It wasn’t that Sil had intended to skip out on his debts. He had fully intended to give the merchant what he was owed. Such people weren’t always easy to find and it paid to keep them sweet when you found them, and when you had habits like Sil had habits. Kreios had proved a handy contact indeed whilst he’d been in Taengea, and really Silanos had to issue with the man. Only, the Valaoritis Lord was careless with his coin, generous and not the best of keeping track of what he had where. And so it had come about that he’d discovered one day that he’d exhausted the funds he’d brought with him. Lucky enough that he’d made friends enough to loan him his fair to get home, Silanos couldn’t say that he hadn’t thought about the poison merchant and what he owed him. He’d just thought about him, realised he couldn’t do much about it and then not thought about him again.

Until today, that was.

Sil had turned away almost as soon as he caught sight of the man, and if the Gods had been anything other than absolute fuckers they would have made it so that Kreios did not see him, or perhaps didn’t recognise him. That’s the outcome the Colchian was hoping for as he began to make his way back towards where the ships were docked, at as fast a pace as he could manage without making himself stand out amongst the few people who milled around on the sands. He hadn’t counted on the dog.

Teeth closed around his ankle and had Sil stumble, and he turned to find the most enormous dog had a hold of him. Glad of the greaves he wore, it still fucking hurt, and didn’t stop Sil hopping and cursing at the monstrous thing to let go of him, an argument he wasn’t in any way winning even as Kreois himself sauntered up. Sil shifted his gaze to the merchant and realised he was fighting a losing battle, stilling himself and eyeing the man warily.

‘My, how fortunate to meet you again’

The lord hesitated a moment, trying to decide how to play it, not much liking the wry edge to the merchant’s words and not quite able to stop his eyes darting away as if he might still be considering an escape route. There was a long stretch of sand between where Silanos had been brought to a halt and where the Colchian ships were being reloaded, and no one that Sil recognised in the few others around them. Inconvenient. But perhaps he was worrying over nothing. Deciding that he might just try and brazen it out, Silanos drew himself up to his full height, as much as possible with a dog hanging off his foot and gave the man a curt nod.

“Kreios. Long time no see. You wanna train your fucking dog better than to go around grabbing your betters. Call it off.”

His irritation was relatively convincing given that Sil was actually feeling pretty panicked at seeing the merchant again, and the fact that his ankle was burning where the dog still hadn’t let go. Still, he was hopeful that maybe he could talk himself out of what was admittedly an unfortunate rendezvous.

Truth be told, Silanos had never been much of a dog person. Maybe they could tell? Either way, the low growling of the colossal thing by his feet was not helping in reversing his opinion of the species. Nor was he much encouraged by how his remonstartion had no effect whatsoever on the things owner, Kreois instead choosing to urge the dog into yet more threatening behaviour: a snap of its teeth that had the young Colchian take a step backward. Fucking hell. Maybe this wasn’t going to be as easy as he’d hoped. The merchant was smiling, but it wasn’t convincing Sil that he wasn’t in a bit of trouble, and his eyes lifted over the man’s shoulder to see if there were any likely saviours that way.

When Kreios spoke, Sil blinked in confusion a moment before remembering that he hadn’t given the man his name. Maybe he was glad there wasn’t anyone around to overhear this. Actually.

“Just passing through” Sil answered, and wondered what the fuck he was meant to say to the second part of the question.No, actually, so how about we pretend we just didn't see each other? Deciding last minute to play dumb, he continued. “Not really. Haven’t been dabbling so much in that shit. How’s business?” Perhaps it would buy him a little time to come up with whatever the fuck he was going to do to get himself out of this.

He was trying to remember exactly what he owed the poison merchant for but honestly, his memory wasn’t that great. No sleep and too much wine and gods knows whatever else he’d been on at the time tended to have that effect. Sil could only really be confident in the slightly sickening knowledge that it was more coin than he had. More than he could likely get his hands on unless he asked Timaeus - the real one - and that was not an appealing thought. Things had been even more strained between them since he’d confessed about Asia and with everything that had followed. He could really do without this bullshit if he were being honest. He rubbed at the back of his neck and shifted a little.

