Out of all the lands held in rule by the Drakos family, Dolomesa was probably the one that Damocles visited the least. In more ways than one, he had always come to see the place as an alternative version of his own Magnemea, a much brighter, less pained and cruel place to live where hard work was not rewarded by the incessant sting of the whip against a man’s shoulder. It was not to say that slavery was not a factor to consider when taking into account the circumstances of the province, for it was still second only to that dark place he called home in terms of bondaged populations, and he was sure that still had the occasional horror here and there. Yet, for the most part, compared to the atrociousness he had come to become so desensitized to, the Silver-Eyed captain could, in broad strokes, see the place as the lesser of two evils. This was most evident in the military forces that the province beheld.

For as long as he could remember, before he had stepped up to the challenge of leading the miniature army that were the Damned of Magnemea, the unit was not properly recognized as one of great power, distinct ability or particular talent. Indeed, outside its larger, considerable size, the military forces of that province were, at least, a minor part of the armed forces of Colchis, with their only positive claim to fame being the ferocity and savageness of the men and women that served, a label that not too many would consider much of a good thing anyways. In contrast, the Rock Giants of Dolomesa were renowned for their fierceness and martial inclination, consistently ranking as one of the finest units of Colchis. Though they were a smaller fighting force than the Damned, their feats were plentiful and lauded, producing a unit that any captain would be proud to lead. Of course, these were only past stereotypes.

After rising to the captaincy of Magnemea, Damocles had made it a point of his career to make everyone in the realm know about the strength and might of his forces. It had been an uphill battle, a once-thought Sisyphean task that most would bulk under, but he was determined to see his ambitions be realized come tartatus or high water. Had be gained a reputation for ruthless brutality amongst the ranks of the military? Yes, he most certainly had earned that reputation. Had he grown to become a controversially draconian taskmaster? Of course, he would not deny such a outcome. Did he regret any of it? Not at all. Despite the corruption, inefficiency and savagery of his unit, Damocles had done the impossible and turned band of miners and stonemasons into a proper army worthy of all the praise and glory it had accrued under his leadership. Perhaps, this explained why, despite the past reputation of his forces, he had carved out a respectable seat for himself in military. Which explained his presence in the province in the first place.

Out of the premise of a joint-mission aimed to benefit the both of them, the Captain of Dolomessa had asked helped from Damocles, his equal in Magnemea. Given their place as leaders of respected units, the Silver-eyed man had agreed to the congress, inviting his main lieutenants along the journey so they could formulate plants in tangent. The task had been well-set, with many an -agreement being concluded before the break of nightfall. As they finished their meeting, the black-haired militant found himself invited to stay a few days longer under the guise of the baroness, Lady Imeeya of Drakos,’s birthday. From as much as he could recall, his relationship with the heiress of that royal line had been positive, at best, but he could not find any reason as to stay longer than necessary. He presumed that such an event would be a private affair, one that would not necessarily be conducive of his presence in attendance. Sure, he had not made any personal pretense of wishing to inch ever closer around the Drakos dynasty, but there was always a right place and a right time. Such brazen boldness in attention an event that he had only a marginal reason to attend might have been seen as presumptuous and dangerous. Thus, with a respectful smile across his bearded features, Damocles began to address his rejection of the opportunity, but was cut short when a sudden voice rung across and dug deeply.

“Lady Essa is missing!”

Immediately, despite not being the man organized with controlling the forces of the province, Damocles set out a plan and coordinate with the remaining officers, strategizing a course to follow through. Whilst he rarely would had usurped command over another whom he saw as an ally, the circumstances called for decisiveness and action. With a brush of his hand, the towering Captain of the Damned barked orders left and right, assigning men and resources across the stretches of the province in accordance to the insight and wisdom that was owed to the Captain of the Rock Giants. In a matter of moments, men were organized, forces were systematized and squads were deployed, all done in the fear that something terrible had happened to the secondborn daughter of Lady Tythra.

Given his expertise in the area, it was strategized that the Captain of Dolomesa would search amongst the vast mining tunnels of the province, while the Captain of the Damned focused his attention on the towns and connecting forests. As it were, Damocles decided that he would cover the grounds of the provincial demesne, whilst his lieutenants addressed the different towns in his stead, each temporarily leading a contingency of soldiers from the province that had been assigned by the leader of the Rock Giants. Thus, he set out on his task, commanding the borrowed men to spread around and trace the grounds in search of the missing royal.

Due to his powers of perception, Damocles was quick to notice that, as he moved further and further inside the woods, a discernable pattern could me fashioned on the bark of certain trees. Perhaps, this was a sign, a marked trail left behind by the reputedly bookish girl. With a twist and a turn of his shifted, but hurried steps, the musclebound war hero came to hear a perceptible sound. It was faint, but present, galvanizing the silver-eyed veteran to fixate at the general direction of the sound. Suddenly, as he peered through the caliginous darkness, the Silver-eyed man pushed through, finding a the figure of a person he had recognized long before.

