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Krysto was tired to his bones, but there was still much to be done. There was still an ocean to cross and he would be able to rest in Eurydice's arms before long. That was his intense hope, as it was. He hadn't been away from her at any point since they came together, and now that she was with his child, he could think of nowhere else he wanted to be than her warm arms with her bright smile and straw-colored locks. He was thinking about her as he watched the fruits of their labor.
The oil upon the Egyptian ships starting alight and burning high into the Egyptian skies. He had done all of this for Greece. And for her. And for Achilleas. And for Theodora. And princess Xene. For her friend Basilides and for all of the people in his Kingdom. He knew he would likely take more action against the enemy before the end of the war, but or now, this was the start that he could be proud of. Crippling the Egyptian stock of ships before they could sail upon Taengea shores was vital, and Krysto could feel nothing but calm and satisfaction that they had done their job well.
Despite the snag that was the Judean's attempted abandonment of the mission.
The ships pulled further out into the harbor and into safer waters and Krysto found himself relaxing. Slowly but surely, he found peace in the moment. Sure, he was tired to his very core, worn out by the hard swim across the bay and the climb up to the top of the ship, but this was a victory they needed and one that he was proud to be part of.
The captain turned his gaze to his best friend, his blue eyes glinting for just a moment in the moonlight as a smile lit his lips. "It was well done," he said slowly, letting his gaze drift off to the horizon. Thus far, things were clear.
They stood there a long while before everyone on the crew got back to work. The swimmers were allowed to rest and at one point, Krysto threw a blanket to the Judean so that he could at least warm up while he threw his silent temper tantrum on the deck of the ship. If he wanted to lay in the wet grime of the deck, that was his problem, not Krysto's. Krysto and Achilleas shared a bit of wine in a minor bit of celebration before Krysto moved off to say his prayers to Apollo for good health and a bright moon and stars to guide them. All the while, his smile never seemed to fade.
But not everything remained perfect in the way that they had all hoped.
Hours into their rowing away from Egyptian shores, Krysto's gaze caught the dull rolling of clouds on the horizon. His smile faltered slowly and he headed back toward the king where he reached for Achilleas, carefully turning the King to face the way that they were heading in a gesture that spoke of their familiarity with one another. "There is a storm on the horizon, Achilleas," Krysto said slowly, "Should we turn back?" he asked very quietly, "If we are swept up in that, it is very likely we will be lost with little direction." It would take a day or so to be put back on track and Krysto wasn't sure that their supplies would allow for such a delay.
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Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Krysto was tired to his bones, but there was still much to be done. There was still an ocean to cross and he would be able to rest in Eurydice's arms before long. That was his intense hope, as it was. He hadn't been away from her at any point since they came together, and now that she was with his child, he could think of nowhere else he wanted to be than her warm arms with her bright smile and straw-colored locks. He was thinking about her as he watched the fruits of their labor.
The oil upon the Egyptian ships starting alight and burning high into the Egyptian skies. He had done all of this for Greece. And for her. And for Achilleas. And for Theodora. And princess Xene. For her friend Basilides and for all of the people in his Kingdom. He knew he would likely take more action against the enemy before the end of the war, but or now, this was the start that he could be proud of. Crippling the Egyptian stock of ships before they could sail upon Taengea shores was vital, and Krysto could feel nothing but calm and satisfaction that they had done their job well.
Despite the snag that was the Judean's attempted abandonment of the mission.
The ships pulled further out into the harbor and into safer waters and Krysto found himself relaxing. Slowly but surely, he found peace in the moment. Sure, he was tired to his very core, worn out by the hard swim across the bay and the climb up to the top of the ship, but this was a victory they needed and one that he was proud to be part of.
The captain turned his gaze to his best friend, his blue eyes glinting for just a moment in the moonlight as a smile lit his lips. "It was well done," he said slowly, letting his gaze drift off to the horizon. Thus far, things were clear.
They stood there a long while before everyone on the crew got back to work. The swimmers were allowed to rest and at one point, Krysto threw a blanket to the Judean so that he could at least warm up while he threw his silent temper tantrum on the deck of the ship. If he wanted to lay in the wet grime of the deck, that was his problem, not Krysto's. Krysto and Achilleas shared a bit of wine in a minor bit of celebration before Krysto moved off to say his prayers to Apollo for good health and a bright moon and stars to guide them. All the while, his smile never seemed to fade.
But not everything remained perfect in the way that they had all hoped.
Hours into their rowing away from Egyptian shores, Krysto's gaze caught the dull rolling of clouds on the horizon. His smile faltered slowly and he headed back toward the king where he reached for Achilleas, carefully turning the King to face the way that they were heading in a gesture that spoke of their familiarity with one another. "There is a storm on the horizon, Achilleas," Krysto said slowly, "Should we turn back?" he asked very quietly, "If we are swept up in that, it is very likely we will be lost with little direction." It would take a day or so to be put back on track and Krysto wasn't sure that their supplies would allow for such a delay.
Krysto was tired to his bones, but there was still much to be done. There was still an ocean to cross and he would be able to rest in Eurydice's arms before long. That was his intense hope, as it was. He hadn't been away from her at any point since they came together, and now that she was with his child, he could think of nowhere else he wanted to be than her warm arms with her bright smile and straw-colored locks. He was thinking about her as he watched the fruits of their labor.
The oil upon the Egyptian ships starting alight and burning high into the Egyptian skies. He had done all of this for Greece. And for her. And for Achilleas. And for Theodora. And princess Xene. For her friend Basilides and for all of the people in his Kingdom. He knew he would likely take more action against the enemy before the end of the war, but or now, this was the start that he could be proud of. Crippling the Egyptian stock of ships before they could sail upon Taengea shores was vital, and Krysto could feel nothing but calm and satisfaction that they had done their job well.
Despite the snag that was the Judean's attempted abandonment of the mission.
The ships pulled further out into the harbor and into safer waters and Krysto found himself relaxing. Slowly but surely, he found peace in the moment. Sure, he was tired to his very core, worn out by the hard swim across the bay and the climb up to the top of the ship, but this was a victory they needed and one that he was proud to be part of.
The captain turned his gaze to his best friend, his blue eyes glinting for just a moment in the moonlight as a smile lit his lips. "It was well done," he said slowly, letting his gaze drift off to the horizon. Thus far, things were clear.
They stood there a long while before everyone on the crew got back to work. The swimmers were allowed to rest and at one point, Krysto threw a blanket to the Judean so that he could at least warm up while he threw his silent temper tantrum on the deck of the ship. If he wanted to lay in the wet grime of the deck, that was his problem, not Krysto's. Krysto and Achilleas shared a bit of wine in a minor bit of celebration before Krysto moved off to say his prayers to Apollo for good health and a bright moon and stars to guide them. All the while, his smile never seemed to fade.
But not everything remained perfect in the way that they had all hoped.
Hours into their rowing away from Egyptian shores, Krysto's gaze caught the dull rolling of clouds on the horizon. His smile faltered slowly and he headed back toward the king where he reached for Achilleas, carefully turning the King to face the way that they were heading in a gesture that spoke of their familiarity with one another. "There is a storm on the horizon, Achilleas," Krysto said slowly, "Should we turn back?" he asked very quietly, "If we are swept up in that, it is very likely we will be lost with little direction." It would take a day or so to be put back on track and Krysto wasn't sure that their supplies would allow for such a delay.
Achilleas had been trying not to think too far ahead, not letting his thoughts skip the right back across the Aegean to where he wanted to be. He had been on enough campaigns to know better, there were perils enough on sea crossings to make it more than unwise to consider a task done until it was the sands of home beneath his sandals. This was no different.
When Krysto appeared to turn the King’s attention toward the skyline, Achilleas was sharply reminded of that. Where once had been inky blue marred only with the pinprick light of the stars was now shrouded by dark clouds, enough to obscure navigation, but also bringing with them the threat of storms. He stared hard at the sky for a few moments, turning briefly to Krysto to acknowledge the man's words before he resumed his silent consideration.
He understood his friend’s worry: they had not provisioned onboard to be able to stray far off course. But there was a greater risk behind them. Their foes, no doubt now fully aware of their presence would not be so lax in defending their shores now. To attempt to take shelter off the coastline of Egypt could prove just as hazardous if not more so. Krysto would know this too.
“Let me speak to Urion. I put his expertise above my own in this.” It was not that Achilleas could not read the charts that the Captain’s navigated by, but he also did not pretend to be as capable as the weathered man whose entire career had been built off such ability. The King found the Captain on the foredeck, the man’s gaze turned already to the very same weather that Krysto had pointed out.
“Might be a storm, but might be the wind carries it on ahead of us?” the older man said, guessing correctly what had brought his King to his side. “Would be hard work rowing against the wind if you were thinking of taking shelter to wait it out, your majesty.”
Achilleas nodded thoughtfully, still weighing their options. He cast a glance over the rowers- men who had already completed a long crossing, and with barely a break before they had turned for home again. It seemed unnecessary cruelty to turn them back around again, never mind a risk indeed to venture back toward Egypt. It made up his mind for him.
“Keep going then. The gods have been with us thus far, may it be that Apollo sees fit to chase the storm away before we are upon it”
It was not a far fetched hope, not with the flush of success still upon them, but as time drew on, it became clear that whatever grace had been with them before had not remained. The heavy sky grew heavier still, and a growing wind whipped the water up around them so it crested in dark swells that had the ships lurch viciously. The spray made the decks slick and the men began to exchange worried glances, Achilleas himself frowning uneasily as he braced himself against a main-stay.
It was when the rain started that he really began to question his decision: cold and sharp like needles, soaking them through where the salt-spray had not done enough already. But it was too late, they couldn’t turn back now for the weather had wrapped around them in some unwanted embrace, and they were at its mercy now. Never one to shirk hard work, the King himself took a turn at the oars to give some respite to the men who had battled the waves already. There were some knife-sharp rocks in this stretch of water and they could ill afford to be blown off course. Fighting against the swell that tipped and rocked the ships, it was hard work and demanded focus. He was there when the first cry sounded.
“There’s something in the water!” It was one of the men huddled on deck, and Achilleas could barely wrench his attention long enough from rowing to attempt to see whatever it was the man thought he had seen. How he could see anything in the rolling darkness that was the sea, the King did not know, and he dismissed it until another exclamation, this one tinged with a fear he didn’t want to spread amongst the men, sounded above the creaking of the oars and the groaning of the wind. “ Poseidon save us! It’s the sea witch. It’s Scylla!”
Scylla? A creature of myth, some twisted aberration of the Gods, Achilleas did not need the notion taking hold of the minds of those already weary. Calling out to another to take his place, he staggered a little as a wave caught the ship, catching hold of one of the ropes and widening his stance to allow him to stand and look out to where more than a few heads had now turned. At first, he saw nothing but the relentless rise and fall of the water, squinting against the spray and straining his eyes to make out anything in the darkness. But then something, oil slick and shiny and darker still against the waves and his breath caught a little.
It was likely a sea creature, he told himself. There were such beasts, gentle giants of the water that he had seen once or twice, and more in the books that his education had allowed him. He knew most of the men on this ship would have had no such privilege. “It’s nothing to fear. Return to your tasks and do not let your head be turned” Having to shout against the sounds of the storm, he didn’t know how many men heard or would be reassured by his words, and Achilleas himself found he was scanning the waves for something more, to be certain, to be sure.
“I see it too” Both sides of the ship at once, and Achilleas could only grit his teeth because he could see the wide-eyes now, feel the tension rise. The men were afraid, and he could only be glad that they had discipline enough to keep rowing. Glimpses of dark shapes breaking the waves, here, there and again. It was enough to fill the heads and hearts of even brave men with terror.
Whether it was the wind or water, or mysterious sea serpent, but the ship lurched violently and there was a harsh scraping sound, a juddering that rose from the belly of the vessel up through the wood so they could feel it in their feet. It was a sensation that no sailor wanted to recognise. Across the water, there were faint cries from at least one of the other ships. They’d hit rock.
In the chaos that followed - men tossed to the water like plaggona, others clutching on to whatever they could to anchor themselves, Achilleas fought his way to Krysto’s side, his voice rising against the din. Now they would have to turn back. Too much water ahead of them to risk limping on without knowing the damage, they would have to make ground and haul the ships onto the sand. It was everything Achilleas did not want to give the order for, but they had no choice.
“Back” The wind wrenched the words away, but it was enough. They would have to turn the ships.
***
Broken and battered, the storm spat out the Tangean’s almost as quickly as it had swallowed them up. A blessing to be found amongst the dark hours, for the King’s ship listed to one side and three others that had turned with them fared no better. Of the remaining two there was no sign, and Achilleas had snapped at the men when they whispered of Scylla, tried not to think of those who might have been lost. He could not spare thought for them now, had conferred with the Captain of the ship and his own Captain, they had to pick a point to land and make what repairs they could.
The waters were cruelly calm as the shores of Egypt came into sight once more, mocking in their brilliant blue. The night and its misfortunes melted into a dawn that made thoughts of a storm seem laughable, and it was only the sea foam that could be seen on the breakers that lent credence to the memory of it. As much as they could see, the cove they had chosen seemed bereft of life, but Achilleas had ordered Krysto ready and armour the men regardless. There was no room for complacency, despite the weariness that sat upon the soldiers, the grim knowledge that they had taken steps backwards in their endeavours.
“Take us to land, Urion” The King’s words were brisk, no-nonsense. They would beach the ships, haul them up and make as quick a job of repairs as they could. And hope that they could do so without letting their enemies know that they were here at all.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Achilleas had been trying not to think too far ahead, not letting his thoughts skip the right back across the Aegean to where he wanted to be. He had been on enough campaigns to know better, there were perils enough on sea crossings to make it more than unwise to consider a task done until it was the sands of home beneath his sandals. This was no different.
When Krysto appeared to turn the King’s attention toward the skyline, Achilleas was sharply reminded of that. Where once had been inky blue marred only with the pinprick light of the stars was now shrouded by dark clouds, enough to obscure navigation, but also bringing with them the threat of storms. He stared hard at the sky for a few moments, turning briefly to Krysto to acknowledge the man's words before he resumed his silent consideration.
He understood his friend’s worry: they had not provisioned onboard to be able to stray far off course. But there was a greater risk behind them. Their foes, no doubt now fully aware of their presence would not be so lax in defending their shores now. To attempt to take shelter off the coastline of Egypt could prove just as hazardous if not more so. Krysto would know this too.
“Let me speak to Urion. I put his expertise above my own in this.” It was not that Achilleas could not read the charts that the Captain’s navigated by, but he also did not pretend to be as capable as the weathered man whose entire career had been built off such ability. The King found the Captain on the foredeck, the man’s gaze turned already to the very same weather that Krysto had pointed out.