“Hey look so, nice as it is to catch up and what have you, I’ve uh, really got to get going right now. I’ll be around for a few days so I can look you up, yeah?”

It was a shot in the dark, but maybe, just maybe he could fend Kreois off long enough that the Colchian ships could be packed and gone, if the man thought he was back around then there wasn’t the urgency, right, to claim what he was owed? Silanos knew it was a feeble hope right then, unless the man was an idiot, which unfortunately didn't seem to be the case, but he was chancer if nothing else. And who knows, maybe he could find Mihail and the Thanasi could help him out of this tight spot he found himself in.

Sil’s gaze flickered back to the face of the merchant when he left no doubt as to the fact that he did remember the debt, and the younger man caught the inside of his cheek between his teeth, worried it a little as he in turn worried over his predicament.

He didn’t know Kreios overly well - the man was a little reserved, but Silanos was pretty sure that smile wasn’t meant to set him at ease. He probably should have let that be the cue not to say what he said next, but it was like he had to at least try. He even threw in his most guileless expression for good measure, and gods knew that had a good track record.

Unfortunately for Silanos, Kreios was not of the persuasion to be distracted from his purpose so easily, and he could read all too well that his words had missed the mark.

“ No I will!” He began to protest “ I just have to g-mmmmph” Whatever the lord had been about to say was lost in a grunt as his back hit the sand with some force and drove the air from his lungs. He’s barely had time to notice the dog move before he was falling backward, and he wasn’t able to brace himself. Sand was pretty fucking hard to land upon.Sil was really starting to dislike the dog.

Turning his face away from the all too close for comfort slobbering jowels, he’d raised his arms to between he and the beast but he couldn’t help but wonder just what the thing was trained to do. He had a front seat view to the sharp teeth and didn’t want them becoming any better acquainted with any part of him than they already had. For a moment, he considered the knife at his belt but then figured he’d only be aggravating the situation if he injured the merchant’s pet. If it could laughably be called such.

Kreios’ declaration of intent was displeasing on both counts: firstly because Sil didn’t have any coin to give him, and secondly because the other option was just..no. That would be humiliating in the extreme and gods knows what further trouble it might land him in.

“Fuck, look….” the Colchian squirmed a little, a grimace of distaste crossing his face as a globule of drool landed on his jaw and began to run down his neck. “ I don’t have the fucking money okay. I don’t have it. I might be able to get it but you’re gonna have to get your fucking dog off of me if you want me to try!”

Sil wasn’t too great at being humble, even when the situation called for it, but there was a thread of panic beginning to creep into his voice.

He could ask Mihail, and as a last resort Tim, if it came to it. It wouldn’t be pretty but he was running out of options. The implications of upsetting a man whose entire occupation was manufacturing things to kill people were starting to settle rather weightily atop the younger man, and Silanos was regretting ever getting off the ship in the first instance.

On one hand, it was good that his answer motivated the man to call the slobbering dog out of his face - Sil didn’t need to know what its breath smelled like, thank you very much. On the other, he wasn’t sure being yanked around by his collar like he was some recalcitrant pup was much better, and the Valaoritis Lord scrambled to get some purchase.

“What?” He couldn’t figure out quite how Kreios had taken that meaning from his words,but the poison merchant didn't seem to care, hauling Sil upright and leaving the younger man panicking about how exactly this was going to resolve itself. He didn’t have the first idea where Mihail might be, and he really didn’t want to have what would already be an awkward conversation with Kreios breathing down his neck.

“No wait” he protested as he found his feet “This’ll go better if I’m not dragging you and your hound with me! Just let me go, I swear I’ll find the money and I’ll come back” He’d grabbed a hold of the man’s wrist as if to pry the grip away, not about to let himself be manhandled, but dropped it quickly when the merchant produced a knife, the blade glinting dangerously between them. Sil blew out a breath.

“Fuck. Alright. Just..let’s calm down a little”

Silanos had never been much of a fighter. He could hold his own in a scrap, growing up with two older brothers had taught him that much, but he wasn’t usually one to turn to physical means to resolve a quarrel. Now though, as he eyed the blade the other man held, his fingers twitched as he considered going for the knife at his belt. Was it better to at least try? Or.. Sil remembered the dog and his hands stayed where they were, but the young Lord still twisted in Kreios’ grip.

