waves lapping constantly against the shore and he didn’t bother to look up again. Not when he heard the hollow, rapid thuds of Krysto’s steps across the deck, and not when the man plopped into the water below. Isaiah didn’t have time. He thought he had the knot starting to come loose but the rope pulled again and the knot tightened again. He groaned in exasperation but then the rope jerked. Isaiah stumbled, resisted, and pulled backwards, now thinking maybe he could just shed the loop over his hip bones but he didn’t have time. Again the rope jerked, harder, and he slid on the slick oil of the deck. It was either a testament to how oily his body now was, or the strength of the sailors on the other ship, but Isaiah literally slid up and over the railing, leaving a glistening snail trail behind.
“NOO-!” he hit the water with an audible smack. The slap and then give of the water burned and enfolded him into the depths but he wasn’t allowed to crumple there like he wanted to. It didn’t matter if he strained, every limb wheeling through the choppy, oily waves, trying to swim, he was pulled backwards. He surfaced, spit water out of his mouth, wicked burning saltwater from his eyes and watched with open mouth horror and some kind of groan as flaming arrows arced above him in a graceful wall of fire. The ships ignited in an explosive inferno and for a single moment, he was afraid he was too close. Sparks flew into the air. There was so much light pollution that the stars had entirely vanished. He was dragged through a sea of scarlet and fiery orange, and deep, fathomless cold.
There was no way he could or would untie the knot now and he went limp. He watched the shoreline shrink away, close enough to swim to but it might as well have been across the world for all that he could do to reach it. Isaiah did nothing anymore to help or hinder his being pulled up onto the deck. He remained like a ragdoll, letting the wet rope coil squeeze his ribs painfully while the Greek ship’s side scraped against his back. Hands, searing hot compared to the cold ocean gripped him and laid him out on the deck where he flopped down like a gutted fish, still staring up at the black abyss.
The only sign of life he gave was an indifferent sniff, then a sneeze, and then he was silent again. Krysto would no doubt have already reported what happened on the other ship. Isaiah shivered the deep, uncontrollable shiver of a man well past cold. He was totally and completely numb. If Yahweh hadn’t permitted him to go home now, he would never make it. It was dramatic and pathetic and he knew it, but he could not bring himself to do anything else but mentally shut down and let these pagan Greeks do what they liked. He was done.
Achilleas watched the ships burn for a little while, until he heard the sounds of the first of the swimmers clambering back aboard, and then the King was there to greet them, clasping hands and using his considerable strength to pull them back on to the deck of the ship. There were blankets handed around to those who needed them, and the men were given a few moments to recover from their exertions and to look upon the fruits of their labour as the sky grew bright with fire and heavy with the smell of smoke.
The King cast a wary gaze toward the cliff-tops. There was no sign of that lone sentry now, but their cover was blown and he was keen to be on their way. He didn’t need to repeat his orders, the men were counted back aboard and as soon as they were accounted for, the oarsmen began to row. The Greeks had done what they had come to do, now they needed to make scarce before the Egyptians had a chance to retaliate. Achilleas would feel better when their own ships were out of range of any arrows that might be fired from the shadowy landmass above.
He was standing making one last count of the burning ships, quieting the sense of triumph that coiled warm in his chest because it would be foolhardy to celebrate until they were away safe. On the face of it, despite the ships having been more numerous than anticipated, their mission had gone as well as could possibly be hoped. He thought again how the kindly winds had blown them here, and his belief that the Gods were at their backs deepened. He prayed that their favour lasted long enough to see them home again.
Though he strived to remain focused, there had been times of course during the long crossing where his thoughts had drifted to home, to Theodora. They were barely two weeks wed before he had left her, and he hoped against hope that Emilios and Xene and the others were rallying round the new Queen and supporting her in his absence. And whilst their success here was key, it was by no means a guarantee to silence the Egyptians. It had bought them time, and with luck struck a blow to the arrogance of the southern foes in thinking the Grecian Kingdoms weakened.