“Might be a storm, but might be the wind carries it on ahead of us?” the older man said, guessing correctly what had brought his King to his side. “Would be hard work rowing against the wind if you were thinking of taking shelter to wait it out, your majesty.”
Achilleas nodded thoughtfully, still weighing their options. He cast a glance over the rowers- men who had already completed a long crossing, and with barely a break before they had turned for home again. It seemed unnecessary cruelty to turn them back around again, never mind a risk indeed to venture back toward Egypt. It made up his mind for him.
“Keep going then. The gods have been with us thus far, may it be that Apollo sees fit to chase the storm away before we are upon it”
It was not a far fetched hope, not with the flush of success still upon them, but as time drew on, it became clear that whatever grace had been with them before had not remained. The heavy sky grew heavier still, and a growing wind whipped the water up around them so it crested in dark swells that had the ships lurch viciously. The spray made the decks slick and the men began to exchange worried glances, Achilleas himself frowning uneasily as he braced himself against a main-stay.
It was when the rain started that he really began to question his decision: cold and sharp like needles, soaking them through where the salt-spray had not done enough already. But it was too late, they couldn’t turn back now for the weather had wrapped around them in some unwanted embrace, and they were at its mercy now. Never one to shirk hard work, the King himself took a turn at the oars to give some respite to the men who had battled the waves already. There were some knife-sharp rocks in this stretch of water and they could ill afford to be blown off course. Fighting against the swell that tipped and rocked the ships, it was hard work and demanded focus. He was there when the first cry sounded.
“There’s something in the water!” It was one of the men huddled on deck, and Achilleas could barely wrench his attention long enough from rowing to attempt to see whatever it was the man thought he had seen. How he could see anything in the rolling darkness that was the sea, the King did not know, and he dismissed it until another exclamation, this one tinged with a fear he didn’t want to spread amongst the men, sounded above the creaking of the oars and the groaning of the wind. “ Poseidon save us! It’s the sea witch. It’s Scylla!”
Scylla? A creature of myth, some twisted aberration of the Gods, Achilleas did not need the notion taking hold of the minds of those already weary. Calling out to another to take his place, he staggered a little as a wave caught the ship, catching hold of one of the ropes and widening his stance to allow him to stand and look out to where more than a few heads had now turned. At first, he saw nothing but the relentless rise and fall of the water, squinting against the spray and straining his eyes to make out anything in the darkness. But then something, oil slick and shiny and darker still against the waves and his breath caught a little.
It was likely a sea creature, he told himself. There were such beasts, gentle giants of the water that he had seen once or twice, and more in the books that his education had allowed him. He knew most of the men on this ship would have had no such privilege. “It’s nothing to fear. Return to your tasks and do not let your head be turned” Having to shout against the sounds of the storm, he didn’t know how many men heard or would be reassured by his words, and Achilleas himself found he was scanning the waves for something more, to be certain, to be sure.
“I see it too” Both sides of the ship at once, and Achilleas could only grit his teeth because he could see the wide-eyes now, feel the tension rise. The men were afraid, and he could only be glad that they had discipline enough to keep rowing. Glimpses of dark shapes breaking the waves, here, there and again. It was enough to fill the heads and hearts of even brave men with terror.
Whether it was the wind or water, or mysterious sea serpent, but the ship lurched violently and there was a harsh scraping sound, a juddering that rose from the belly of the vessel up through the wood so they could feel it in their feet. It was a sensation that no sailor wanted to recognise. Across the water, there were faint cries from at least one of the other ships. They’d hit rock.
In the chaos that followed - men tossed to the water like plaggona, others clutching on to whatever they could to anchor themselves, Achilleas fought his way to Krysto’s side, his voice rising against the din. Now they would have to turn back. Too much water ahead of them to risk limping on without knowing the damage, they would have to make ground and haul the ships onto the sand. It was everything Achilleas did not want to give the order for, but they had no choice.
“Back” The wind wrenched the words away, but it was enough. They would have to turn the ships.
***
Broken and battered, the storm spat out the Tangean’s almost as quickly as it had swallowed them up. A blessing to be found amongst the dark hours, for the King’s ship listed to one side and three others that had turned with them fared no better. Of the remaining two there was no sign, and Achilleas had snapped at the men when they whispered of Scylla, tried not to think of those who might have been lost. He could not spare thought for them now, had conferred with the Captain of the ship and his own Captain, they had to pick a point to land and make what repairs they could.
The waters were cruelly calm as the shores of Egypt came into sight once more, mocking in their brilliant blue. The night and its misfortunes melted into a dawn that made thoughts of a storm seem laughable, and it was only the sea foam that could be seen on the breakers that lent credence to the memory of it. As much as they could see, the cove they had chosen seemed bereft of life, but Achilleas had ordered Krysto ready and armour the men regardless. There was no room for complacency, despite the weariness that sat upon the soldiers, the grim knowledge that they had taken steps backwards in their endeavours.
“Take us to land, Urion” The King’s words were brisk, no-nonsense. They would beach the ships, haul them up and make as quick a job of repairs as they could. And hope that they could do so without letting their enemies know that they were here at all.
Achilleas had been trying not to think too far ahead, not letting his thoughts skip the right back across the Aegean to where he wanted to be. He had been on enough campaigns to know better, there were perils enough on sea crossings to make it more than unwise to consider a task done until it was the sands of home beneath his sandals. This was no different.
When Krysto appeared to turn the King’s attention toward the skyline, Achilleas was sharply reminded of that. Where once had been inky blue marred only with the pinprick light of the stars was now shrouded by dark clouds, enough to obscure navigation, but also bringing with them the threat of storms. He stared hard at the sky for a few moments, turning briefly to Krysto to acknowledge the man's words before he resumed his silent consideration.
He understood his friend’s worry: they had not provisioned onboard to be able to stray far off course. But there was a greater risk behind them. Their foes, no doubt now fully aware of their presence would not be so lax in defending their shores now. To attempt to take shelter off the coastline of Egypt could prove just as hazardous if not more so. Krysto would know this too.
“Let me speak to Urion. I put his expertise above my own in this.” It was not that Achilleas could not read the charts that the Captain’s navigated by, but he also did not pretend to be as capable as the weathered man whose entire career had been built off such ability. The King found the Captain on the foredeck, the man’s gaze turned already to the very same weather that Krysto had pointed out.
“Might be a storm, but might be the wind carries it on ahead of us?” the older man said, guessing correctly what had brought his King to his side. “Would be hard work rowing against the wind if you were thinking of taking shelter to wait it out, your majesty.”
Achilleas nodded thoughtfully, still weighing their options. He cast a glance over the rowers- men who had already completed a long crossing, and with barely a break before they had turned for home again. It seemed unnecessary cruelty to turn them back around again, never mind a risk indeed to venture back toward Egypt. It made up his mind for him.
“Keep going then. The gods have been with us thus far, may it be that Apollo sees fit to chase the storm away before we are upon it”
It was not a far fetched hope, not with the flush of success still upon them, but as time drew on, it became clear that whatever grace had been with them before had not remained. The heavy sky grew heavier still, and a growing wind whipped the water up around them so it crested in dark swells that had the ships lurch viciously. The spray made the decks slick and the men began to exchange worried glances, Achilleas himself frowning uneasily as he braced himself against a main-stay.
It was when the rain started that he really began to question his decision: cold and sharp like needles, soaking them through where the salt-spray had not done enough already. But it was too late, they couldn’t turn back now for the weather had wrapped around them in some unwanted embrace, and they were at its mercy now. Never one to shirk hard work, the King himself took a turn at the oars to give some respite to the men who had battled the waves already. There were some knife-sharp rocks in this stretch of water and they could ill afford to be blown off course. Fighting against the swell that tipped and rocked the ships, it was hard work and demanded focus. He was there when the first cry sounded.
“There’s something in the water!” It was one of the men huddled on deck, and Achilleas could barely wrench his attention long enough from rowing to attempt to see whatever it was the man thought he had seen. How he could see anything in the rolling darkness that was the sea, the King did not know, and he dismissed it until another exclamation, this one tinged with a fear he didn’t want to spread amongst the men, sounded above the creaking of the oars and the groaning of the wind. “ Poseidon save us! It’s the sea witch. It’s Scylla!”
Scylla? A creature of myth, some twisted aberration of the Gods, Achilleas did not need the notion taking hold of the minds of those already weary. Calling out to another to take his place, he staggered a little as a wave caught the ship, catching hold of one of the ropes and widening his stance to allow him to stand and look out to where more than a few heads had now turned. At first, he saw nothing but the relentless rise and fall of the water, squinting against the spray and straining his eyes to make out anything in the darkness. But then something, oil slick and shiny and darker still against the waves and his breath caught a little.
It was likely a sea creature, he told himself. There were such beasts, gentle giants of the water that he had seen once or twice, and more in the books that his education had allowed him. He knew most of the men on this ship would have had no such privilege. “It’s nothing to fear. Return to your tasks and do not let your head be turned” Having to shout against the sounds of the storm, he didn’t know how many men heard or would be reassured by his words, and Achilleas himself found he was scanning the waves for something more, to be certain, to be sure.
“I see it too” Both sides of the ship at once, and Achilleas could only grit his teeth because he could see the wide-eyes now, feel the tension rise. The men were afraid, and he could only be glad that they had discipline enough to keep rowing. Glimpses of dark shapes breaking the waves, here, there and again. It was enough to fill the heads and hearts of even brave men with terror.
Whether it was the wind or water, or mysterious sea serpent, but the ship lurched violently and there was a harsh scraping sound, a juddering that rose from the belly of the vessel up through the wood so they could feel it in their feet. It was a sensation that no sailor wanted to recognise. Across the water, there were faint cries from at least one of the other ships. They’d hit rock.
In the chaos that followed - men tossed to the water like plaggona, others clutching on to whatever they could to anchor themselves, Achilleas fought his way to Krysto’s side, his voice rising against the din. Now they would have to turn back. Too much water ahead of them to risk limping on without knowing the damage, they would have to make ground and haul the ships onto the sand. It was everything Achilleas did not want to give the order for, but they had no choice.
“Back” The wind wrenched the words away, but it was enough. They would have to turn the ships.
***
Broken and battered, the storm spat out the Tangean’s almost as quickly as it had swallowed them up. A blessing to be found amongst the dark hours, for the King’s ship listed to one side and three others that had turned with them fared no better. Of the remaining two there was no sign, and Achilleas had snapped at the men when they whispered of Scylla, tried not to think of those who might have been lost. He could not spare thought for them now, had conferred with the Captain of the ship and his own Captain, they had to pick a point to land and make what repairs they could.
The waters were cruelly calm as the shores of Egypt came into sight once more, mocking in their brilliant blue. The night and its misfortunes melted into a dawn that made thoughts of a storm seem laughable, and it was only the sea foam that could be seen on the breakers that lent credence to the memory of it. As much as they could see, the cove they had chosen seemed bereft of life, but Achilleas had ordered Krysto ready and armour the men regardless. There was no room for complacency, despite the weariness that sat upon the soldiers, the grim knowledge that they had taken steps backwards in their endeavours.
“Take us to land, Urion” The King’s words were brisk, no-nonsense. They would beach the ships, haul them up and make as quick a job of repairs as they could. And hope that they could do so without letting their enemies know that they were here at all.
No stranger to sleep on the plains of a foreign field, Osorsen had managed to settle into his tent in the small fishing village of Manopotapa without issue. His most trusted men took shifts keeping watch and guarding him in the night, the knowledge that the pharaoh and his cronies were nearby kept him ill at ease, and even if the older man had no real idea that Oso had been with his wife it allowed him to rest knowing that his people were there. His dreams flitted back and forth between those women in his life, Hatshepsut, Mayet, even Selene, and what his uncle had said in his study. With Zoser on his side there was a confidence he had to keep from growing too ambitious too soon. The older man was connected and well liked, well trusted by the pharaoh, and it would play to their advantage once this foolish war attempt was ended.
A letter to Achilleas of Taengea had been burned before it could be sent, offering his support in a more blatant fashion, his men and his aid in support of the Greeks installing him as pharaoh instead. But there was no respect in that. As much as he hated Iahotep, any throne given to him by the Greeks would lose him everything he had been working for in respect and love from the Egyptian people. No, it would be annoying and difficult, a longer road than he wanted, but he could not be found to have any connection to the demise of the current pharaoh. Only show his support and prove he was the best choice of regent until the child was born and they could determine what would happen after that. The other man was old, he would not last long even if the war did not take him.
The whisper of his Greek slave Rafa woke him, his eyes opening and any cloud of sleep quickly removed. It only took him a breath to process what had been said and growl a curse under his breath. The other man held out his robe, and his sword was taken to his hip as they strode out of the tent. Though the other man was Greek, Rafa had been taken in the last wars and served Osorsen well through his time, given comfort and security with the general, and though they were fighting his own people, Oso held little doubt that the other man was true to him if not to Egypt.
Light that should not have been was flickering on the beach and as he looked out on the dozen ships that were now alight, his gaze flew to the dark silhouette of the Greek boats fading into the night against the moonlight. Well then, that would be all the more convenient. If the Greeks had heard of their plans and decided to bring the conflict to them he was grateful. It would be all the easier to win on their own soil, with plenty of supplies and men to reinforce their coast line. As others came out of their tents he noted Sutekh giving his own orders to set out the fire and Oso spoke to the men who had followed him.
"Arrows. See if you can hit the Greeks from here. Rafa, have Sen and Asychis saddle and go. If they turn into shore anywhere, I want to hear of it first. How kind of them to come directly our way."
As his orders were carried out a grin spread over the general's face, one of a ferocity that was more reminiscent of a lion's snarl than a human smile. They had established themselves as an enemy, and he would beat them back before they dared touch his precious jewel of a country. His gaze stayed on the ships, and he stood where he was as the sounds of hoofbeats racing past him echoed, the flaming arrows of his men landing short of the ships as he had expected they might. They would meet again. And this time he would not be caught off guard.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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No stranger to sleep on the plains of a foreign field, Osorsen had managed to settle into his tent in the small fishing village of Manopotapa without issue. His most trusted men took shifts keeping watch and guarding him in the night, the knowledge that the pharaoh and his cronies were nearby kept him ill at ease, and even if the older man had no real idea that Oso had been with his wife it allowed him to rest knowing that his people were there. His dreams flitted back and forth between those women in his life, Hatshepsut, Mayet, even Selene, and what his uncle had said in his study. With Zoser on his side there was a confidence he had to keep from growing too ambitious too soon. The older man was connected and well liked, well trusted by the pharaoh, and it would play to their advantage once this foolish war attempt was ended.