“You don’t want to do that,” he said, watching the knife. “There are ships full of Colchian soldiers up there, my brother...it’s not going to end well for anyone if you hurt me. If you...I can get the money. You just gotta trust me to go get it, right?” His voice was coaxing, quiet like he was trying to calm a skittish horse, his tongue coming out to wet lips that were suddenly dry, his hands raised in a pacifying gesture.

Silanos could worry about the how he was going to produce said money once he got away from the knife wielding idiot. Blue eyes cast about their surroundings, the disturbance had seen the few other Greeks milling about averting their gazes and moving away, there was no rescue coming from the stallholders. Perhaps they knew Kreios too well to interrupt. He couldn’t see over his shoulder back up towards the ships without turning his head, and Sil didn't want to do that, didn't want to look away from the knife that was still there, a threat or a promise, he wasn’t sure which.

By his own admission, it had been a decent day of training today. Though he had not expected Thrasius and his company to come upon the small plot of sandy land he had abruptly claimed as his own for military purposes, it had been a welcomed addition to what was otherwise a rather unremarkable fill of events. Of course, he had not found much surprise in the fact that his men had outperformed the Megarian ones in their joint exercises, yet he could say that there was some delight in the laughs and jeers he found amongst the soldiers of the somewhat amalgamated unit. It seemed as though his plan towards subtle integration and cooperation had worked well, seeing as he could have counted at twenty new recently forged friendships amongst the men. He would never come to admit to their talent, for that was simply not how he behaved at all, but he could at least recognize a job well-done here and there. Thus, as per his promised words, the veteran militant gave the night to his forces, leaving them to their own devices so as to enjoy the fair city they currently garrisoned in all of its luster.

Seeing as he himself had welcomed the opportunity to enjoy Vasiliadon for what it was, Damocles had opted to make good on his word and similarly amuse himself amongst the streets of that striking city. Turning his silver eyes to the distanced metropolis, the Magnemean remembered the illusory words of someone from his past, recalling the excitement in Achilleas’s words when he had long told him of his homeland so many years ago. He would have to give it to the man for it seemed as though his depiction of the place was mostly accurate. Perhaps, he would write him a letter to congratulate him on his city’s fairness, though, knowing him, he would probably just puff up with pride and say he told him so.

How was he? Last he had heard of that man he had been preparing to sail for Egypt. He probably was in some grouped tent in some remote field barking orders to his subordinates, breathing down their neck in the same fashion he had once mocked him for. In his own strange way, the thought brought a smile to Damocles’s face. War was that blue-eyed man’s affinity, and though he would probably never admit to it, the light-eyed Colchian presumed that his old friend had relished the opportunity to escape from senatorial intrigues and courtly politics unto the simplistic fields of battle. Alas, now as king, Damocles knew that ruling would be most of Achilleas’s future, morose and predictable as it was. Yet, that wasn’t the worst part of him being king. No, the worst part about that Taengean’s damned coronation was that Damocles knew he would never get the opportunity to hit him again, for better or for worse.

Once he finished some last minute consultations with his advisors and Captain Attius, the towering man opted to turn back to the ships and change his attire to something more fitting. Armor might have been his outfit of preference whenever he was away from Colchis, but the Captain of the Damned doubted that either Thrasius or his friend would like him to appear for drinks clad in layered plates of metal. After removing his dark, plumed Corinthian style helmet, Damocles swept a hand across his dark locks of hair, pushing back some wayward strands that had fallen off place during the day while whipping off a bit of sweat off his brow. It wasn’t so much that he thought himself in a bad state of physical appearance, for he hadn’t thought his looks particularly dreadful, but he could have gone with a nicer change of clothes for the evening. Hence, he began to head back towards his chambers with a confident stride to his
heavy steps.
Yet, as he began to turn back to his captain’s quarters, Damocles noticed a strange pair in the distance. Inspired by his natural curiosity, the heavily armored man shifted his steps and turned to that direction, moving with determined confidence as he was eager to learn more about the odd sight. At first, he could hardly make out any discernable features that made his memory conjure up a similar face, but after moving closer and closer, he came to recognize a somewhat familiar, if unknown visage that he was not particularly keen on seeing. Recalling another’s dark curled hair and square, squat features, Damocles came to notice that, just a couple of feet away from him stood none other than Timaeus of Valaoritis’s own little brother.

