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Most people tended to consider Mihail 'useless', an epithet which he thoroughly resented. Useless. These were the words of fools; imbeciles who knew little about the man and only latched onto the words of other nobles who already bore him ill will. He may well have been one for spreading slanderous claims about others, but he did not tolerate the same behaviour shown towards him. Besides, the majority of individuals who made such claims were too fearful of doing so in earshot of any Thanasi family member (aside from Dysius and Father, who announced such things freely, and that deplorable Timaeus of Valaoritis), and Mihail was forced to discover such comments from his little network of spies - and yet they also had the gall to call him a coward.
However, although they might have branded him as worthless, he was far from it. In truth, he considered himself excessively valuable, if not solely through hubris but because he possessed any number of traits which cemented the statement as valid. Mihail knew himself to be absurdly intelligent - though this was unappreciated by the vulgar herd - and spoke Coptic with almost the same degree of eloquence as he did Greek. He thought himself cunning, and silver-tongued, and able to spread rumours like few others. But, most significantly of all, he was an expert archer. In actuality, Mihail had never met another who matched him in the skill, and he took pride in the fact. He was the most accomplished archer in Colchis - arguably Greece - and the world deserved to acknowledge it.
But they did not.
Still, they claimed a lack of talent, and even praised others above him when he had won prizes to prove his name. If Colchis had held a competition, then Mihail would have floored the other contestants in moments, but they did not, and he had no choice but to keep his practice to himself. That was his ambition. He would work, and work, and shoot endlessly, until his name was taken as prominent enough. Until they acknowledged his ability and deserved status. Besides, it was a gloriously stress-relieving activity and, although some would have argued there was little stress in Mihail's life, he needed it.
This early morning, he had selected his favoured bow - a reasonably new one which had served him well over the past few months - and requested that the garden be prepared for his shooting session. He was fussy about his practice, and if the targets had not been set up at a precise distance of ninety metres, then someone would be punished for the failure (a thought which was not quite so appealing when the young lord carried his bow). Fortunately, it appeared the staff had not proved thoroughly incompetent for once, and everything had been set up exactly as he required it, which was a blessing. Mihail had awoken in a less than stellar mood, and he was not prepared to deal with incompetence.
He drifted first to a table prepared to one side, setting down his quiver of arrows and pouring himself a goblet of wine, which he downed with ease. Some might have argued that drink would not suit him well before practising such a dangerous sport, but Mihail did not care for the idiocy of others, and had long since been addicted to the sweet taste of wine. He was not stupid, and knew full well how to handle himself with his weaponry. Once the Thanasi had quenched his thirst to a suitable degree, he made a gesture for one of the lingering servants - Mneme, he believed, although she had proved so thoroughly forgettable in the past that he was less inclined to recall her name - to fetch him some more, and to ensure that the jug remained full for the duration of his practice.
The arrows held within the quiver that Mihail now slung over his shoulder had been custom-designed for his needs, their wood red and their feathers black and elegant so that they announced Thanasi colours to all who watched them fly. Usually, he did not use them during his training in fear that something might go wrong, but it was no real trouble to replace them, and he had felt ambitious that morning. Slipping off his excessive collection of silver rings, which had curled neatly up his manicured fingers like miniature snakes but would prove thoroughly detrimental to the sport, he let them fall to the table beside his empty goblet. Mihail had not dressed for exercise, in a dazzling red chiton trimmed with silver embroidery which was cinched tightly enough that it almost hurt, though his arms were provided more than sufficient freedom of movement, and he was unwilling to give up his fashion for the silliness of practicality when he could manage either way.
Stepping into position, he eyed the target a moment, focussing for a long moment before he pulled his arm back and repeated the action, getting a feel for the distance even though he knew it well. He did not shoot until he felt confident enough, and the arrow flew through the air to land satisfactorily on one of the inner rings of the target. Shsh-thunk. It was a delightful sound, and one which had Mihail quirking his lips upwards in pleasure and flickering his tongue out over his bottom lip as he loaded the bow to take another shot. Shsh-thunk. And then a third, and a fourth, his speed building until the well-used target was awash with arrows, and his quiver was empty.