A letter to Achilleas of Taengea had been burned before it could be sent, offering his support in a more blatant fashion, his men and his aid in support of the Greeks installing him as pharaoh instead. But there was no respect in that. As much as he hated Iahotep, any throne given to him by the Greeks would lose him everything he had been working for in respect and love from the Egyptian people. No, it would be annoying and difficult, a longer road than he wanted, but he could not be found to have any connection to the demise of the current pharaoh. Only show his support and prove he was the best choice of regent until the child was born and they could determine what would happen after that. The other man was old, he would not last long even if the war did not take him.
The whisper of his Greek slave Rafa woke him, his eyes opening and any cloud of sleep quickly removed. It only took him a breath to process what had been said and growl a curse under his breath. The other man held out his robe, and his sword was taken to his hip as they strode out of the tent. Though the other man was Greek, Rafa had been taken in the last wars and served Osorsen well through his time, given comfort and security with the general, and though they were fighting his own people, Oso held little doubt that the other man was true to him if not to Egypt.
Light that should not have been was flickering on the beach and as he looked out on the dozen ships that were now alight, his gaze flew to the dark silhouette of the Greek boats fading into the night against the moonlight. Well then, that would be all the more convenient. If the Greeks had heard of their plans and decided to bring the conflict to them he was grateful. It would be all the easier to win on their own soil, with plenty of supplies and men to reinforce their coast line. As others came out of their tents he noted Sutekh giving his own orders to set out the fire and Oso spoke to the men who had followed him.
"Arrows. See if you can hit the Greeks from here. Rafa, have Sen and Asychis saddle and go. If they turn into shore anywhere, I want to hear of it first. How kind of them to come directly our way."
As his orders were carried out a grin spread over the general's face, one of a ferocity that was more reminiscent of a lion's snarl than a human smile. They had established themselves as an enemy, and he would beat them back before they dared touch his precious jewel of a country. His gaze stayed on the ships, and he stood where he was as the sounds of hoofbeats racing past him echoed, the flaming arrows of his men landing short of the ships as he had expected they might. They would meet again. And this time he would not be caught off guard.
No stranger to sleep on the plains of a foreign field, Osorsen had managed to settle into his tent in the small fishing village of Manopotapa without issue. His most trusted men took shifts keeping watch and guarding him in the night, the knowledge that the pharaoh and his cronies were nearby kept him ill at ease, and even if the older man had no real idea that Oso had been with his wife it allowed him to rest knowing that his people were there. His dreams flitted back and forth between those women in his life, Hatshepsut, Mayet, even Selene, and what his uncle had said in his study. With Zoser on his side there was a confidence he had to keep from growing too ambitious too soon. The older man was connected and well liked, well trusted by the pharaoh, and it would play to their advantage once this foolish war attempt was ended.
A letter to Achilleas of Taengea had been burned before it could be sent, offering his support in a more blatant fashion, his men and his aid in support of the Greeks installing him as pharaoh instead. But there was no respect in that. As much as he hated Iahotep, any throne given to him by the Greeks would lose him everything he had been working for in respect and love from the Egyptian people. No, it would be annoying and difficult, a longer road than he wanted, but he could not be found to have any connection to the demise of the current pharaoh. Only show his support and prove he was the best choice of regent until the child was born and they could determine what would happen after that. The other man was old, he would not last long even if the war did not take him.
The whisper of his Greek slave Rafa woke him, his eyes opening and any cloud of sleep quickly removed. It only took him a breath to process what had been said and growl a curse under his breath. The other man held out his robe, and his sword was taken to his hip as they strode out of the tent. Though the other man was Greek, Rafa had been taken in the last wars and served Osorsen well through his time, given comfort and security with the general, and though they were fighting his own people, Oso held little doubt that the other man was true to him if not to Egypt.
Light that should not have been was flickering on the beach and as he looked out on the dozen ships that were now alight, his gaze flew to the dark silhouette of the Greek boats fading into the night against the moonlight. Well then, that would be all the more convenient. If the Greeks had heard of their plans and decided to bring the conflict to them he was grateful. It would be all the easier to win on their own soil, with plenty of supplies and men to reinforce their coast line. As others came out of their tents he noted Sutekh giving his own orders to set out the fire and Oso spoke to the men who had followed him.
"Arrows. See if you can hit the Greeks from here. Rafa, have Sen and Asychis saddle and go. If they turn into shore anywhere, I want to hear of it first. How kind of them to come directly our way."
As his orders were carried out a grin spread over the general's face, one of a ferocity that was more reminiscent of a lion's snarl than a human smile. They had established themselves as an enemy, and he would beat them back before they dared touch his precious jewel of a country. His gaze stayed on the ships, and he stood where he was as the sounds of hoofbeats racing past him echoed, the flaming arrows of his men landing short of the ships as he had expected they might. They would meet again. And this time he would not be caught off guard.
Kreios had fully intended to sail back to Egypt purely just to check in on the various complaints which had been sent to him via homing pigeon. Astute businessman that he is, while he hadn't scheduled a return to Egypt anytime soon, Kreios had been left with little choice when it came to the return when two of his clients had their strongly worded letter sent to him.
Yet halfway through the journey, it was obvious the merchant the Azazel was about to sail into far more then just a port for the warmer kingdom. While he usually did not want sailing once the sun has set, the small distance to the shoreline meant Kreios had requested Captain Garvey to just push through the night so they would arrive at the shore by dawn.
But it was only a few moments, before the captain of his ship sent Descat, who was quick to report to him on ... disturbances that prevented his orders from being carried out.
Curious, the dark-haired merchant had left his post in his work cabin and instead went on deck, intent on finding out what 'disturbance' that the captain had stated to be the reason why he had dropped anchor instead of following through with what Kreios had instructed. Despite Garvey being the captain of the ship, the ship does belong to Kreios afterall, and his orders superceded everyone else's. As he headed out to deck, his eyes blinked to realize the sun had begun to rise, just about the time he had expected to get into port in Cairo.
But ah, what was this? His frown furrowed his brows as he picked out fleets of ships. Differently marked? Kreios couldn't tell for certain with the dim morning assisting his vision, but the general outline of the vessels definitely seemed different. Most of the ones his own ship was close to definitely were of Grecian make, but if Kreios leaned further over the deck to glance in the distance... were those Egyptian ships?
Everything seemed silent however, with no movement from either end. "A storm, Master Kreios.' Descat suddenly spoke up from his side as a gust of wind blew. Heeding the words of his cabin boy, a deep inhale from the merchant was enough to ensure him what Descat said was right, as he could smell a freshly passed storm.Thankfully, it seemed they had drifted into the part of the ocean at the end of a harrowing storm, it seems. The Grecian ships seemed worst for wear, battered by the anger of Poseion itself from the brewing storm it seems.
A whistle in the air drew his attention, and with the Azazel safely anchored a distance away from the cove the Grecian ships had been beached and hauled - but a cove close enough to have those arrows now whizzing through the air to land upon their feet, a danger to ones who did not have a properly working ship to flee from.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Kreios had fully intended to sail back to Egypt purely just to check in on the various complaints which had been sent to him via homing pigeon. Astute businessman that he is, while he hadn't scheduled a return to Egypt anytime soon, Kreios had been left with little choice when it came to the return when two of his clients had their strongly worded letter sent to him.
Yet halfway through the journey, it was obvious the merchant the Azazel was about to sail into far more then just a port for the warmer kingdom. While he usually did not want sailing once the sun has set, the small distance to the shoreline meant Kreios had requested Captain Garvey to just push through the night so they would arrive at the shore by dawn.
But it was only a few moments, before the captain of his ship sent Descat, who was quick to report to him on ... disturbances that prevented his orders from being carried out.
Curious, the dark-haired merchant had left his post in his work cabin and instead went on deck, intent on finding out what 'disturbance' that the captain had stated to be the reason why he had dropped anchor instead of following through with what Kreios had instructed. Despite Garvey being the captain of the ship, the ship does belong to Kreios afterall, and his orders superceded everyone else's. As he headed out to deck, his eyes blinked to realize the sun had begun to rise, just about the time he had expected to get into port in Cairo.
But ah, what was this? His frown furrowed his brows as he picked out fleets of ships. Differently marked? Kreios couldn't tell for certain with the dim morning assisting his vision, but the general outline of the vessels definitely seemed different. Most of the ones his own ship was close to definitely were of Grecian make, but if Kreios leaned further over the deck to glance in the distance... were those Egyptian ships?
Everything seemed silent however, with no movement from either end. "A storm, Master Kreios.' Descat suddenly spoke up from his side as a gust of wind blew. Heeding the words of his cabin boy, a deep inhale from the merchant was enough to ensure him what Descat said was right, as he could smell a freshly passed storm.Thankfully, it seemed they had drifted into the part of the ocean at the end of a harrowing storm, it seems. The Grecian ships seemed worst for wear, battered by the anger of Poseion itself from the brewing storm it seems.
A whistle in the air drew his attention, and with the Azazel safely anchored a distance away from the cove the Grecian ships had been beached and hauled - but a cove close enough to have those arrows now whizzing through the air to land upon their feet, a danger to ones who did not have a properly working ship to flee from.
Kreios had fully intended to sail back to Egypt purely just to check in on the various complaints which had been sent to him via homing pigeon. Astute businessman that he is, while he hadn't scheduled a return to Egypt anytime soon, Kreios had been left with little choice when it came to the return when two of his clients had their strongly worded letter sent to him.
Yet halfway through the journey, it was obvious the merchant the Azazel was about to sail into far more then just a port for the warmer kingdom. While he usually did not want sailing once the sun has set, the small distance to the shoreline meant Kreios had requested Captain Garvey to just push through the night so they would arrive at the shore by dawn.
But it was only a few moments, before the captain of his ship sent Descat, who was quick to report to him on ... disturbances that prevented his orders from being carried out.
Curious, the dark-haired merchant had left his post in his work cabin and instead went on deck, intent on finding out what 'disturbance' that the captain had stated to be the reason why he had dropped anchor instead of following through with what Kreios had instructed. Despite Garvey being the captain of the ship, the ship does belong to Kreios afterall, and his orders superceded everyone else's. As he headed out to deck, his eyes blinked to realize the sun had begun to rise, just about the time he had expected to get into port in Cairo.
But ah, what was this? His frown furrowed his brows as he picked out fleets of ships. Differently marked? Kreios couldn't tell for certain with the dim morning assisting his vision, but the general outline of the vessels definitely seemed different. Most of the ones his own ship was close to definitely were of Grecian make, but if Kreios leaned further over the deck to glance in the distance... were those Egyptian ships?
Everything seemed silent however, with no movement from either end. "A storm, Master Kreios.' Descat suddenly spoke up from his side as a gust of wind blew. Heeding the words of his cabin boy, a deep inhale from the merchant was enough to ensure him what Descat said was right, as he could smell a freshly passed storm.Thankfully, it seemed they had drifted into the part of the ocean at the end of a harrowing storm, it seems. The Grecian ships seemed worst for wear, battered by the anger of Poseion itself from the brewing storm it seems.
A whistle in the air drew his attention, and with the Azazel safely anchored a distance away from the cove the Grecian ships had been beached and hauled - but a cove close enough to have those arrows now whizzing through the air to land upon their feet, a danger to ones who did not have a properly working ship to flee from.
If anyone had bothered to ask his opinion, Isaiah would have pointed out that the marginal betrayal these people felt was out of proportion. He’d performed his task, had he not? And had he not performed it adequately and quickly? He was not a soldier. His presence did not add to their numbers in any meaningful way and so when he’d seen his window to escape back to his homeland, he’d taken it. Any man with an ounce of sanity would have done the same. That was cold comfort as he lay shivering on the deck, incapable of not hearing these Greeks congratulating each other on a job well done. He sniffed again, folded one hand over the other atop his abdomen, and patiently waited to be told he would be dropped back into the ocean without the benefit of a rope. Or would they flog him, he wondered idly? Perhaps a swift end of chopping off his head. Perhaps they would force him to row again, chained to the bench. At this point, it didn’t matter. His chance to be with his wife was gone and his path to freedom burning brilliantly against the night, blocking moon and star in a thick wall of oily smoke.
He did not react when the king did nothing more than tell Captain Krysto to keep watch on him. The blanket thrown over his face was confusing enough in its kindness to make him sit up at last. His back felt like it stuck to the deck, peeling off and making him shiver as wind sent a fresh chill over him. Lank swaths of hair clung to his face and he finally moved from where he’d been laying to the back of the ship, standing with the other swimmers to watch their handiwork. Isaiah sniffed again, distantly wondering if he would have a cold tomorrow. News of his attempted abandonment spread quickly and while no one did anything to him, no one spoke to him, either. He was as substantial as air and he began to feel the true weight of what he’d just done, now that the shock was over.
Aware that the goodwill towards him was gone, he decided to remove himself from sight and head down the stairs to where the only unoffended occupants of the ship remained; the horses. He sat inside one of the stalls, speaking in low tones to the king’s horse, who listened with the characteristic patience of an animal more occupied with munching straw than anything else. After an hour or so, Isaiah nestled down in the hay to sleep. There was little enough else to do. He remained completely unaware of the storm, getting the last good rest he’d have in quite a while, and blithely ignorant of that fact.
The fist stomach dropping lurch violently woke both Isaiah and the dozing horse. He tumbled against the horse’s flank and then clawed his way out of the stall, knowing it was the most dangerous place to be at that precise moment. All it would take was a stray hoof against his head and that would be that. Once out in the open, Isaiah looked up through the square hole in the deck and saw lightning fork against the sky. Water surged over the deck and down, catching him in the face. He was drenched and hay swirled on the water’s surface around his ankles. Now that he was awake, he could hear the scattering footsteps. They would need rowers. If there was one thing he’d learned how to do in nearly a decade on that galleon, it was row.
Pelting towards the benches, he was one of the first to slide into place. He picked up his oar and rowed like mad with the rest of them. This was not his first storm but the last he’d been in had broken his ship apart and he prayed this would not end the same. Shouts and cries of sea monsters clamoured around them and even Isaiah, who did not believe in such things, had to look. The writhing, slick thing slicing through the water, occasionally illuminated by more lightning made his chest squeeze and stomach knot so that he thought his insides might tie together. Whatever it was, it was huge. In a calmer state, he might reflect that he was glad to row so that his mind was more occupied and his fear had an outlet. At that exact moment, he rowed like his life depended on it.
His arms ached and the muscles of his stomach and chest and back burned, but as soon as he felt the teeth jarring scrape beneath their feet, he rowed harder, like that might somehow get them over the rock. Their luck would not hold. If not for his grip on the oar, he’d have been flung from his seat. His butt hit the bench hard enough that he knew for certain he’d bruised his tailbone but that was the least of it. He could already hear the sucking gurgle of water surging into the ship from top and now bottom. They would have to run aground. Reach land or be lost.