Given that he had garbed for official business before tending to the search, the Captain of the Damned was clad in his unique, Stygian suit of customized armor, appear as if he had been a being born out of the creeping shadows of the Plutonian night. His signature, rare-colored eyes however betrayed his being as human, with his plumed Corinthian helmet allowing enough of his unfairly handsome features to make out. Judging by her small, lithe frame and darker hair, the militant figured that he had indeed found the Lady Essa, but refreained from making a clashing entrance at her, for such a thing might have frightened her away, complicating his task infinitely more. Hence, he moved slow, languidly so, with a calmed steadiness to his walk before he unhelmned his head and revealed his features through the curtained darkness of the ebony night.

“Lady Essa…”He called out, softly, but affirmatoringly, trying to make his presence known in a non-frightening way. He attractive, saturnine face was laced with sweat, all due to the efforts he had done after rushing through the forest in heavy armor at an unexpected pace. “Little dove…” he once more called out, using a nickname he had employed before whenever he had teased her for her shorter frame. “It’s alright. It's me, Damocles. You're safe now.” Assuaged the colossal man as he warmly smiled at the woman with the noticeable expression of apparent relief awashed across his olive features. “Are you alright, Little Dove?” once more attempted to sooth the seasoned soldier as he knelt down before her so she could see his recognizable eyes and calm herself amongst a familiar face.

She was crying. Well, of course she had been crying. Why in the Name of Olympus had this stupid girl gone out of her way to fly over such a dangerous part of the woods unaccompanied? Had she any semblance of thought for her own well-being? Truly, he would have adopted a much harsher tone in his confrontation had it not been for the fact that her mother was still his boss. So, rather than chastising her, he tore a piece of the robes he wore beneath his armor and folded it, giving it to the girl so as to wipe away the tears from her face. “Look at you, you’re shaking like a leaf. I was so worried.” He falsely called out in the warm tone of guardian as he framed a few strands of wayward hair from her face so as to analyze her visage further. “You have nothing to fear, I am here.”

Of course he had found her. There was little doubt as to whether or not he was going to locate the youngest of the Drakos ladies, for he had long sought to keep his eyes close to the bookish daughter of Tythra. Naturally, he had known that there was little point in drilling a closer fondness with that family by means of their heiress. Imeeya might’ve been the most suitable person to gain proximity to, but her tough exterior and reputation for chilling coldness would have meant a far more difficult challenge than what it all had to be. Thus, he turned his attentions to Essa, the small, delicate flower that she was, in order to gain closeness to that bloodline.

For the most part, his calculations had worked as he had predicted. In spite of the coldness that the firstborn daughter of the Drakos showcased as a classical trait of hers, his proximity to the secondborn had translated first into reluctant interest, followed by skeptical aloofness, until he had gained his place by their side as a progressively trusted servant of the House, gaining more and more influence as he centralized his position amongst the ranks of the Dynasteia’s military forces. Naturally, he had tendered his insidious climb softly and carefully, taking in as many variables and factors into account so as to avoid suspicion and doubt. Indeed, he derived no pleasure from such a place and would much rather retain his place by the table as only a militant…for now.

“Had you any doubt that I would find you, Little Dove?” he mused, tolerating her embrace as she threw her arms around him and clung to his figure, apparently taking some comfort in the Plutonian armor he wore. “I promised you, didn’t I? I will always protect you, Lady Essa.” He sweetly reminded, proceeding to question her on her status so as to make sure nothing nefarious had befallen his nominal superior. He took notice of a small book that clung by her side, which he ascertained had been the source of her disappearance, but he would keep quiet about that for the time being. There was little point in badgering her with pointless questions that really led nowhere.

“It warms my heart to know that you are safe. I had all the soldiers of Dolomesa and my own forces from Magnemea go out on a retrieval mission to bring you home. We were all terribly afraid that something awful had happened to you. Alas, I am infinetly glad to find you unharmed.” Informed the towering war hero as he finished wiping her tears and offered her his hand so she could stand by her own two feet, with his own help of course. In that moment however, he perceived a small change in her demeanor, noticing how she suddenly appeared crestfallen at the prospect of being placed on high alert for her disappearance.