"Could we be rather speedy about our collection this morning?" he queried, tone dripping with irritation that the maid who had been delegated to the tedious task of collecting every shot arrow could not do so in less than a couple of minutes. Mneme was not fast - in fact, she suffered from a mild limp which made her slower at completing more arduous tasks within the households, and which ensured Mihail thought her disposable enough to tend to this pseudo-dangerous task - and it only meant that Mihail grew irritable at her more often than not, even if he had assigned her the job himself. "I would like to practice, but I cannot if I am forced to wait for aeons before I can shoot my second set."
Despite his impatience, Mihail still took advantage of the brief break to wander back over to his wine and pour himself a second, cold goblet. He did not find the sport overly taxing on his energy, nor had it been all that long, but the coolness of the drink was refreshing anyhow as he took a moment to relax, gaze drifting absentmindedly back to the jewellery on the table. Hm. He was confident that, only moments prior, he had left seven rings there, but now he could only count six. His eyes narrowed, gaze shifting towards Mneme, since she was the last near the table, and he snapped his fingers in her direction for attention.
"Where is my viper ring?"
"M-my Lord?" She had approached tentatively, a bundle of arrows in her arms which she now slipped back into their place, straightening to face him as he launched his accusation.
The dark-haired man turned to face her, a hand dropping to his waist as he eyed the woman with pronounced suspicion. "I left seven rings on this table and yet, now, I see only six. My viper - my favourite - is now missing. I do not tolerate theft."
Mneme's face had turned to an expression which implied fear, though whether it stemmed from having committed the crime or otherwise, Mihail could not quite tell. He watched her for a moment, gaze steely and glare unforgiving, before she answered: "I only brought the wine, my Lord, I swear it. I would never-"
He cut her off. "I do not tolerate lying either."
It was several long seconds before she made another attempt to speak, though her words came out confused stutters, useless as a defence. It was too late, anyhow, for Mihail had already reached for the bow he had set down to enjoy his drink, sliding an arrow from its quiver. He had already started to walk away as he loaded his bow, calling over his shoulder to the woman in a surprisingly nonchalant tone, the corner of his mouth rising in amusement at the situation. He liked a moving target. "Perhaps if you are fast for once, I might miss."
She was not.
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Most people tended to consider Mihail 'useless', an epithet which he thoroughly resented. Useless. These were the words of fools; imbeciles who knew little about the man and only latched onto the words of other nobles who already bore him ill will. He may well have been one for spreading slanderous claims about others, but he did not tolerate the same behaviour shown towards him. Besides, the majority of individuals who made such claims were too fearful of doing so in earshot of any Thanasi family member (aside from Dysius and Father, who announced such things freely, and that deplorable Timaeus of Valaoritis), and Mihail was forced to discover such comments from his little network of spies - and yet they also had the gall to call him a coward.
However, although they might have branded him as worthless, he was far from it. In truth, he considered himself excessively valuable, if not solely through hubris but because he possessed any number of traits which cemented the statement as valid. Mihail knew himself to be absurdly intelligent - though this was unappreciated by the vulgar herd - and spoke Coptic with almost the same degree of eloquence as he did Greek. He thought himself cunning, and silver-tongued, and able to spread rumours like few others. But, most significantly of all, he was an expert archer. In actuality, Mihail had never met another who matched him in the skill, and he took pride in the fact. He was the most accomplished archer in Colchis - arguably Greece - and the world deserved to acknowledge it.
But they did not.
Still, they claimed a lack of talent, and even praised others above him when he had won prizes to prove his name. If Colchis had held a competition, then Mihail would have floored the other contestants in moments, but they did not, and he had no choice but to keep his practice to himself. That was his ambition. He would work, and work, and shoot endlessly, until his name was taken as prominent enough. Until they acknowledged his ability and deserved status. Besides, it was a gloriously stress-relieving activity and, although some would have argued there was little stress in Mihail's life, he needed it.
This early morning, he had selected his favoured bow - a reasonably new one which had served him well over the past few months - and requested that the garden be prepared for his shooting session. He was fussy about his practice, and if the targets had not been set up at a precise distance of ninety metres, then someone would be punished for the failure (a thought which was not quite so appealing when the young lord carried his bow). Fortunately, it appeared the staff had not proved thoroughly incompetent for once, and everything had been set up exactly as he required it, which was a blessing. Mihail had awoken in a less than stellar mood, and he was not prepared to deal with incompetence.