Isaiah remained at his post until he felt the ship’s bottom hit the sea shelf. His oar bit into sand and the ship launched itself like a beached whale closer and closer to shore until it could not haul itself up further. Isaiah let go of his oar and leaned on it, resting his sweating face against the worn, smooth handle. At least this shipwreck, other people aside from him were alive. Forgetting for the moment that he was not the person anyone wanted to see, he slid from his bench and moved up to the top deck, presenting himself before the ship’s captain, Captain Krysto, and the king.
“With permission, I will offload the water?” he asked, wondering if any of the barrels had been damaged and imagined them now floating in the bilge, along with what was left of their food supply.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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If anyone had bothered to ask his opinion, Isaiah would have pointed out that the marginal betrayal these people felt was out of proportion. He’d performed his task, had he not? And had he not performed it adequately and quickly? He was not a soldier. His presence did not add to their numbers in any meaningful way and so when he’d seen his window to escape back to his homeland, he’d taken it. Any man with an ounce of sanity would have done the same. That was cold comfort as he lay shivering on the deck, incapable of not hearing these Greeks congratulating each other on a job well done. He sniffed again, folded one hand over the other atop his abdomen, and patiently waited to be told he would be dropped back into the ocean without the benefit of a rope. Or would they flog him, he wondered idly? Perhaps a swift end of chopping off his head. Perhaps they would force him to row again, chained to the bench. At this point, it didn’t matter. His chance to be with his wife was gone and his path to freedom burning brilliantly against the night, blocking moon and star in a thick wall of oily smoke.
He did not react when the king did nothing more than tell Captain Krysto to keep watch on him. The blanket thrown over his face was confusing enough in its kindness to make him sit up at last. His back felt like it stuck to the deck, peeling off and making him shiver as wind sent a fresh chill over him. Lank swaths of hair clung to his face and he finally moved from where he’d been laying to the back of the ship, standing with the other swimmers to watch their handiwork. Isaiah sniffed again, distantly wondering if he would have a cold tomorrow. News of his attempted abandonment spread quickly and while no one did anything to him, no one spoke to him, either. He was as substantial as air and he began to feel the true weight of what he’d just done, now that the shock was over.
Aware that the goodwill towards him was gone, he decided to remove himself from sight and head down the stairs to where the only unoffended occupants of the ship remained; the horses. He sat inside one of the stalls, speaking in low tones to the king’s horse, who listened with the characteristic patience of an animal more occupied with munching straw than anything else. After an hour or so, Isaiah nestled down in the hay to sleep. There was little enough else to do. He remained completely unaware of the storm, getting the last good rest he’d have in quite a while, and blithely ignorant of that fact.
The fist stomach dropping lurch violently woke both Isaiah and the dozing horse. He tumbled against the horse’s flank and then clawed his way out of the stall, knowing it was the most dangerous place to be at that precise moment. All it would take was a stray hoof against his head and that would be that. Once out in the open, Isaiah looked up through the square hole in the deck and saw lightning fork against the sky. Water surged over the deck and down, catching him in the face. He was drenched and hay swirled on the water’s surface around his ankles. Now that he was awake, he could hear the scattering footsteps. They would need rowers. If there was one thing he’d learned how to do in nearly a decade on that galleon, it was row.
Pelting towards the benches, he was one of the first to slide into place. He picked up his oar and rowed like mad with the rest of them. This was not his first storm but the last he’d been in had broken his ship apart and he prayed this would not end the same. Shouts and cries of sea monsters clamoured around them and even Isaiah, who did not believe in such things, had to look. The writhing, slick thing slicing through the water, occasionally illuminated by more lightning made his chest squeeze and stomach knot so that he thought his insides might tie together. Whatever it was, it was huge. In a calmer state, he might reflect that he was glad to row so that his mind was more occupied and his fear had an outlet. At that exact moment, he rowed like his life depended on it.
His arms ached and the muscles of his stomach and chest and back burned, but as soon as he felt the teeth jarring scrape beneath their feet, he rowed harder, like that might somehow get them over the rock. Their luck would not hold. If not for his grip on the oar, he’d have been flung from his seat. His butt hit the bench hard enough that he knew for certain he’d bruised his tailbone but that was the least of it. He could already hear the sucking gurgle of water surging into the ship from top and now bottom. They would have to run aground. Reach land or be lost.
Isaiah remained at his post until he felt the ship’s bottom hit the sea shelf. His oar bit into sand and the ship launched itself like a beached whale closer and closer to shore until it could not haul itself up further. Isaiah let go of his oar and leaned on it, resting his sweating face against the worn, smooth handle. At least this shipwreck, other people aside from him were alive. Forgetting for the moment that he was not the person anyone wanted to see, he slid from his bench and moved up to the top deck, presenting himself before the ship’s captain, Captain Krysto, and the king.
“With permission, I will offload the water?” he asked, wondering if any of the barrels had been damaged and imagined them now floating in the bilge, along with what was left of their food supply.
If anyone had bothered to ask his opinion, Isaiah would have pointed out that the marginal betrayal these people felt was out of proportion. He’d performed his task, had he not? And had he not performed it adequately and quickly? He was not a soldier. His presence did not add to their numbers in any meaningful way and so when he’d seen his window to escape back to his homeland, he’d taken it. Any man with an ounce of sanity would have done the same. That was cold comfort as he lay shivering on the deck, incapable of not hearing these Greeks congratulating each other on a job well done. He sniffed again, folded one hand over the other atop his abdomen, and patiently waited to be told he would be dropped back into the ocean without the benefit of a rope. Or would they flog him, he wondered idly? Perhaps a swift end of chopping off his head. Perhaps they would force him to row again, chained to the bench. At this point, it didn’t matter. His chance to be with his wife was gone and his path to freedom burning brilliantly against the night, blocking moon and star in a thick wall of oily smoke.
He did not react when the king did nothing more than tell Captain Krysto to keep watch on him. The blanket thrown over his face was confusing enough in its kindness to make him sit up at last. His back felt like it stuck to the deck, peeling off and making him shiver as wind sent a fresh chill over him. Lank swaths of hair clung to his face and he finally moved from where he’d been laying to the back of the ship, standing with the other swimmers to watch their handiwork. Isaiah sniffed again, distantly wondering if he would have a cold tomorrow. News of his attempted abandonment spread quickly and while no one did anything to him, no one spoke to him, either. He was as substantial as air and he began to feel the true weight of what he’d just done, now that the shock was over.
Aware that the goodwill towards him was gone, he decided to remove himself from sight and head down the stairs to where the only unoffended occupants of the ship remained; the horses. He sat inside one of the stalls, speaking in low tones to the king’s horse, who listened with the characteristic patience of an animal more occupied with munching straw than anything else. After an hour or so, Isaiah nestled down in the hay to sleep. There was little enough else to do. He remained completely unaware of the storm, getting the last good rest he’d have in quite a while, and blithely ignorant of that fact.
The fist stomach dropping lurch violently woke both Isaiah and the dozing horse. He tumbled against the horse’s flank and then clawed his way out of the stall, knowing it was the most dangerous place to be at that precise moment. All it would take was a stray hoof against his head and that would be that. Once out in the open, Isaiah looked up through the square hole in the deck and saw lightning fork against the sky. Water surged over the deck and down, catching him in the face. He was drenched and hay swirled on the water’s surface around his ankles. Now that he was awake, he could hear the scattering footsteps. They would need rowers. If there was one thing he’d learned how to do in nearly a decade on that galleon, it was row.
Pelting towards the benches, he was one of the first to slide into place. He picked up his oar and rowed like mad with the rest of them. This was not his first storm but the last he’d been in had broken his ship apart and he prayed this would not end the same. Shouts and cries of sea monsters clamoured around them and even Isaiah, who did not believe in such things, had to look. The writhing, slick thing slicing through the water, occasionally illuminated by more lightning made his chest squeeze and stomach knot so that he thought his insides might tie together. Whatever it was, it was huge. In a calmer state, he might reflect that he was glad to row so that his mind was more occupied and his fear had an outlet. At that exact moment, he rowed like his life depended on it.
His arms ached and the muscles of his stomach and chest and back burned, but as soon as he felt the teeth jarring scrape beneath their feet, he rowed harder, like that might somehow get them over the rock. Their luck would not hold. If not for his grip on the oar, he’d have been flung from his seat. His butt hit the bench hard enough that he knew for certain he’d bruised his tailbone but that was the least of it. He could already hear the sucking gurgle of water surging into the ship from top and now bottom. They would have to run aground. Reach land or be lost.
Isaiah remained at his post until he felt the ship’s bottom hit the sea shelf. His oar bit into sand and the ship launched itself like a beached whale closer and closer to shore until it could not haul itself up further. Isaiah let go of his oar and leaned on it, resting his sweating face against the worn, smooth handle. At least this shipwreck, other people aside from him were alive. Forgetting for the moment that he was not the person anyone wanted to see, he slid from his bench and moved up to the top deck, presenting himself before the ship’s captain, Captain Krysto, and the king.
“With permission, I will offload the water?” he asked, wondering if any of the barrels had been damaged and imagined them now floating in the bilge, along with what was left of their food supply.
The Captain had his own reservations about heading back toward Taengea in the midst of a storm. He had hoped that, perhaps, the King might take his question as a suggestion. Storms could be dangerous, especially when it came to more inexperienced crews. Storms could be deadly even with the most experienced crews, and it was a hard pill to swallow when the king noted that they would be heading back toward Taengea anyway. Krysto eyed the sky with a level of distrust that he always wore on his features, trusting the skies and the gods far less in this moment than he generally trusted most people. This would not end well, and the Captain could feel it in his gut.
Heavy like a stone, he carried that anxiety with him as silently as he always did. Achilleas did not always take his suggestions, and that was fine, but Krysto knew that he would have rather risked the Egyptians rather than brave the sea. Men, they could fight. The sea? The sea was far more powerful than man, and Krysto was deeply aware of that. The only thing he could do was pray to Poseidon that the waves not drown them all. A quietly devout man with a deep consideration of the gods, Krysto did this silently, his gaze set skyward first and then out into the ocean, watching the last glittering tendrils of moonlight fade upon the water's surface.
'I am sorry, Dice,' was the only thought that gripped his mind once prayer faded into the recesses of his conciousness. Krysto did not dwell long on his lover, nor his unborn child, because the storm hit them far sooner than anyone really expected.
The events of the storm were a blur, mostly because the Captain had thrown himself onto one of the rowing benches at the very beginning. His stomach dropped violently with the first wave, making him feel dizzy for just a moment. From there, Krysto's entire focus had been to row. Row. Row. Row. It was the only word on his mind, said in a pattern that better guided his movements and the working of his oars. The cries above the waves did not land on deaf ears, but his mind had been on the task at hand, not the fear of those around him. It was Achilleas' job to help bring the calm of the crew.
But even he caught sight of the creature in the waves, his heart seizing in his chest for just a moment. Then the Captain set his gaze directly forward, not needing the added terror of Scylla to distract his mind from rowing this boat back toward the Egyptian shore. The act of rowing felt like it took both an eternity and the blink of an eye. Then they were running aground and Krysto's grip on his oars was finally able to grow lax. His entire being ached, exhaustion gripping him fiercely after having swam the Egyptian bay, only to then spend the entire duration of a storm rowing as hard as he could. But the adrenaline coursing through his veins kept the tiredness from bringing him so low that he could not function.
As the ships were brought to the shore, Krysto was very aware that he had a job to do, taking visual note of how many soldiers that they had left and noting that at least one of their ships was missing. That was both terrifying and frustrating. They no longer had the manpower they had held with their smaller contingency of ships. This would be a problem, for sure. If they were ambushed, the likelihood of them losing a battle was high with so few men to watch each other's backs.
Standing beside the King, Krysto let his gaze dart back and forth across the beach until Isaiah was climbing his way toward them. Krysto's gaze hardened slightly, his silent distrust for the Judean showing on his features, though he would not deny the offer of work being done. "See to it," was all that Krysto said, nodding at Isaiah to turn around and go right back the way that he had come. Then, to Achilleas, "I will organize the men to start working on the damages and set up a guard rotation," he noted before he was walking away from the King, not waiting for a yes or no from his friend and monarch.
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The Captain had his own reservations about heading back toward Taengea in the midst of a storm. He had hoped that, perhaps, the King might take his question as a suggestion. Storms could be dangerous, especially when it came to more inexperienced crews. Storms could be deadly even with the most experienced crews, and it was a hard pill to swallow when the king noted that they would be heading back toward Taengea anyway. Krysto eyed the sky with a level of distrust that he always wore on his features, trusting the skies and the gods far less in this moment than he generally trusted most people. This would not end well, and the Captain could feel it in his gut.
Heavy like a stone, he carried that anxiety with him as silently as he always did. Achilleas did not always take his suggestions, and that was fine, but Krysto knew that he would have rather risked the Egyptians rather than brave the sea. Men, they could fight. The sea? The sea was far more powerful than man, and Krysto was deeply aware of that. The only thing he could do was pray to Poseidon that the waves not drown them all. A quietly devout man with a deep consideration of the gods, Krysto did this silently, his gaze set skyward first and then out into the ocean, watching the last glittering tendrils of moonlight fade upon the water's surface.
'I am sorry, Dice,' was the only thought that gripped his mind once prayer faded into the recesses of his conciousness. Krysto did not dwell long on his lover, nor his unborn child, because the storm hit them far sooner than anyone really expected.
The events of the storm were a blur, mostly because the Captain had thrown himself onto one of the rowing benches at the very beginning. His stomach dropped violently with the first wave, making him feel dizzy for just a moment. From there, Krysto's entire focus had been to row. Row. Row. Row. It was the only word on his mind, said in a pattern that better guided his movements and the working of his oars. The cries above the waves did not land on deaf ears, but his mind had been on the task at hand, not the fear of those around him. It was Achilleas' job to help bring the calm of the crew.
But even he caught sight of the creature in the waves, his heart seizing in his chest for just a moment. Then the Captain set his gaze directly forward, not needing the added terror of Scylla to distract his mind from rowing this boat back toward the Egyptian shore. The act of rowing felt like it took both an eternity and the blink of an eye. Then they were running aground and Krysto's grip on his oars was finally able to grow lax. His entire being ached, exhaustion gripping him fiercely after having swam the Egyptian bay, only to then spend the entire duration of a storm rowing as hard as he could. But the adrenaline coursing through his veins kept the tiredness from bringing him so low that he could not function.