Oh hush now, we both know that you are anything but foolish. You only lost track of time. There is nothing inherently wrong with that.” Assuaged the man built like some sort of statue, maintaining his deep, but authoritative voice ever-present. “Besides, my work consists of making sure that you and your kin are always safe and sound. It is my duty as a soldier after all. Worry not, for you are always the most important part of this job.” He tried to comfort, smiling warmly to her like a caring parent would his own child. Once all was in place, he turned his attention to the lady and offered a respectful bow as he officially recognized her after trying his best to provide what he had observed in the past had been soothing gestures and words. “Shall I escort you home?” he asked as a mere formality, given how manners always called for him to never do anything without the expressed permission of his patrons. Only after an answer was given did he began to walk carefully by her side, striding besides the dignified royal with pointed eyes held out attentively against any possible dangers.

“Pardon me, but would you mind me telling me about that book you have in your hands? If I am right, and it is caused you to forget about the time, it must be one fascinating read. Or am I wrong, Little Dove?”

Common lore amongst those that drew breath close to those that had the blood of Drakos running through them often dictated that the ladies of that family were less women than dragons, those strange, probably false creatures of old that none had heard of for centuries now. It was with a clearly skeptical view that Damocles often conducted his business with the women of that House, for such arrogance and principled belief in oneself was oftentimes the downfall of many who often forgot to look closely at the ground before facing upwards at the sky.

Case-in-point? Essa of Drakos. Yes, her mother, for as deplorable and horrible as she was, was a woman of formidable political acumen. Yes, her sister, was of a similar pathway to her unjustly perceived mother. But when it came to the youngest of that line, Damocles was well-aware that the youngest of those so-called dragons was of a soft-heart and a gentle disposition. It would not do to just assume her mighty and fierce like her kindred, more so due to the connection spurred between Tythra and those Bears of Kotas that Damocles so justly grew to look down upon. Alas, even if the youngling wyrm was of a kinder nature than her relatives, the Captain of the Damned knew a whole lot better than to let his own personal feelings leech unto his perceived senses of retention and notice.

For years he had learned the careful art of concealing most of his most personal feelings well. Failure and loss had taught him much in that regard, painful and sour as those experiences might have been. And yet, patience and a good mask were not enough to get what he wanted, what much he wanted. With the elder of the Dragons, Damocles often had to resort to cold, hard logic and emotionless rationality, a simple enough task that often came naturally to him. Yet, Essa had a different sense of understand, he had gathered. Words of objective truth and harsh reality often did little to dissuade her tender heart, as far as he could tell. Instead, warmth, gentleness and undue, but still offered respect were what he thought were keys to gaining her trust and confidence. These did not come easily to him, but in time, they too fell back as tools in his arsenal.

“Oh, do not worry your pretty, little head over such mundane trivialities. We, as soldiers to your House, are more than happy to dedicate our service and industry to you and yours.” Answered Damocles when he noticed that Essa seemed to have become overly worried in her reception to the events that had transpired so far. “Well, if I may offer my advice, perhaps the gift of your safe return and gratitude would suffice. We are of a hardened background, My Lady, and ours is harsh, stern and stoic people. I fear your gentleness and kindness would rather confuse and embarrass many of those under the Command of the Drakos.” Informed Damocles as he utilized the stereotypical image of a Colchian to dissuade Essa from such course of action.

Of course, there was intentions behind it. If another man had received the lavish attentions of one of the Drakos, then Damocles would surely have to make do with the possible encroachment on his position amongst the members of the Household. He had been fierce in defending his place in that royal bloodline, and would rather repel others from possibly bridging the gap between him them and the family, and thereby threaten his comfortable seat by the side of the family. Even if he had no true heart to spare for them, Damocles was still aware that they were the only ones that could remotely satisfy his most immediate ambitions for the time being. Thus, his mask would remain on and the attentions of other soldiers would be pushed off.

“I serve at the pleasure of your House, and stand ever-ready to answer the call to action, Little Dove. Whether they be as great as your Mother or as low as myself, I shall do my best to protect those I’ve sworn to shield and guard.” He committed though a false oath that nobody but him would know to be untrue.

As the two trekked back from the shadows of the woods unto the light of civilization, Damocles thought it wise to lure the girl further into his grip and inquire as to the content of her book. Surely, that would satisfy her interest even further, even if he had no mind for such trivialities. “Such a passionate tale! Though, as someone who enjoys a good adventure here and there, could I venture on to guess that the reason these two characters flee from the royal armada is due to them possibly being lovers?” he elaborated, using his sense of perception and deduction to ascertain as to the fantasies that hid behind the pages of the book the dragon lady had called as to her own.

“Well, if this is the underling tension of the plot, then let me express my support for these two lovers. Surely matters of the heart trump any unfair restrictions set upon them by the society they live in?” he dramatically expressed in faux, but still believable romance. Based off what he knew, this would surely have appealed to the girl’s innermost sensitivities. “It reminds me of the tale of Eirene. Do you know such story, Lady Essa?”