He drifted first to a table prepared to one side, setting down his quiver of arrows and pouring himself a goblet of wine, which he downed with ease. Some might have argued that drink would not suit him well before practising such a dangerous sport, but Mihail did not care for the idiocy of others, and had long since been addicted to the sweet taste of wine. He was not stupid, and knew full well how to handle himself with his weaponry. Once the Thanasi had quenched his thirst to a suitable degree, he made a gesture for one of the lingering servants - Mneme, he believed, although she had proved so thoroughly forgettable in the past that he was less inclined to recall her name - to fetch him some more, and to ensure that the jug remained full for the duration of his practice.
The arrows held within the quiver that Mihail now slung over his shoulder had been custom-designed for his needs, their wood red and their feathers black and elegant so that they announced Thanasi colours to all who watched them fly. Usually, he did not use them during his training in fear that something might go wrong, but it was no real trouble to replace them, and he had felt ambitious that morning. Slipping off his excessive collection of silver rings, which had curled neatly up his manicured fingers like miniature snakes but would prove thoroughly detrimental to the sport, he let them fall to the table beside his empty goblet. Mihail had not dressed for exercise, in a dazzling red chiton trimmed with silver embroidery which was cinched tightly enough that it almost hurt, though his arms were provided more than sufficient freedom of movement, and he was unwilling to give up his fashion for the silliness of practicality when he could manage either way.
Stepping into position, he eyed the target a moment, focussing for a long moment before he pulled his arm back and repeated the action, getting a feel for the distance even though he knew it well. He did not shoot until he felt confident enough, and the arrow flew through the air to land satisfactorily on one of the inner rings of the target. Shsh-thunk. It was a delightful sound, and one which had Mihail quirking his lips upwards in pleasure and flickering his tongue out over his bottom lip as he loaded the bow to take another shot. Shsh-thunk. And then a third, and a fourth, his speed building until the well-used target was awash with arrows, and his quiver was empty.
"Could we be rather speedy about our collection this morning?" he queried, tone dripping with irritation that the maid who had been delegated to the tedious task of collecting every shot arrow could not do so in less than a couple of minutes. Mneme was not fast - in fact, she suffered from a mild limp which made her slower at completing more arduous tasks within the households, and which ensured Mihail thought her disposable enough to tend to this pseudo-dangerous task - and it only meant that Mihail grew irritable at her more often than not, even if he had assigned her the job himself. "I would like to practice, but I cannot if I am forced to wait for aeons before I can shoot my second set."
Despite his impatience, Mihail still took advantage of the brief break to wander back over to his wine and pour himself a second, cold goblet. He did not find the sport overly taxing on his energy, nor had it been all that long, but the coolness of the drink was refreshing anyhow as he took a moment to relax, gaze drifting absentmindedly back to the jewellery on the table. Hm. He was confident that, only moments prior, he had left seven rings there, but now he could only count six. His eyes narrowed, gaze shifting towards Mneme, since she was the last near the table, and he snapped his fingers in her direction for attention.
"Where is my viper ring?"
"M-my Lord?" She had approached tentatively, a bundle of arrows in her arms which she now slipped back into their place, straightening to face him as he launched his accusation.
The dark-haired man turned to face her, a hand dropping to his waist as he eyed the woman with pronounced suspicion. "I left seven rings on this table and yet, now, I see only six. My viper - my favourite - is now missing. I do not tolerate theft."
Mneme's face had turned to an expression which implied fear, though whether it stemmed from having committed the crime or otherwise, Mihail could not quite tell. He watched her for a moment, gaze steely and glare unforgiving, before she answered: "I only brought the wine, my Lord, I swear it. I would never-"
He cut her off. "I do not tolerate lying either."
It was several long seconds before she made another attempt to speak, though her words came out confused stutters, useless as a defence. It was too late, anyhow, for Mihail had already reached for the bow he had set down to enjoy his drink, sliding an arrow from its quiver. He had already started to walk away as he loaded his bow, calling over his shoulder to the woman in a surprisingly nonchalant tone, the corner of his mouth rising in amusement at the situation. He liked a moving target. "Perhaps if you are fast for once, I might miss."