As the ships were brought to the shore, Krysto was very aware that he had a job to do, taking visual note of how many soldiers that they had left and noting that at least one of their ships was missing. That was both terrifying and frustrating. They no longer had the manpower they had held with their smaller contingency of ships. This would be a problem, for sure. If they were ambushed, the likelihood of them losing a battle was high with so few men to watch each other's backs.
Standing beside the King, Krysto let his gaze dart back and forth across the beach until Isaiah was climbing his way toward them. Krysto's gaze hardened slightly, his silent distrust for the Judean showing on his features, though he would not deny the offer of work being done. "See to it," was all that Krysto said, nodding at Isaiah to turn around and go right back the way that he had come. Then, to Achilleas, "I will organize the men to start working on the damages and set up a guard rotation," he noted before he was walking away from the King, not waiting for a yes or no from his friend and monarch.
The Captain had his own reservations about heading back toward Taengea in the midst of a storm. He had hoped that, perhaps, the King might take his question as a suggestion. Storms could be dangerous, especially when it came to more inexperienced crews. Storms could be deadly even with the most experienced crews, and it was a hard pill to swallow when the king noted that they would be heading back toward Taengea anyway. Krysto eyed the sky with a level of distrust that he always wore on his features, trusting the skies and the gods far less in this moment than he generally trusted most people. This would not end well, and the Captain could feel it in his gut.
Heavy like a stone, he carried that anxiety with him as silently as he always did. Achilleas did not always take his suggestions, and that was fine, but Krysto knew that he would have rather risked the Egyptians rather than brave the sea. Men, they could fight. The sea? The sea was far more powerful than man, and Krysto was deeply aware of that. The only thing he could do was pray to Poseidon that the waves not drown them all. A quietly devout man with a deep consideration of the gods, Krysto did this silently, his gaze set skyward first and then out into the ocean, watching the last glittering tendrils of moonlight fade upon the water's surface.
'I am sorry, Dice,' was the only thought that gripped his mind once prayer faded into the recesses of his conciousness. Krysto did not dwell long on his lover, nor his unborn child, because the storm hit them far sooner than anyone really expected.
The events of the storm were a blur, mostly because the Captain had thrown himself onto one of the rowing benches at the very beginning. His stomach dropped violently with the first wave, making him feel dizzy for just a moment. From there, Krysto's entire focus had been to row. Row. Row. Row. It was the only word on his mind, said in a pattern that better guided his movements and the working of his oars. The cries above the waves did not land on deaf ears, but his mind had been on the task at hand, not the fear of those around him. It was Achilleas' job to help bring the calm of the crew.
But even he caught sight of the creature in the waves, his heart seizing in his chest for just a moment. Then the Captain set his gaze directly forward, not needing the added terror of Scylla to distract his mind from rowing this boat back toward the Egyptian shore. The act of rowing felt like it took both an eternity and the blink of an eye. Then they were running aground and Krysto's grip on his oars was finally able to grow lax. His entire being ached, exhaustion gripping him fiercely after having swam the Egyptian bay, only to then spend the entire duration of a storm rowing as hard as he could. But the adrenaline coursing through his veins kept the tiredness from bringing him so low that he could not function.
As the ships were brought to the shore, Krysto was very aware that he had a job to do, taking visual note of how many soldiers that they had left and noting that at least one of their ships was missing. That was both terrifying and frustrating. They no longer had the manpower they had held with their smaller contingency of ships. This would be a problem, for sure. If they were ambushed, the likelihood of them losing a battle was high with so few men to watch each other's backs.
Standing beside the King, Krysto let his gaze dart back and forth across the beach until Isaiah was climbing his way toward them. Krysto's gaze hardened slightly, his silent distrust for the Judean showing on his features, though he would not deny the offer of work being done. "See to it," was all that Krysto said, nodding at Isaiah to turn around and go right back the way that he had come. Then, to Achilleas, "I will organize the men to start working on the damages and set up a guard rotation," he noted before he was walking away from the King, not waiting for a yes or no from his friend and monarch.
It was not how Achilleas would have chosen for this to play out. His men were weary and disheartened, their ships were damaged or unaccounted for, and now here in the early morning light they washed up on Egyptian sands like the driftwood that was carried in by the waves. He did not need to be a master ship- builder to note the way the vessel upon which he stood listed to one side, did not need to hear the account from the man who reported the breach in the hull that they had plugged as best they could. It was at least above the waterline, and that was something they should all thank the Gods for.
He was aware of Krysto’s presence at his side as they drew near to landing the ships, and did not make any effort to break the silence between them. His Captain and long term friend was one of the few that he didn’t feel the need to pretend with. He wasn’t happy about this, and Krysto would know it even if Achilleas did try and speak the words of reassurance that he might have done for another. So he didn’t bother.
The King was aware too that Krysto’s counsel would have been for them to have turned back when the storm was little more than a threat upon the horizon, but he’d made his decision based upon the knowledge that there were a thousand angry Egyptians at their backs and only the chance of misfortune up ahead. That choice weighed on him now, and his friend would know he didn’t need any reminding of the fact.
“No sign of Amaxos nor Cletus” Achilleas eventually remarked quietly, even as his eyes scanned the looming shoreline for any sign of movement, “We can hope they fared better than ourselves and sailed through the storm and out the other side.” His voice was flat, matter of fact and his gaze didn’t drift from the sharp focus on the land ahead.
It was blessing at least that they had not seen any sign of flotsam and jetsam, for that would have made it difficult to cling to even the faint hope that their kinsmen were safe and well. And aside from the tragedy of potentially having lost so many men to the sea, Achilleas did not have to point out to Krysto that it only made them more vulnerable now. What had been slated a quick, stealthy in and out mission now saw them having to land and potentially defend themselves against the might of the Egyptian armies, who dwarfed even the entirety of Taengea’s forces in number. Achilleas had three crippled ships, tired men and none of the assurance that reinforcements would arrive soon. Even assuming the Colchians moved quickly, they were looking at weeks before they could expect aid.
The King’s brow furrowed as he inspected the lay of the small cove the Captain had steered them toward, as he established if it were defensible, if they could try and hold it under pressure. Speed and efficiency in repairing the ships would be key. Perhaps, if the Gods smiled upon them then they could make the ships safe and be on their way before their enemies knew they had even made land. Jaw tightening as he set his teeth, Achilleas could admit to himself that would be almost too good to be true. Their foes would surely be wary after the events of the previous night. All in all it made for a rather dire position to be in.
There was a jolt that had Achilleas catch a hold of the wood of the ship as they hit the sand shelf, and then men were in the water, wading forwards with the ropes that would be used to haul the stricken boat up onto the sand so it could be better inspected. Achilleas paid little attention to the sound of the Judean man’s approach nor his subsequent conversation with Krysto, just added to the problem of fresh water to the deck already stacked against them.
“Good” he muttered in answer to Krysto, though the man had not waited to hear it, and with a glance after the Captain, Achilleas jerked his head at two of the archers who were on deck, ready to provide covering fire if had been required. “With me” he instructed, climbing down the rope netting until he dropped into the thigh-deep water and began wading toward the shore, watchful as always of their surroundings.
The land did not rise from the sea in such steep cliffs as where they had found the Egyptian fleet, and that was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing for it meant they might more easily be able to scavenge for any resources they needed, but a curse for it meant they did not have the shelter of walls of rock either. There was enough height to the rocky dunes to conceal them for now though, and that was as much as could be hoped.
Turning to the men who had followed him ashore, Achilleas gave the order for them to go between the ships, assemble what provisions remained and then what they had of weapons and equipment. He mustered a couple more to follow him, intending to go and scout the area they had landed in, because they needed to be prepared. If this was the hand dealt to them by the Gods, if this was the path that Ares set before them, then Achilleas would be sure that even with the odds weighted against them, the Greeks would be ready.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
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It was not how Achilleas would have chosen for this to play out. His men were weary and disheartened, their ships were damaged or unaccounted for, and now here in the early morning light they washed up on Egyptian sands like the driftwood that was carried in by the waves. He did not need to be a master ship- builder to note the way the vessel upon which he stood listed to one side, did not need to hear the account from the man who reported the breach in the hull that they had plugged as best they could. It was at least above the waterline, and that was something they should all thank the Gods for.
He was aware of Krysto’s presence at his side as they drew near to landing the ships, and did not make any effort to break the silence between them. His Captain and long term friend was one of the few that he didn’t feel the need to pretend with. He wasn’t happy about this, and Krysto would know it even if Achilleas did try and speak the words of reassurance that he might have done for another. So he didn’t bother.
The King was aware too that Krysto’s counsel would have been for them to have turned back when the storm was little more than a threat upon the horizon, but he’d made his decision based upon the knowledge that there were a thousand angry Egyptians at their backs and only the chance of misfortune up ahead. That choice weighed on him now, and his friend would know he didn’t need any reminding of the fact.
“No sign of Amaxos nor Cletus” Achilleas eventually remarked quietly, even as his eyes scanned the looming shoreline for any sign of movement, “We can hope they fared better than ourselves and sailed through the storm and out the other side.” His voice was flat, matter of fact and his gaze didn’t drift from the sharp focus on the land ahead.
It was blessing at least that they had not seen any sign of flotsam and jetsam, for that would have made it difficult to cling to even the faint hope that their kinsmen were safe and well. And aside from the tragedy of potentially having lost so many men to the sea, Achilleas did not have to point out to Krysto that it only made them more vulnerable now. What had been slated a quick, stealthy in and out mission now saw them having to land and potentially defend themselves against the might of the Egyptian armies, who dwarfed even the entirety of Taengea’s forces in number. Achilleas had three crippled ships, tired men and none of the assurance that reinforcements would arrive soon. Even assuming the Colchians moved quickly, they were looking at weeks before they could expect aid.
The King’s brow furrowed as he inspected the lay of the small cove the Captain had steered them toward, as he established if it were defensible, if they could try and hold it under pressure. Speed and efficiency in repairing the ships would be key. Perhaps, if the Gods smiled upon them then they could make the ships safe and be on their way before their enemies knew they had even made land. Jaw tightening as he set his teeth, Achilleas could admit to himself that would be almost too good to be true. Their foes would surely be wary after the events of the previous night. All in all it made for a rather dire position to be in.
There was a jolt that had Achilleas catch a hold of the wood of the ship as they hit the sand shelf, and then men were in the water, wading forwards with the ropes that would be used to haul the stricken boat up onto the sand so it could be better inspected. Achilleas paid little attention to the sound of the Judean man’s approach nor his subsequent conversation with Krysto, just added to the problem of fresh water to the deck already stacked against them.
“Good” he muttered in answer to Krysto, though the man had not waited to hear it, and with a glance after the Captain, Achilleas jerked his head at two of the archers who were on deck, ready to provide covering fire if had been required. “With me” he instructed, climbing down the rope netting until he dropped into the thigh-deep water and began wading toward the shore, watchful as always of their surroundings.
The land did not rise from the sea in such steep cliffs as where they had found the Egyptian fleet, and that was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing for it meant they might more easily be able to scavenge for any resources they needed, but a curse for it meant they did not have the shelter of walls of rock either. There was enough height to the rocky dunes to conceal them for now though, and that was as much as could be hoped.
Turning to the men who had followed him ashore, Achilleas gave the order for them to go between the ships, assemble what provisions remained and then what they had of weapons and equipment. He mustered a couple more to follow him, intending to go and scout the area they had landed in, because they needed to be prepared. If this was the hand dealt to them by the Gods, if this was the path that Ares set before them, then Achilleas would be sure that even with the odds weighted against them, the Greeks would be ready.
It was not how Achilleas would have chosen for this to play out. His men were weary and disheartened, their ships were damaged or unaccounted for, and now here in the early morning light they washed up on Egyptian sands like the driftwood that was carried in by the waves. He did not need to be a master ship- builder to note the way the vessel upon which he stood listed to one side, did not need to hear the account from the man who reported the breach in the hull that they had plugged as best they could. It was at least above the waterline, and that was something they should all thank the Gods for.
He was aware of Krysto’s presence at his side as they drew near to landing the ships, and did not make any effort to break the silence between them. His Captain and long term friend was one of the few that he didn’t feel the need to pretend with. He wasn’t happy about this, and Krysto would know it even if Achilleas did try and speak the words of reassurance that he might have done for another. So he didn’t bother.
The King was aware too that Krysto’s counsel would have been for them to have turned back when the storm was little more than a threat upon the horizon, but he’d made his decision based upon the knowledge that there were a thousand angry Egyptians at their backs and only the chance of misfortune up ahead. That choice weighed on him now, and his friend would know he didn’t need any reminding of the fact.
“No sign of Amaxos nor Cletus” Achilleas eventually remarked quietly, even as his eyes scanned the looming shoreline for any sign of movement, “We can hope they fared better than ourselves and sailed through the storm and out the other side.” His voice was flat, matter of fact and his gaze didn’t drift from the sharp focus on the land ahead.
It was blessing at least that they had not seen any sign of flotsam and jetsam, for that would have made it difficult to cling to even the faint hope that their kinsmen were safe and well. And aside from the tragedy of potentially having lost so many men to the sea, Achilleas did not have to point out to Krysto that it only made them more vulnerable now. What had been slated a quick, stealthy in and out mission now saw them having to land and potentially defend themselves against the might of the Egyptian armies, who dwarfed even the entirety of Taengea’s forces in number. Achilleas had three crippled ships, tired men and none of the assurance that reinforcements would arrive soon. Even assuming the Colchians moved quickly, they were looking at weeks before they could expect aid.
The King’s brow furrowed as he inspected the lay of the small cove the Captain had steered them toward, as he established if it were defensible, if they could try and hold it under pressure. Speed and efficiency in repairing the ships would be key. Perhaps, if the Gods smiled upon them then they could make the ships safe and be on their way before their enemies knew they had even made land. Jaw tightening as he set his teeth, Achilleas could admit to himself that would be almost too good to be true. Their foes would surely be wary after the events of the previous night. All in all it made for a rather dire position to be in.
There was a jolt that had Achilleas catch a hold of the wood of the ship as they hit the sand shelf, and then men were in the water, wading forwards with the ropes that would be used to haul the stricken boat up onto the sand so it could be better inspected. Achilleas paid little attention to the sound of the Judean man’s approach nor his subsequent conversation with Krysto, just added to the problem of fresh water to the deck already stacked against them.
“Good” he muttered in answer to Krysto, though the man had not waited to hear it, and with a glance after the Captain, Achilleas jerked his head at two of the archers who were on deck, ready to provide covering fire if had been required. “With me” he instructed, climbing down the rope netting until he dropped into the thigh-deep water and began wading toward the shore, watchful as always of their surroundings.
The land did not rise from the sea in such steep cliffs as where they had found the Egyptian fleet, and that was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing for it meant they might more easily be able to scavenge for any resources they needed, but a curse for it meant they did not have the shelter of walls of rock either. There was enough height to the rocky dunes to conceal them for now though, and that was as much as could be hoped.