When Krysto appeared by his side, Achilleas reached over and laid a hand on the man’s shoulder, squeezing tightly. They had known each other long enough that he did not have to speak the feelings of relief that his oldest friend had returned safe, or his gratitude for Krysto having done the thing that his station now prohibited.
Turning his gaze upon the other when Krysto spoke, Achilleas looked momentarily confused as he tried to make sense of what he was saying before he caught on and his head turned so he could seek out the Judean man amongst the others on the deck.
“Hmmm.” The sound was one of disapproval, but as Achilleas’ gaze fell onto the prone form of the Isaiah he knew he would not hold the man to account in the manner he would have done were he a soldier. He was not a soldier, he was a stablehand and not even a Greek. There was a cast upon the man’s character now, certainly, because Achilleas himself had given him the opportunity to refuse the task and yet the Judean had not. But really, whatever the man’s motivations had been in trying to get free, he didn’t care. Their task had been completed, now they would return to Taengea. “There is not much trouble he can cause now” Achilleas mused. “But have him watched”.
The oarsmen had settled into a rhythm, the ships now cutting through the water and drawing them further away from the evidence of their success, and outside of the range of any archers that might run to respond. Achilleas spun back to face Krysto, allowing himself the small smile that he’d been holding back. “That was well done, was it not?”
The sense of satisfaction was catching, and despite the King’s reluctance to celebrate with a sea crossing still ahead of them, he could not begrudge the men their whoops and hollers as they spied the torchlights on the land, the Egyptians come too late to save their fleet.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
Achilleas watched the ships burn for a little while, until he heard the sounds of the first of the swimmers clambering back aboard, and then the King was there to greet them, clasping hands and using his considerable strength to pull them back on to the deck of the ship. There were blankets handed around to those who needed them, and the men were given a few moments to recover from their exertions and to look upon the fruits of their labour as the sky grew bright with fire and heavy with the smell of smoke.
The King cast a wary gaze toward the cliff-tops. There was no sign of that lone sentry now, but their cover was blown and he was keen to be on their way. He didn’t need to repeat his orders, the men were counted back aboard and as soon as they were accounted for, the oarsmen began to row. The Greeks had done what they had come to do, now they needed to make scarce before the Egyptians had a chance to retaliate. Achilleas would feel better when their own ships were out of range of any arrows that might be fired from the shadowy landmass above.
He was standing making one last count of the burning ships, quieting the sense of triumph that coiled warm in his chest because it would be foolhardy to celebrate until they were away safe. On the face of it, despite the ships having been more numerous than anticipated, their mission had gone as well as could possibly be hoped. He thought again how the kindly winds had blown them here, and his belief that the Gods were at their backs deepened. He prayed that their favour lasted long enough to see them home again.
Though he strived to remain focused, there had been times of course during the long crossing where his thoughts had drifted to home, to Theodora. They were barely two weeks wed before he had left her, and he hoped against hope that Emilios and Xene and the others were rallying round the new Queen and supporting her in his absence. And whilst their success here was key, it was by no means a guarantee to silence the Egyptians. It had bought them time, and with luck struck a blow to the arrogance of the southern foes in thinking the Grecian Kingdoms weakened.
When Krysto appeared by his side, Achilleas reached over and laid a hand on the man’s shoulder, squeezing tightly. They had known each other long enough that he did not have to speak the feelings of relief that his oldest friend had returned safe, or his gratitude for Krysto having done the thing that his station now prohibited.
Turning his gaze upon the other when Krysto spoke, Achilleas looked momentarily confused as he tried to make sense of what he was saying before he caught on and his head turned so he could seek out the Judean man amongst the others on the deck.