Now, while he might have been able to recognize that one of the figures that so closely stood was kin to that deplorable sycophant, if he was honest with himself, the silver-eyed man could not confess to personally knowing much about this individual. Naturally, he had some basic information on him, such as the fact that he was that barking hound’s baby sibling, but aside from some rather innocuous and trivial facts, there was little that the towering man could come to acknowledge as insight. From the looks of things, it seemed that the youngest boy of the Valaoritis was locked in some sort of confrontation of sorts with another man, an odd, mysterious fellow that had been accompanied by a beast of sorts, no doubt a hound based off the general shape of it.

Judging by the matter by which the two seemed to interact, they had been acquainted, which wasn’t anything particularly unexpected in and off itself. The other man had a smile in his face, but that had been a red herring, for the hound he seemed to control growled and snarled at the other Colchian, betraying the tension between the two. It was at that moment, as he observed the two, that Damocles decided to take a step back and remain quiet so as to see whatever was going to unravel in that moment right there. Of course, had it been anyone else, save for a few, Damocles would have instinctively walked over to the pair and attempted to diffuse the situation by means of charm and words, but seeing as this was only Timaeus’s brother, there was really no reason for him to rush or move.

A part of him wanted to turn around and leave, pretend to have not seen anything and continue on his merry way towards the people he had made plans with for the night. In fact, just about anything really could have easily passed as remotely more interesting or important than forming part in any machination that involved that Baron’s family. Truly, he had no reason to care for the likes of that distanced man. He had nothing but apathetic contempt for the Valaoritis family, and couldn’t care less on whether or not they had gained richest or suffered tragedies. Actually, that might not have been entirely accurate. Perhaps, a tragedy his ears would welcome, a disproportionate one that the Gods of the Underworld might have seen fit to cast upon them. Yet, he could not entirely find it unreasonable to let his mind fall back upon old habits and twist a small conspiracy of his own.

Even if that boy had the blood of Timaeus flowing through him, he was still a noble, probably one of the lowest ever but a noble nevertheless, equipped with all possible sorts of connections and tools at his disposal. It wouldn’t be irrational to mayhaps contemplate some form of conceivable profit from this whole scenario. Nay, in retrospect, the fact that he was Timaeus’s sibling had enough merit on its own. True, he might have suffered a minor disgrace at the Lord’s manse some weeks past, and he had cultivated a rather sour relationship with the blue-eyed baron…but that alone was a good tool to exploit. Based off what he had perceived from the older of the two of the Valaoritis, the man had been prideful and conscious of his own image and standing, as most nobles Damocles concluded. Hence, what better way to wound that pride than by indebting his kinsman to himself, to make him bend to his own promissory welcome and extract some personal profit against that man’s spirits and guide. Oh, to think that the little brother of the so-called great Lord Timaeus of Valaoritis had been brought to a small heel by means of an insignificant act of racketeering. Well, that would be a welcomed delight after all.

Hence, with hidden reluctance to his personage, but with an underlining motive of his own, Damocles kept his eyes fixed on the pair, casually observing by means of distanced spread the unfolding scene before him. For the most part, if had been relished with a form of conversation, but seeing the other man push and shove the nobleman had caused a small sardonic smirk to appear on Damocles’s face. It seemed he had been right and the boy was in some sort of trouble. Yet, even that instant had not been enough to compel the Silver-eyed militant to action, assessing that there might have been a more opportune time to make his appearance. And just as luck would have it, it seemed his gambit had payed off. In a random instance, the second man manifested a blade of sorts and made for the aristocrat’s hand, injuring him in the process in a slight fashion. When that happened, Damocles felt his grin turn into a dry smile, finding some form of amusement in the wounding. Of course, that had been enough of an instance for him to move to action. Thus, he put his helmet back on his head and moved to make his presence known, walking languidly before the two so as to possibly draw out the painful process as much as possible.