Turning to the men who had followed him ashore, Achilleas gave the order for them to go between the ships, assemble what provisions remained and then what they had of weapons and equipment. He mustered a couple more to follow him, intending to go and scout the area they had landed in, because they needed to be prepared. If this was the hand dealt to them by the Gods, if this was the path that Ares set before them, then Achilleas would be sure that even with the odds weighted against them, the Greeks would be ready.
Kreios was no military man by far. He disliked the idea of warfare and fights - not that he was a peace loving man of any means. But he much preferred arguments and disputes to be settled quick and easy, and the wares in which he dabbles in was evidence to his preferences. Yet he was amused at the actions of his countrymen skulking about in the waters trying to gain the upperhand against his enemies. Leaning over the side of his vessel, his dark eyes wore a tint of humor covered by his sodden locks of hair as he watched them try and survive the sudden onslaught. The Azazel was well equipped, and having hired a captain to run the ship, Kreios was free of responsibilities. Even as the crew members ran madly on the rocking ship to secure their items, Kreios merely watched the actions.
Watching as the men rowed fiercely and the ships were brought to shore, Kreios mentally noted the weariness on the faces of the men - clearly, the whole journey and whatever had transpired had taken alot out of these men. Would they survive a battle with Egyptians on their homeland? The Egyptians hadn't had to go through a week or more of sailing, and then have a storm batter whatever energy they had left.
Waving at his captain to bring the ship closer to shore (for now, Kreios was far too intrigued to leave the scene, even if his black ship in the horizon was a clear sight and made him an obvious target), the dark-haired merchant murmured to his crew to ensure it be made clear they were no threat, before instructing Garvey to throw the anchor down.
The man was amused.
Watching as the man he thought to be the new, young King to Taengea move down the rope netting into the water, Kreios leaned far too casually on the edge of his deck. Had anyone been close, they would see amusement like a dance in the sparkle of his onyxian eyes. They were scouting land? With some provisions likely having been damaged when battling with a storm, Kreios couldn't help but wonder exactly how long they'd be able to handle and sustain on foreign land.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Kreios was no military man by far. He disliked the idea of warfare and fights - not that he was a peace loving man of any means. But he much preferred arguments and disputes to be settled quick and easy, and the wares in which he dabbles in was evidence to his preferences. Yet he was amused at the actions of his countrymen skulking about in the waters trying to gain the upperhand against his enemies. Leaning over the side of his vessel, his dark eyes wore a tint of humor covered by his sodden locks of hair as he watched them try and survive the sudden onslaught. The Azazel was well equipped, and having hired a captain to run the ship, Kreios was free of responsibilities. Even as the crew members ran madly on the rocking ship to secure their items, Kreios merely watched the actions.
Watching as the men rowed fiercely and the ships were brought to shore, Kreios mentally noted the weariness on the faces of the men - clearly, the whole journey and whatever had transpired had taken alot out of these men. Would they survive a battle with Egyptians on their homeland? The Egyptians hadn't had to go through a week or more of sailing, and then have a storm batter whatever energy they had left.
Waving at his captain to bring the ship closer to shore (for now, Kreios was far too intrigued to leave the scene, even if his black ship in the horizon was a clear sight and made him an obvious target), the dark-haired merchant murmured to his crew to ensure it be made clear they were no threat, before instructing Garvey to throw the anchor down.
The man was amused.
Watching as the man he thought to be the new, young King to Taengea move down the rope netting into the water, Kreios leaned far too casually on the edge of his deck. Had anyone been close, they would see amusement like a dance in the sparkle of his onyxian eyes. They were scouting land? With some provisions likely having been damaged when battling with a storm, Kreios couldn't help but wonder exactly how long they'd be able to handle and sustain on foreign land.
Kreios was no military man by far. He disliked the idea of warfare and fights - not that he was a peace loving man of any means. But he much preferred arguments and disputes to be settled quick and easy, and the wares in which he dabbles in was evidence to his preferences. Yet he was amused at the actions of his countrymen skulking about in the waters trying to gain the upperhand against his enemies. Leaning over the side of his vessel, his dark eyes wore a tint of humor covered by his sodden locks of hair as he watched them try and survive the sudden onslaught. The Azazel was well equipped, and having hired a captain to run the ship, Kreios was free of responsibilities. Even as the crew members ran madly on the rocking ship to secure their items, Kreios merely watched the actions.
Watching as the men rowed fiercely and the ships were brought to shore, Kreios mentally noted the weariness on the faces of the men - clearly, the whole journey and whatever had transpired had taken alot out of these men. Would they survive a battle with Egyptians on their homeland? The Egyptians hadn't had to go through a week or more of sailing, and then have a storm batter whatever energy they had left.
Waving at his captain to bring the ship closer to shore (for now, Kreios was far too intrigued to leave the scene, even if his black ship in the horizon was a clear sight and made him an obvious target), the dark-haired merchant murmured to his crew to ensure it be made clear they were no threat, before instructing Garvey to throw the anchor down.
The man was amused.
Watching as the man he thought to be the new, young King to Taengea move down the rope netting into the water, Kreios leaned far too casually on the edge of his deck. Had anyone been close, they would see amusement like a dance in the sparkle of his onyxian eyes. They were scouting land? With some provisions likely having been damaged when battling with a storm, Kreios couldn't help but wonder exactly how long they'd be able to handle and sustain on foreign land.
Akila hadn’t meant to be here, but she wound up here anyway. The storm pushed her boat this way and that, sending her a bit off course. If Akila believed in fate, she’d had thought it would have led her here. Akila’s boat was pushed into madness, and what she saw was… something that made Akila almost wish that she was a soldier. Boats were in a plume of flame. Being in the military almost seemed fun if it wasn’t for the fact that it seemed you always had a stick up your ass. Greek ships were being beached, Egyptian ships destroyed, and a pod of whales a bit yonder seemed incredibly disturbed. How very interesting this all was.
Akila had no interest sailing directly into a battlefield. She rather liked her boat. It served her quite well. And while the pirate lived off conflict… this wasn’t one she was particularly interested in getting involved in. Witnessing it, on the other hand, sounded like a good time. It was just free entertainment. Besides what else was she going to do right now? Sail into a storm? Akila may be a bit of a daredevil, but she had been pushed around enough for the time being. This seemed like a good stopping point, lest her ship joins the other Egyptian ones in their destruction.
Her ship made anchor next to one as black as the sky currently was. It was out of the way of the battlefield, but close enough to watch everything from a safe distance. Her men looked wary, ready to defend should the strange ship try anything. Akila, on the other hand, just leaned against her rail across the way from a dark hair foreigner. Greek, she presumed, not that she really knew or cared. The man was just a random man. He was clearly no fighter, and if he was he was doing a real shit job at it.
Her dark eyes returned to the scene ahead of them, watching as the Greeks beached themselves. Oh, this would be fun. How long could they last in the deadly desert sands? “Two weeks,” Akila said to the stranger, shouting over the storm. “I give them two weeks. Wanna make a bet?” You could go quite a long time without food, Akila knew this well. But drink? They’d run out of that first. The desert was unforgiving, especially to foreigners who did not know their way around. And while the Nile was a source of life for Egyptians, should the Greeks not be careful it would lead to their death.
But, who was Akila to know? She was just a happy little spectator bemused by the fire and the squabbling of men. Honestly, though, she hoped it would be two weeks. Maybe the war would end in that time and she could freely sail back and forth again. This war was nothing but a nuisance, and soon with all the warships plaguing the seas, her headache would only continue to grow.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Akila hadn’t meant to be here, but she wound up here anyway. The storm pushed her boat this way and that, sending her a bit off course. If Akila believed in fate, she’d had thought it would have led her here. Akila’s boat was pushed into madness, and what she saw was… something that made Akila almost wish that she was a soldier. Boats were in a plume of flame. Being in the military almost seemed fun if it wasn’t for the fact that it seemed you always had a stick up your ass. Greek ships were being beached, Egyptian ships destroyed, and a pod of whales a bit yonder seemed incredibly disturbed. How very interesting this all was.
Akila had no interest sailing directly into a battlefield. She rather liked her boat. It served her quite well. And while the pirate lived off conflict… this wasn’t one she was particularly interested in getting involved in. Witnessing it, on the other hand, sounded like a good time. It was just free entertainment. Besides what else was she going to do right now? Sail into a storm? Akila may be a bit of a daredevil, but she had been pushed around enough for the time being. This seemed like a good stopping point, lest her ship joins the other Egyptian ones in their destruction.
Her ship made anchor next to one as black as the sky currently was. It was out of the way of the battlefield, but close enough to watch everything from a safe distance. Her men looked wary, ready to defend should the strange ship try anything. Akila, on the other hand, just leaned against her rail across the way from a dark hair foreigner. Greek, she presumed, not that she really knew or cared. The man was just a random man. He was clearly no fighter, and if he was he was doing a real shit job at it.
Her dark eyes returned to the scene ahead of them, watching as the Greeks beached themselves. Oh, this would be fun. How long could they last in the deadly desert sands? “Two weeks,” Akila said to the stranger, shouting over the storm. “I give them two weeks. Wanna make a bet?” You could go quite a long time without food, Akila knew this well. But drink? They’d run out of that first. The desert was unforgiving, especially to foreigners who did not know their way around. And while the Nile was a source of life for Egyptians, should the Greeks not be careful it would lead to their death.
But, who was Akila to know? She was just a happy little spectator bemused by the fire and the squabbling of men. Honestly, though, she hoped it would be two weeks. Maybe the war would end in that time and she could freely sail back and forth again. This war was nothing but a nuisance, and soon with all the warships plaguing the seas, her headache would only continue to grow.
Akila hadn’t meant to be here, but she wound up here anyway. The storm pushed her boat this way and that, sending her a bit off course. If Akila believed in fate, she’d had thought it would have led her here. Akila’s boat was pushed into madness, and what she saw was… something that made Akila almost wish that she was a soldier. Boats were in a plume of flame. Being in the military almost seemed fun if it wasn’t for the fact that it seemed you always had a stick up your ass. Greek ships were being beached, Egyptian ships destroyed, and a pod of whales a bit yonder seemed incredibly disturbed. How very interesting this all was.
Akila had no interest sailing directly into a battlefield. She rather liked her boat. It served her quite well. And while the pirate lived off conflict… this wasn’t one she was particularly interested in getting involved in. Witnessing it, on the other hand, sounded like a good time. It was just free entertainment. Besides what else was she going to do right now? Sail into a storm? Akila may be a bit of a daredevil, but she had been pushed around enough for the time being. This seemed like a good stopping point, lest her ship joins the other Egyptian ones in their destruction.
Her ship made anchor next to one as black as the sky currently was. It was out of the way of the battlefield, but close enough to watch everything from a safe distance. Her men looked wary, ready to defend should the strange ship try anything. Akila, on the other hand, just leaned against her rail across the way from a dark hair foreigner. Greek, she presumed, not that she really knew or cared. The man was just a random man. He was clearly no fighter, and if he was he was doing a real shit job at it.
Her dark eyes returned to the scene ahead of them, watching as the Greeks beached themselves. Oh, this would be fun. How long could they last in the deadly desert sands? “Two weeks,” Akila said to the stranger, shouting over the storm. “I give them two weeks. Wanna make a bet?” You could go quite a long time without food, Akila knew this well. But drink? They’d run out of that first. The desert was unforgiving, especially to foreigners who did not know their way around. And while the Nile was a source of life for Egyptians, should the Greeks not be careful it would lead to their death.
But, who was Akila to know? She was just a happy little spectator bemused by the fire and the squabbling of men. Honestly, though, she hoped it would be two weeks. Maybe the war would end in that time and she could freely sail back and forth again. This war was nothing but a nuisance, and soon with all the warships plaguing the seas, her headache would only continue to grow.
As the dark cloak of Nephtys settled over the Egyptian camp, Sutekh had no idea that the war was mere moments away from its beginning as the Greeks spread oil on the decoy ships in the water. Instead, the Bastard Prince was in his tent, preparing to finally rest after a long day. Oblivious to the danger, Sutekh might have even commented how peaceful everything seemed -- had he not been utterly alone, of course. However, he never got the chance to when the distinct and deafening crackle of wood burning roared through the camp. Sutekh could feel his heart stutter in his chest as he leaped up from his bed and raced towards the entrance in order to come face to face with the hellish sight of every ship in the Manopotapa harbor burning. The sheer number of burning war vessels made it clear that this had been no accident.
The peace of the night was shattered. War had come to Egypt’s shores.
Knowing full well that these ships were merely decoys and utterly useless to the war campaign as a whole, Sutekh was not overly concerned with sparing them a charring death at the hand of a Greecian flame. Truthfully, that would be a waste of both time and manpower as from the moment that the Bastard Prince saw the flames licking up the masts that there would be no hope of saving them. The fire was spreading too fast for there to be much of anything left before the ambushed militants could organize any sort of useful effort to combat them. By the time that they could gather all the buckets needed to transport the sand water to douse the flames, the ship would have deteriorated so much that it would likely put itself out by sinking beneath the surface.
As Sutekh stood in the entrance to his tent, watching as the ships turned to ash and charcoal in front of him, he took notice of how the others were reacting to the flames. Although the Egyptians would look to think of themselves as an unshakeable force of brave men, Sutekh could see the scared expressions of some of the footsoldiers as they took in the sight of this Greek candle. Their faces twisted in fear and panic, suddenly realizing that not only was the war finally upon them but likely their deaths were drawing near. This was likely their first conflict (as was Sutekh’s) and up until now, it must have been hard for them to not have to rationalize the fact that as men of no rank or name, they were the most likely to die at the hands of the Greeks. It was cruel and it may be unfortunate, but that was just how the tides of war worked. Men had to die. Seeing the flames rage on their ships and feeling the heat of such an inferno warm their skin was probably the first real glimpse these men were going to have of the fact that they were destined to die. Sutekh could most certainly find sympathy for their plight. He too was marked as expendable.
However, Sutekh had been given the luxury of being able to accept the fact that he was in constant danger a long time ago. Maybe that was how he was one of the first in his line of sight to move as the nearby orders of generals rang throughout the night, rally the men to arms and to buckets, whichever was closer. The Deputy General was quick to haul some of the slower men to their feet, relaying the same orders that he was hearing ring throughout the camp before running towards the beach. He didn’t know if the Greeks had come ashore and these flames were nearly a welcoming gift or if they had fled in the night like the cowards they were, but either way, Sutekh knew that his place was likely down there where the flames burned hottest. After all, the Pharaoh had made it very clear that he wanted to build some sort of funeral pyre for the boy. He had no doubts that if he were to find one of the high ranking Naddar Generals, they would tell him that this was where he needed to be, just in case those flames jumped ashore and decided to do Iahotep’s dirty work for him.