“Hmmm.” The sound was one of disapproval, but as Achilleas’ gaze fell onto the prone form of the Isaiah he knew he would not hold the man to account in the manner he would have done were he a soldier. He was not a soldier, he was a stablehand and not even a Greek. There was a cast upon the man’s character now, certainly, because Achilleas himself had given him the opportunity to refuse the task and yet the Judean had not. But really, whatever the man’s motivations had been in trying to get free, he didn’t care. Their task had been completed, now they would return to Taengea. “There is not much trouble he can cause now” Achilleas mused. “But have him watched”.
The oarsmen had settled into a rhythm, the ships now cutting through the water and drawing them further away from the evidence of their success, and outside of the range of any archers that might run to respond. Achilleas spun back to face Krysto, allowing himself the small smile that he’d been holding back. “That was well done, was it not?”
The sense of satisfaction was catching, and despite the King’s reluctance to celebrate with a sea crossing still ahead of them, he could not begrudge the men their whoops and hollers as they spied the torchlights on the land, the Egyptians come too late to save their fleet.
Achilleas watched the ships burn for a little while, until he heard the sounds of the first of the swimmers clambering back aboard, and then the King was there to greet them, clasping hands and using his considerable strength to pull them back on to the deck of the ship. There were blankets handed around to those who needed them, and the men were given a few moments to recover from their exertions and to look upon the fruits of their labour as the sky grew bright with fire and heavy with the smell of smoke.
The King cast a wary gaze toward the cliff-tops. There was no sign of that lone sentry now, but their cover was blown and he was keen to be on their way. He didn’t need to repeat his orders, the men were counted back aboard and as soon as they were accounted for, the oarsmen began to row. The Greeks had done what they had come to do, now they needed to make scarce before the Egyptians had a chance to retaliate. Achilleas would feel better when their own ships were out of range of any arrows that might be fired from the shadowy landmass above.
He was standing making one last count of the burning ships, quieting the sense of triumph that coiled warm in his chest because it would be foolhardy to celebrate until they were away safe. On the face of it, despite the ships having been more numerous than anticipated, their mission had gone as well as could possibly be hoped. He thought again how the kindly winds had blown them here, and his belief that the Gods were at their backs deepened. He prayed that their favour lasted long enough to see them home again.
Though he strived to remain focused, there had been times of course during the long crossing where his thoughts had drifted to home, to Theodora. They were barely two weeks wed before he had left her, and he hoped against hope that Emilios and Xene and the others were rallying round the new Queen and supporting her in his absence. And whilst their success here was key, it was by no means a guarantee to silence the Egyptians. It had bought them time, and with luck struck a blow to the arrogance of the southern foes in thinking the Grecian Kingdoms weakened.
When Krysto appeared by his side, Achilleas reached over and laid a hand on the man’s shoulder, squeezing tightly. They had known each other long enough that he did not have to speak the feelings of relief that his oldest friend had returned safe, or his gratitude for Krysto having done the thing that his station now prohibited.
Turning his gaze upon the other when Krysto spoke, Achilleas looked momentarily confused as he tried to make sense of what he was saying before he caught on and his head turned so he could seek out the Judean man amongst the others on the deck.
“Hmmm.” The sound was one of disapproval, but as Achilleas’ gaze fell onto the prone form of the Isaiah he knew he would not hold the man to account in the manner he would have done were he a soldier. He was not a soldier, he was a stablehand and not even a Greek. There was a cast upon the man’s character now, certainly, because Achilleas himself had given him the opportunity to refuse the task and yet the Judean had not. But really, whatever the man’s motivations had been in trying to get free, he didn’t care. Their task had been completed, now they would return to Taengea. “There is not much trouble he can cause now” Achilleas mused. “But have him watched”.
The oarsmen had settled into a rhythm, the ships now cutting through the water and drawing them further away from the evidence of their success, and outside of the range of any archers that might run to respond. Achilleas spun back to face Krysto, allowing himself the small smile that he’d been holding back. “That was well done, was it not?”
The sense of satisfaction was catching, and despite the King’s reluctance to celebrate with a sea crossing still ahead of them, he could not begrudge the men their whoops and hollers as they spied the torchlights on the land, the Egyptians come too late to save their fleet.