“What is the meaning of this?” Authoritatively asked Damocles in his signature baritone voice after whipping away his amusement and replace said reaction with a stoic, stern look on his handsome face. He did nothing to remove the knife from the other man, seeing as the hulking soldier has silently approved of his actions, but he did cast his glaring, cold eyes against the two. Crossing his arms over his chest, the Magnemean began to exercise the trademark air of intimidation that his countless soldiers had come to fear and dread years ago, tightening the strong features of his long countenance.

He stood confident and unyielding in front of the two, unfazed by neither the beast-hound that the other man had brought as some sort of companion nor the sharped weapon that had been gripped and used before. His eyes were wide and stark, blasting against any who dared to even raised his own to his. There was an unmistakable glint in those eyes, hinting at a channeled, murderous intent that Damocles reserved for his soldiers whenever he wanted to make them think about their life choices and recant. His jaw was tightly held and grittily pressed, his brows were pushed downcast and raised and his forehead burrowed in faux rage. True, though his gestures might have shown rage, he really did not want to do so. If it was up to him, he would have long been in some tavern in the city with a wench on his lap and a beer on his hand. Alas, the Fates were cruel.

“Why is Lord Valaoritis injured?” he inquired, shooting daggers with his icy stare as he momentarily moved his orbs to Silanos and cast upon him nothing short of a dismissively judgmental look. His voice was grave and stentorian, the sound of a crushing weight that might have made lesser men knee before him in fear. In truth, he had happened that the boy had interpreted his subtle gesture and moved past to his back, shielding himself with his impressive size and build as the Herculean officer ascertained the situation. “You, assailant…” directed Damocles to the attacker as he maintained his composure. Give me a good reason why I should not alert the forces of Colchis that one of our nobles has been attacked?” he continued, leering at the assaulter with a penetrating stare that did not betray his commitment to brute force had the whole thing gone to shit. “Speak now!” he commanded without raising his impelling voice, but keeping the entire seriousness of his weighted conviction pressed neatly against the sharpness of his damming words.

By hook or by crook, Kreios did not intend to allow this young little lord to leave his sight today without getting the payment owed to him. He wasn't a man who committed the same mistake twice, and far be him to allow some young infant who had tried to cheat his way out of a payment be allowed to escape twice. Digging the dagger in further into the young man's flesh, the merchant barely took notice of his dog as he marched Silanos towards the direction of one of the military decorated ships. Typhon was well trained, and the wolfhound would be trailing behind Kreios, watchful but quiet the whole time.

"Oh, I think it is you who shouldn't do anything stupid, young Tim-"

Before Kreios could finish (even if he was talking over Silanos's frantic and failing attempts at reasoning), the voice that had cut through both of their sentences had the merchant raising his gaze. Despite his grip not loosening on the young man, he frowned as he noticed the approach of a tall man cladded in his own militia wear. The supposed authoritative voice did nothing to Kreios - afterall, he was emboldened to no kingdom's rule, no kingdom's laws. He broke no law, merely sold what he needed to earn his gold. And the boy owed him money. By the law of the merchant's guild, it was his right to get what was owed to him.

Typhon stepped forward, the large wolfhound's teeth bared, but Kreios clicked at his hound, a silent command to have the canine sit at his heels, before raising his blood-stained dagger to the other man as an answer to his first inquiry. He was unafraid, and neither did he step down. The man almost chuckled when Silanos tried to explain his way. A misunderstanding? Kreios would've laughed, had he not been a usually stoic man.

"If he says so." he humored, rolling his eyes, before wiping the bloodstains on the back the hip of his chiton, before sliding it back in his belt. Meeting the other's gaze head on, he barely flinched at being called an assailant, seemingly unphased by the large, burly man. "Noble, huh? Well well well..." he murmured, trailing off in a tone that was tinged with amusement as he tightened his grip on the collar he held Silanos boy, almost as if he was shaking him like a dog would a dead rabbit. "Your Lord Timaeus here," Kreios sneered what was supposed to be a title of respect, "Happens to owe me gold. A lot of it. He was supposed to have paid me his last trip to Taengea, but it seems he makes a habit of renegading on his debts. Do you Colchians do that often? Such a pity." Kreios finally turned to the other militant, almost as if he was mocking the man. In truth, Kreios really had no reason to mock Damocles? He simply didn't care.

He wanted what was owed to him.