The Bastard Prince could see that this had been a wise decision as most of the higher-ranking men in the camp knew that the ships were useless, hardly any of them were among the crowd quickly forming on the beach. Most of those around Sutekh right now were those scared footsoldiers, unsure of what to do, but knowing full well that they could not hide in their tents like some of the poor unfortunate bastards being roused in the camp where. Drawing his hurried pace to a halt as he drew nearer, Sutekh could see the same thing that General Osorsen had seen in the distance due to the sheer height of the flames. Ships. He could see their faint outline in the darkness, further illuminated by the volley of flaming arrows that were falling just short of the vessels. However, they weren’t the Egyptian warships that Sutekh knew. Instead, they were shaped differently, meaning only one thing.
These were enemy ships.
The fucking cowards.
With not a single Greek onshore, it was fairly easy to piece together what their plan had been and Sutekh almost wanted to kick himself on behalf of his country for not getting the opportunity to skewer a few soldiers while they had been so close to shore. Now they were all scurrying like rats that were being chased by a cat. Not that this really surprised them. These were Greeks that they were dealing with, after all. They were all so foolish and dumb that he was certain that the army would have another chance to corner them as they ran out of places to hide. Whether or not Sutekh would be alive to see it was a different matter entirely, but that was not something that mattered too greatly at this moment. Not when there was a job that needed to be done and men that needed to be organized. After all, the ships might be a lost cause, but they still posed a threat. The masts rose so high above them all, above the camp that a single spark on one of the cloth tents could start an uncontrollable inferno that could truly hinder the war effort. Sutekh knew that there was little that he could feasibly do, but if anything he did helped prevent that sort of grand disaster, well that made it worth doing didn’t it?
“Buckets! Get as many as you can find!” Sutekh screamed, trying to bring his voice above the natural din of panicked men. Some of those who were closest to him and recognized the Prince in their midst were quick to cease in their directionless fight against the flames. Not only did they do that, but they were sure to grab the attention of other men surrounding them and direct them towards the Bastard Prince and slowly bit by bit the mass crowd was quickly coming to order under the direction of Sutekh. There were some men that were keen to not listen to him, still going about in uselessly throwing buckets of water on a fire that would not be put out and Sutekh supposed that these men had some Sheifa loyalties and were pointedly ignoring him because of the scandal he caused by merely being born, but the vast majority of them were smart enough to recognize that the political issues were of little consequence at the moment. Not when he held the rank of Deputy General and seemed to be the one taking charge of putting out the fire while the others set to gather their best archers.
“Forget the ships! They’re done for, protect the camp!” The young boy barked out, leaning back on the authoritative voice he had been trained to use back when he was going to be a future Sirdar. This was more than enough to help direct the men to fill their buckets and then race back to the tents, searching for any signs that the red-hot sparks were landing near anything remotely flammable. It was a bit of a mess, as such things always were, but at least there was now a fair bit of organization to the chaos and hopefully, the men might be one step ahead of the chaos should any of the tents catch. Looking around, Sutekh kept an eye out for anyone he could recruit to helping keep everything else that actually mattered from burning, but in the process completely failed to notice that just like the Egyptians, the Greeks were now in a fair bit of trouble as well. All it would take was one cry going through the camps that the Greeks were now washed up on shore for all the men on the beaches to redirect their efforts towards preparing for the battle ahead than focusing on the ships that were now little more than burnt shells still standing along the shoreline.
Maybe the Egyptians would have a chance to skewer some Egyptian cowards after all...
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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As the dark cloak of Nephtys settled over the Egyptian camp, Sutekh had no idea that the war was mere moments away from its beginning as the Greeks spread oil on the decoy ships in the water. Instead, the Bastard Prince was in his tent, preparing to finally rest after a long day. Oblivious to the danger, Sutekh might have even commented how peaceful everything seemed -- had he not been utterly alone, of course. However, he never got the chance to when the distinct and deafening crackle of wood burning roared through the camp. Sutekh could feel his heart stutter in his chest as he leaped up from his bed and raced towards the entrance in order to come face to face with the hellish sight of every ship in the Manopotapa harbor burning. The sheer number of burning war vessels made it clear that this had been no accident.
The peace of the night was shattered. War had come to Egypt’s shores.
Knowing full well that these ships were merely decoys and utterly useless to the war campaign as a whole, Sutekh was not overly concerned with sparing them a charring death at the hand of a Greecian flame. Truthfully, that would be a waste of both time and manpower as from the moment that the Bastard Prince saw the flames licking up the masts that there would be no hope of saving them. The fire was spreading too fast for there to be much of anything left before the ambushed militants could organize any sort of useful effort to combat them. By the time that they could gather all the buckets needed to transport the sand water to douse the flames, the ship would have deteriorated so much that it would likely put itself out by sinking beneath the surface.
As Sutekh stood in the entrance to his tent, watching as the ships turned to ash and charcoal in front of him, he took notice of how the others were reacting to the flames. Although the Egyptians would look to think of themselves as an unshakeable force of brave men, Sutekh could see the scared expressions of some of the footsoldiers as they took in the sight of this Greek candle. Their faces twisted in fear and panic, suddenly realizing that not only was the war finally upon them but likely their deaths were drawing near. This was likely their first conflict (as was Sutekh’s) and up until now, it must have been hard for them to not have to rationalize the fact that as men of no rank or name, they were the most likely to die at the hands of the Greeks. It was cruel and it may be unfortunate, but that was just how the tides of war worked. Men had to die. Seeing the flames rage on their ships and feeling the heat of such an inferno warm their skin was probably the first real glimpse these men were going to have of the fact that they were destined to die. Sutekh could most certainly find sympathy for their plight. He too was marked as expendable.
However, Sutekh had been given the luxury of being able to accept the fact that he was in constant danger a long time ago. Maybe that was how he was one of the first in his line of sight to move as the nearby orders of generals rang throughout the night, rally the men to arms and to buckets, whichever was closer. The Deputy General was quick to haul some of the slower men to their feet, relaying the same orders that he was hearing ring throughout the camp before running towards the beach. He didn’t know if the Greeks had come ashore and these flames were nearly a welcoming gift or if they had fled in the night like the cowards they were, but either way, Sutekh knew that his place was likely down there where the flames burned hottest. After all, the Pharaoh had made it very clear that he wanted to build some sort of funeral pyre for the boy. He had no doubts that if he were to find one of the high ranking Naddar Generals, they would tell him that this was where he needed to be, just in case those flames jumped ashore and decided to do Iahotep’s dirty work for him.
The Bastard Prince could see that this had been a wise decision as most of the higher-ranking men in the camp knew that the ships were useless, hardly any of them were among the crowd quickly forming on the beach. Most of those around Sutekh right now were those scared footsoldiers, unsure of what to do, but knowing full well that they could not hide in their tents like some of the poor unfortunate bastards being roused in the camp where. Drawing his hurried pace to a halt as he drew nearer, Sutekh could see the same thing that General Osorsen had seen in the distance due to the sheer height of the flames. Ships. He could see their faint outline in the darkness, further illuminated by the volley of flaming arrows that were falling just short of the vessels. However, they weren’t the Egyptian warships that Sutekh knew. Instead, they were shaped differently, meaning only one thing.
These were enemy ships.
The fucking cowards.
With not a single Greek onshore, it was fairly easy to piece together what their plan had been and Sutekh almost wanted to kick himself on behalf of his country for not getting the opportunity to skewer a few soldiers while they had been so close to shore. Now they were all scurrying like rats that were being chased by a cat. Not that this really surprised them. These were Greeks that they were dealing with, after all. They were all so foolish and dumb that he was certain that the army would have another chance to corner them as they ran out of places to hide. Whether or not Sutekh would be alive to see it was a different matter entirely, but that was not something that mattered too greatly at this moment. Not when there was a job that needed to be done and men that needed to be organized. After all, the ships might be a lost cause, but they still posed a threat. The masts rose so high above them all, above the camp that a single spark on one of the cloth tents could start an uncontrollable inferno that could truly hinder the war effort. Sutekh knew that there was little that he could feasibly do, but if anything he did helped prevent that sort of grand disaster, well that made it worth doing didn’t it?
“Buckets! Get as many as you can find!” Sutekh screamed, trying to bring his voice above the natural din of panicked men. Some of those who were closest to him and recognized the Prince in their midst were quick to cease in their directionless fight against the flames. Not only did they do that, but they were sure to grab the attention of other men surrounding them and direct them towards the Bastard Prince and slowly bit by bit the mass crowd was quickly coming to order under the direction of Sutekh. There were some men that were keen to not listen to him, still going about in uselessly throwing buckets of water on a fire that would not be put out and Sutekh supposed that these men had some Sheifa loyalties and were pointedly ignoring him because of the scandal he caused by merely being born, but the vast majority of them were smart enough to recognize that the political issues were of little consequence at the moment. Not when he held the rank of Deputy General and seemed to be the one taking charge of putting out the fire while the others set to gather their best archers.
“Forget the ships! They’re done for, protect the camp!” The young boy barked out, leaning back on the authoritative voice he had been trained to use back when he was going to be a future Sirdar. This was more than enough to help direct the men to fill their buckets and then race back to the tents, searching for any signs that the red-hot sparks were landing near anything remotely flammable. It was a bit of a mess, as such things always were, but at least there was now a fair bit of organization to the chaos and hopefully, the men might be one step ahead of the chaos should any of the tents catch. Looking around, Sutekh kept an eye out for anyone he could recruit to helping keep everything else that actually mattered from burning, but in the process completely failed to notice that just like the Egyptians, the Greeks were now in a fair bit of trouble as well. All it would take was one cry going through the camps that the Greeks were now washed up on shore for all the men on the beaches to redirect their efforts towards preparing for the battle ahead than focusing on the ships that were now little more than burnt shells still standing along the shoreline.
Maybe the Egyptians would have a chance to skewer some Egyptian cowards after all...
As the dark cloak of Nephtys settled over the Egyptian camp, Sutekh had no idea that the war was mere moments away from its beginning as the Greeks spread oil on the decoy ships in the water. Instead, the Bastard Prince was in his tent, preparing to finally rest after a long day. Oblivious to the danger, Sutekh might have even commented how peaceful everything seemed -- had he not been utterly alone, of course. However, he never got the chance to when the distinct and deafening crackle of wood burning roared through the camp. Sutekh could feel his heart stutter in his chest as he leaped up from his bed and raced towards the entrance in order to come face to face with the hellish sight of every ship in the Manopotapa harbor burning. The sheer number of burning war vessels made it clear that this had been no accident.
The peace of the night was shattered. War had come to Egypt’s shores.
Knowing full well that these ships were merely decoys and utterly useless to the war campaign as a whole, Sutekh was not overly concerned with sparing them a charring death at the hand of a Greecian flame. Truthfully, that would be a waste of both time and manpower as from the moment that the Bastard Prince saw the flames licking up the masts that there would be no hope of saving them. The fire was spreading too fast for there to be much of anything left before the ambushed militants could organize any sort of useful effort to combat them. By the time that they could gather all the buckets needed to transport the sand water to douse the flames, the ship would have deteriorated so much that it would likely put itself out by sinking beneath the surface.
As Sutekh stood in the entrance to his tent, watching as the ships turned to ash and charcoal in front of him, he took notice of how the others were reacting to the flames. Although the Egyptians would look to think of themselves as an unshakeable force of brave men, Sutekh could see the scared expressions of some of the footsoldiers as they took in the sight of this Greek candle. Their faces twisted in fear and panic, suddenly realizing that not only was the war finally upon them but likely their deaths were drawing near. This was likely their first conflict (as was Sutekh’s) and up until now, it must have been hard for them to not have to rationalize the fact that as men of no rank or name, they were the most likely to die at the hands of the Greeks. It was cruel and it may be unfortunate, but that was just how the tides of war worked. Men had to die. Seeing the flames rage on their ships and feeling the heat of such an inferno warm their skin was probably the first real glimpse these men were going to have of the fact that they were destined to die. Sutekh could most certainly find sympathy for their plight. He too was marked as expendable.
However, Sutekh had been given the luxury of being able to accept the fact that he was in constant danger a long time ago. Maybe that was how he was one of the first in his line of sight to move as the nearby orders of generals rang throughout the night, rally the men to arms and to buckets, whichever was closer. The Deputy General was quick to haul some of the slower men to their feet, relaying the same orders that he was hearing ring throughout the camp before running towards the beach. He didn’t know if the Greeks had come ashore and these flames were nearly a welcoming gift or if they had fled in the night like the cowards they were, but either way, Sutekh knew that his place was likely down there where the flames burned hottest. After all, the Pharaoh had made it very clear that he wanted to build some sort of funeral pyre for the boy. He had no doubts that if he were to find one of the high ranking Naddar Generals, they would tell him that this was where he needed to be, just in case those flames jumped ashore and decided to do Iahotep’s dirty work for him.
The Bastard Prince could see that this had been a wise decision as most of the higher-ranking men in the camp knew that the ships were useless, hardly any of them were among the crowd quickly forming on the beach. Most of those around Sutekh right now were those scared footsoldiers, unsure of what to do, but knowing full well that they could not hide in their tents like some of the poor unfortunate bastards being roused in the camp where. Drawing his hurried pace to a halt as he drew nearer, Sutekh could see the same thing that General Osorsen had seen in the distance due to the sheer height of the flames. Ships. He could see their faint outline in the darkness, further illuminated by the volley of flaming arrows that were falling just short of the vessels. However, they weren’t the Egyptian warships that Sutekh knew. Instead, they were shaped differently, meaning only one thing.
These were enemy ships.
The fucking cowards.
With not a single Greek onshore, it was fairly easy to piece together what their plan had been and Sutekh almost wanted to kick himself on behalf of his country for not getting the opportunity to skewer a few soldiers while they had been so close to shore. Now they were all scurrying like rats that were being chased by a cat. Not that this really surprised them. These were Greeks that they were dealing with, after all. They were all so foolish and dumb that he was certain that the army would have another chance to corner them as they ran out of places to hide. Whether or not Sutekh would be alive to see it was a different matter entirely, but that was not something that mattered too greatly at this moment. Not when there was a job that needed to be done and men that needed to be organized. After all, the ships might be a lost cause, but they still posed a threat. The masts rose so high above them all, above the camp that a single spark on one of the cloth tents could start an uncontrollable inferno that could truly hinder the war effort. Sutekh knew that there was little that he could feasibly do, but if anything he did helped prevent that sort of grand disaster, well that made it worth doing didn’t it?