For all intents and purposes, Damocles had not meant to come off as scolding or mean-spirited at all in his approach towards easing the little one’s sensitive state. Yet, then again, he had to remember exactly why it was he called her a little dove, and it wasn’t just because of her size, though, admittedly, that had been an insignificant part of his epithet towards her. No, as far as Damocles could tell Essa of Drakos was a hopelessly romantic girl, one with a gentle, tender heart that had no stomach for the political machinations and games of intrigue that her mother effortlessly played and her sister frantically tried to emulate. Perhaps, that was why he turned his brilliant eyes at her and recognized the forcefulness of her smile. He did not know why he perceived it as being dishonest, but his gut told him that perhaps, he had been a bit to harsh-sounding.

“My dear Essa, please, try to not think much about this. It’s alright, little dove. I may be a giant, but I’m a lot softer than my size would indicate.” He tried to ease, poking fun of his immense demeanor, one that only looked more striking whence compared to the diminutiveness of the Drakos lady. “Oh…forgive my informality!” he said, pretending to be flustered at his seemingly unintentional lack of formality as he addressed her more as a loving friend, or even a protective guardian, than an actual subordinate. “I-I should’ve addressed you as Lady Essa…I apologize, Your Ladyship!” he apparently acknowledged, with his features contorted into an embarrassed expression, and a forced blush that denoted his calculated, but truthfully disingenuous, awkwardness.

Damocles had considered that, to Essa, he was nothing more than a soldier, used to protocol and structure, and thus, had aimed his deception towards that thought-perception of his, believing that she would believe he had been momentarily chagrined by his lack of manners and formality. “Um…would Your Ladyship mind if we kept this little embarrassment between us?” he pleaded as he scratched the back of his head and looked elsewhere, looking dismayed by the whole display of apparent closeness he had shown prior.

It was in that moment that he heard praise from her, showing that, even in his deceptive faux-pass, he had retained a sense of dignity and proximity to the youngest of that Nest of Dragon Women that Tythra so fiercely protected, or so she thought. “Please, your gratitude is enough…” he said with an innermost prideful, but outwardly unease, but manipulated small smile. He offered a slight bow of his head as he recognized her words of obvious thankfulness, and tried to return to what he believed the Drakos believed was his usually composed and calmed state of being.

“Ah! That sounds like such a thrilling story, Lady Essa!” Damocles said in pretended interest as he beamed up with false attention as his luminous eyes once more lit up keenly and turned to her own soft ones. “Sadly, it has been known that some princes are not the heroes we would like them to be. I guess the same could be said about commoners though. After all, even if a man did something sinful, if his heart is good, he surely must be good, right?” he inquired, trying to spin the story in a way that he thought would make her be far more invested in their discussion. “Well, I cannot make a judgement call on the general opinion of those that share my sex, but…in my opinion, love does conquer all, no matter the forcefulness of those that stand against it. After all, love is the greatest of all emotions! Do you not think so, little dove?” he once more asked, using the same soft tone he had used when he had tried to steady her before. While he might not have been entirely true in that moment, even Damocles could not truly dispel the power of love, nor could he deny the strength of its opposite, hatred. Alas, such discussion over the nature of the heart were for another person. Surely, Essa would not be interested in a philosophical discussion of that nature right now, especially when he had offered a tale to appeal to her womanly softness just prior.

“Ah, well let me regale you! It is an old story from Taengea. As it goes, there once was a royal lady called Eirene, and she was more beautiful and fair-hearted than any other of the kingdom. Yet, the wicked-king of the realm had desired her, and thus he eliminated his wife, the queen, so he could excuse himself in proposing marriage to Eirene. Alas, Eirene had been promised to another, a dashing and brave man Commander named Mikael, who she loved almost as much as she loved her kingdom. While Eirene could not marry her lover, and thus had been forced to marry the evil king, she kept in contact with Mikael, and they promised to outlive the cruel tyrant so they could be together once Hades claimed his soul. As it would happen, the king would die but a forenight after their exchanged their vows. So touched had the God of the Underworld been that he ordered the Fates to allow the lovers to be together. With her marriage cut short, Eirene rushed to her lover and embraced him as husband shortly. And thus, with Eirene’s royal blood, and Mikael’s military might, the current ruling family of Taengea, the Mikaelidas, were formed, bearing the name of their founder and his wife as symbol of their undying and eternal love.”

Of course, Damocles did not know if this truly was the origin story of the Taengean crown family, but it did not matter. He had tried to show Essa through his eloquence that, as he said, and he predicted, she so passionately wanted to believe. “See, little love, love does conquer all!” he said brightly and optimistically so as to re-affirm his point before, cunningly mixing his manipulations with a simple, short story.