“Buckets! Get as many as you can find!” Sutekh screamed, trying to bring his voice above the natural din of panicked men. Some of those who were closest to him and recognized the Prince in their midst were quick to cease in their directionless fight against the flames. Not only did they do that, but they were sure to grab the attention of other men surrounding them and direct them towards the Bastard Prince and slowly bit by bit the mass crowd was quickly coming to order under the direction of Sutekh. There were some men that were keen to not listen to him, still going about in uselessly throwing buckets of water on a fire that would not be put out and Sutekh supposed that these men had some Sheifa loyalties and were pointedly ignoring him because of the scandal he caused by merely being born, but the vast majority of them were smart enough to recognize that the political issues were of little consequence at the moment. Not when he held the rank of Deputy General and seemed to be the one taking charge of putting out the fire while the others set to gather their best archers.
“Forget the ships! They’re done for, protect the camp!” The young boy barked out, leaning back on the authoritative voice he had been trained to use back when he was going to be a future Sirdar. This was more than enough to help direct the men to fill their buckets and then race back to the tents, searching for any signs that the red-hot sparks were landing near anything remotely flammable. It was a bit of a mess, as such things always were, but at least there was now a fair bit of organization to the chaos and hopefully, the men might be one step ahead of the chaos should any of the tents catch. Looking around, Sutekh kept an eye out for anyone he could recruit to helping keep everything else that actually mattered from burning, but in the process completely failed to notice that just like the Egyptians, the Greeks were now in a fair bit of trouble as well. All it would take was one cry going through the camps that the Greeks were now washed up on shore for all the men on the beaches to redirect their efforts towards preparing for the battle ahead than focusing on the ships that were now little more than burnt shells still standing along the shoreline.
Maybe the Egyptians would have a chance to skewer some Egyptian cowards after all...
While he hadn't exactly been expecting any company, Kreios hadn't really minded. He was a solitary creature who really much preferred his own company over the empty yammering if someone else were to be with him. Leaning over the edge of his ship, his eyes were dancing with amusement as he watched the occurences and actions of the soldiers and military men of his homeland.
But when a voice floated over seemingly to address him, Kreios started in surprise, turning to seek the source of the voice only to raise a brow when he saw a bronzed skinned maiden who appeared to have no relation to the brewing fight yet seemed just as interested as he was.
Two weeks? Sure, they could go that long perhaps, if they had enough victuals stored up. Kreios would've thought they did, except he did not know how much a storm would've ruined had they had met one on the way to where they were now. So really, it was anybody's guess, but Kreios would accept the one the Egyptian offered.
As his cabin boy ran up to him with a flask of wine as he had asked for, Kreios took it and waved it in the direction of the other ship as the vessel drifted to a floating pause next to his own ship. "Perhaps." he murmured, waving the wine-filled flask in her direction, almost his way of greeting the other. His dark eyes however quickly slid back to the unfolding scene, far more interested in what was going on then the newcomer.
"Bother though. Business is deuced difficult when all they want to do is fight." he murmured, not even batting an eyelash when flaming arrows were fired, setting aflame to what seemed to had been a camp set up just yonder. They seemed like scuttling ants which had been disturbed in their bottle, that if Kreios wasn't so fussed about reaching his client in time, he may even be amused at their actions. "Do they always frighten like that?"
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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While he hadn't exactly been expecting any company, Kreios hadn't really minded. He was a solitary creature who really much preferred his own company over the empty yammering if someone else were to be with him. Leaning over the edge of his ship, his eyes were dancing with amusement as he watched the occurences and actions of the soldiers and military men of his homeland.
But when a voice floated over seemingly to address him, Kreios started in surprise, turning to seek the source of the voice only to raise a brow when he saw a bronzed skinned maiden who appeared to have no relation to the brewing fight yet seemed just as interested as he was.
Two weeks? Sure, they could go that long perhaps, if they had enough victuals stored up. Kreios would've thought they did, except he did not know how much a storm would've ruined had they had met one on the way to where they were now. So really, it was anybody's guess, but Kreios would accept the one the Egyptian offered.
As his cabin boy ran up to him with a flask of wine as he had asked for, Kreios took it and waved it in the direction of the other ship as the vessel drifted to a floating pause next to his own ship. "Perhaps." he murmured, waving the wine-filled flask in her direction, almost his way of greeting the other. His dark eyes however quickly slid back to the unfolding scene, far more interested in what was going on then the newcomer.
"Bother though. Business is deuced difficult when all they want to do is fight." he murmured, not even batting an eyelash when flaming arrows were fired, setting aflame to what seemed to had been a camp set up just yonder. They seemed like scuttling ants which had been disturbed in their bottle, that if Kreios wasn't so fussed about reaching his client in time, he may even be amused at their actions. "Do they always frighten like that?"
While he hadn't exactly been expecting any company, Kreios hadn't really minded. He was a solitary creature who really much preferred his own company over the empty yammering if someone else were to be with him. Leaning over the edge of his ship, his eyes were dancing with amusement as he watched the occurences and actions of the soldiers and military men of his homeland.
But when a voice floated over seemingly to address him, Kreios started in surprise, turning to seek the source of the voice only to raise a brow when he saw a bronzed skinned maiden who appeared to have no relation to the brewing fight yet seemed just as interested as he was.
Two weeks? Sure, they could go that long perhaps, if they had enough victuals stored up. Kreios would've thought they did, except he did not know how much a storm would've ruined had they had met one on the way to where they were now. So really, it was anybody's guess, but Kreios would accept the one the Egyptian offered.
As his cabin boy ran up to him with a flask of wine as he had asked for, Kreios took it and waved it in the direction of the other ship as the vessel drifted to a floating pause next to his own ship. "Perhaps." he murmured, waving the wine-filled flask in her direction, almost his way of greeting the other. His dark eyes however quickly slid back to the unfolding scene, far more interested in what was going on then the newcomer.
"Bother though. Business is deuced difficult when all they want to do is fight." he murmured, not even batting an eyelash when flaming arrows were fired, setting aflame to what seemed to had been a camp set up just yonder. They seemed like scuttling ants which had been disturbed in their bottle, that if Kreios wasn't so fussed about reaching his client in time, he may even be amused at their actions. "Do they always frighten like that?"
Gods was he right about that. Akila felt like half the world was cut off from her just because traveling across the ocean with warships heading this was was such a shit show. Though with bloodshed came opportunity, and Akila certainly found opportunity back in Cairo. Not that this was the time to think of it right now.
Hm, fire. How lovely. For a woman so used to the sea, she rarely got to enjoy a fire from her ship. Oh yes, there was destruction that was happening. There was probably death. None of that affected her though. As long as that madness stayed over there she was perfectly happy observing. At least until the storm settled, which it did appear to be doing so.
“The Egyptians? Or men in general?” Akila asked, not to insult the man but… well, she had seen plenty of Greek soldiers in her time left… flustered, putting it lightly. Honestly, the men were a sea apart but Akila could see little difference between the two. Well, except that Greeks didn’t like to shave for some gods awful reason. In that, Egyptians were clearly superior. Otherwise well… Akila didn’t much care one way or another.
“How much fighting do you actually think they’ve seen? Some of them- sure. All of them, though? Look barely old enough to hold a sword. Like that one over there.” Akila pointed at a soldier. “He won’t last a month in this wa-” as she spoke, the man got an arrow through the throat. “He won’t last ten seconds in this war.”
Akila looked at the sky. Through the clouds, she did start to see some light. The storm was coming to an end and it would be fine for Akila to sail away. She motioned to her crew to prepare to leave and tilted her head at the man. “Enjoy the wine.”
With a whistle, Akila got the crew rowing again. Putting the dancing flames behind her, and away from the strange black ship, dark as the night sky. How fucking weird was this?
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Gods was he right about that. Akila felt like half the world was cut off from her just because traveling across the ocean with warships heading this was was such a shit show. Though with bloodshed came opportunity, and Akila certainly found opportunity back in Cairo. Not that this was the time to think of it right now.
Hm, fire. How lovely. For a woman so used to the sea, she rarely got to enjoy a fire from her ship. Oh yes, there was destruction that was happening. There was probably death. None of that affected her though. As long as that madness stayed over there she was perfectly happy observing. At least until the storm settled, which it did appear to be doing so.
“The Egyptians? Or men in general?” Akila asked, not to insult the man but… well, she had seen plenty of Greek soldiers in her time left… flustered, putting it lightly. Honestly, the men were a sea apart but Akila could see little difference between the two. Well, except that Greeks didn’t like to shave for some gods awful reason. In that, Egyptians were clearly superior. Otherwise well… Akila didn’t much care one way or another.
“How much fighting do you actually think they’ve seen? Some of them- sure. All of them, though? Look barely old enough to hold a sword. Like that one over there.” Akila pointed at a soldier. “He won’t last a month in this wa-” as she spoke, the man got an arrow through the throat. “He won’t last ten seconds in this war.”
Akila looked at the sky. Through the clouds, she did start to see some light. The storm was coming to an end and it would be fine for Akila to sail away. She motioned to her crew to prepare to leave and tilted her head at the man. “Enjoy the wine.”
With a whistle, Akila got the crew rowing again. Putting the dancing flames behind her, and away from the strange black ship, dark as the night sky. How fucking weird was this?
Gods was he right about that. Akila felt like half the world was cut off from her just because traveling across the ocean with warships heading this was was such a shit show. Though with bloodshed came opportunity, and Akila certainly found opportunity back in Cairo. Not that this was the time to think of it right now.
Hm, fire. How lovely. For a woman so used to the sea, she rarely got to enjoy a fire from her ship. Oh yes, there was destruction that was happening. There was probably death. None of that affected her though. As long as that madness stayed over there she was perfectly happy observing. At least until the storm settled, which it did appear to be doing so.
“The Egyptians? Or men in general?” Akila asked, not to insult the man but… well, she had seen plenty of Greek soldiers in her time left… flustered, putting it lightly. Honestly, the men were a sea apart but Akila could see little difference between the two. Well, except that Greeks didn’t like to shave for some gods awful reason. In that, Egyptians were clearly superior. Otherwise well… Akila didn’t much care one way or another.
“How much fighting do you actually think they’ve seen? Some of them- sure. All of them, though? Look barely old enough to hold a sword. Like that one over there.” Akila pointed at a soldier. “He won’t last a month in this wa-” as she spoke, the man got an arrow through the throat. “He won’t last ten seconds in this war.”
Akila looked at the sky. Through the clouds, she did start to see some light. The storm was coming to an end and it would be fine for Akila to sail away. She motioned to her crew to prepare to leave and tilted her head at the man. “Enjoy the wine.”
With a whistle, Akila got the crew rowing again. Putting the dancing flames behind her, and away from the strange black ship, dark as the night sky. How fucking weird was this?
She had a point, the stranger sailor that Kreios now found himself in inadvertent conversation with even as he observed what was going on. But then again, the Greeks always signed on their military men young. He knew some as young as thirteen who found themselves with a sword shoved in their hands and expected to perform well. Did they assume that longer years led to better results? In a sense maybe, but to Kreios it also meant far more dead people.
But eh, that was their choice. He had always been quiet aloof when it came to the lives and happenings of other people, although much of it came from the fact that Kreios really didn't care. He only cared enough if it amused him, as in this case where, since he was unable to plough forward thanks to the roadblock that was a storm and fighting vessels, he could only watch.
"You're generous with ten seconds." he scoffed with an amused laugh, taking another swig of the wine. Raising his flask in her direction as the other departed, Kreios took another look up at the sky himself, finding himself surprised that the clouds were indeed clearing and the storm was coming to an end. Perhaps he should leave as well? Flicking his gaze back to the growing fight and what promises to be an entertaining time for all, Kreios would've liked to stay if just to watch, but he was loathe to put his vessel in the line of fire.
So he signalled at Descat to take his wine, and then motioned at Garvey to press on as he slipped back down to his cabin beneath the deck. They would pull into port in Egypt soon enough, and he can go about his business very soon. Kreios would've enjoyed the scene that two warring parties presented, but the Azazel was not worth the risk.
But maybe he'll return to watch later?
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She had a point, the stranger sailor that Kreios now found himself in inadvertent conversation with even as he observed what was going on. But then again, the Greeks always signed on their military men young. He knew some as young as thirteen who found themselves with a sword shoved in their hands and expected to perform well. Did they assume that longer years led to better results? In a sense maybe, but to Kreios it also meant far more dead people.
But eh, that was their choice. He had always been quiet aloof when it came to the lives and happenings of other people, although much of it came from the fact that Kreios really didn't care. He only cared enough if it amused him, as in this case where, since he was unable to plough forward thanks to the roadblock that was a storm and fighting vessels, he could only watch.
"You're generous with ten seconds." he scoffed with an amused laugh, taking another swig of the wine. Raising his flask in her direction as the other departed, Kreios took another look up at the sky himself, finding himself surprised that the clouds were indeed clearing and the storm was coming to an end. Perhaps he should leave as well? Flicking his gaze back to the growing fight and what promises to be an entertaining time for all, Kreios would've liked to stay if just to watch, but he was loathe to put his vessel in the line of fire.
So he signalled at Descat to take his wine, and then motioned at Garvey to press on as he slipped back down to his cabin beneath the deck. They would pull into port in Egypt soon enough, and he can go about his business very soon. Kreios would've enjoyed the scene that two warring parties presented, but the Azazel was not worth the risk.
But maybe he'll return to watch later?
She had a point, the stranger sailor that Kreios now found himself in inadvertent conversation with even as he observed what was going on. But then again, the Greeks always signed on their military men young. He knew some as young as thirteen who found themselves with a sword shoved in their hands and expected to perform well. Did they assume that longer years led to better results? In a sense maybe, but to Kreios it also meant far more dead people.
But eh, that was their choice. He had always been quiet aloof when it came to the lives and happenings of other people, although much of it came from the fact that Kreios really didn't care. He only cared enough if it amused him, as in this case where, since he was unable to plough forward thanks to the roadblock that was a storm and fighting vessels, he could only watch.
"You're generous with ten seconds." he scoffed with an amused laugh, taking another swig of the wine. Raising his flask in her direction as the other departed, Kreios took another look up at the sky himself, finding himself surprised that the clouds were indeed clearing and the storm was coming to an end. Perhaps he should leave as well? Flicking his gaze back to the growing fight and what promises to be an entertaining time for all, Kreios would've liked to stay if just to watch, but he was loathe to put his vessel in the line of fire.
So he signalled at Descat to take his wine, and then motioned at Garvey to press on as he slipped back down to his cabin beneath the deck. They would pull into port in Egypt soon enough, and he can go about his business very soon. Kreios would've enjoyed the scene that two warring parties presented, but the Azazel was not worth the risk.