She was not.
Most people tended to consider Mihail 'useless', an epithet which he thoroughly resented. Useless. These were the words of fools; imbeciles who knew little about the man and only latched onto the words of other nobles who already bore him ill will. He may well have been one for spreading slanderous claims about others, but he did not tolerate the same behaviour shown towards him. Besides, the majority of individuals who made such claims were too fearful of doing so in earshot of any Thanasi family member (aside from Dysius and Father, who announced such things freely, and that deplorable Timaeus of Valaoritis), and Mihail was forced to discover such comments from his little network of spies - and yet they also had the gall to call him a coward.
However, although they might have branded him as worthless, he was far from it. In truth, he considered himself excessively valuable, if not solely through hubris but because he possessed any number of traits which cemented the statement as valid. Mihail knew himself to be absurdly intelligent - though this was unappreciated by the vulgar herd - and spoke Coptic with almost the same degree of eloquence as he did Greek. He thought himself cunning, and silver-tongued, and able to spread rumours like few others. But, most significantly of all, he was an expert archer. In actuality, Mihail had never met another who matched him in the skill, and he took pride in the fact. He was the most accomplished archer in Colchis - arguably Greece - and the world deserved to acknowledge it.
But they did not.
Still, they claimed a lack of talent, and even praised others above him when he had won prizes to prove his name. If Colchis had held a competition, then Mihail would have floored the other contestants in moments, but they did not, and he had no choice but to keep his practice to himself. That was his ambition. He would work, and work, and shoot endlessly, until his name was taken as prominent enough. Until they acknowledged his ability and deserved status. Besides, it was a gloriously stress-relieving activity and, although some would have argued there was little stress in Mihail's life, he needed it.
This early morning, he had selected his favoured bow - a reasonably new one which had served him well over the past few months - and requested that the garden be prepared for his shooting session. He was fussy about his practice, and if the targets had not been set up at a precise distance of ninety metres, then someone would be punished for the failure (a thought which was not quite so appealing when the young lord carried his bow). Fortunately, it appeared the staff had not proved thoroughly incompetent for once, and everything had been set up exactly as he required it, which was a blessing. Mihail had awoken in a less than stellar mood, and he was not prepared to deal with incompetence.
He drifted first to a table prepared to one side, setting down his quiver of arrows and pouring himself a goblet of wine, which he downed with ease. Some might have argued that drink would not suit him well before practising such a dangerous sport, but Mihail did not care for the idiocy of others, and had long since been addicted to the sweet taste of wine. He was not stupid, and knew full well how to handle himself with his weaponry. Once the Thanasi had quenched his thirst to a suitable degree, he made a gesture for one of the lingering servants - Mneme, he believed, although she had proved so thoroughly forgettable in the past that he was less inclined to recall her name - to fetch him some more, and to ensure that the jug remained full for the duration of his practice.
The arrows held within the quiver that Mihail now slung over his shoulder had been custom-designed for his needs, their wood red and their feathers black and elegant so that they announced Thanasi colours to all who watched them fly. Usually, he did not use them during his training in fear that something might go wrong, but it was no real trouble to replace them, and he had felt ambitious that morning. Slipping off his excessive collection of silver rings, which had curled neatly up his manicured fingers like miniature snakes but would prove thoroughly detrimental to the sport, he let them fall to the table beside his empty goblet. Mihail had not dressed for exercise, in a dazzling red chiton trimmed with silver embroidery which was cinched tightly enough that it almost hurt, though his arms were provided more than sufficient freedom of movement, and he was unwilling to give up his fashion for the silliness of practicality when he could manage either way.
Stepping into position, he eyed the target a moment, focussing for a long moment before he pulled his arm back and repeated the action, getting a feel for the distance even though he knew it well. He did not shoot until he felt confident enough, and the arrow flew through the air to land satisfactorily on one of the inner rings of the target. Shsh-thunk. It was a delightful sound, and one which had Mihail quirking his lips upwards in pleasure and flickering his tongue out over his bottom lip as he loaded the bow to take another shot. Shsh-thunk. And then a third, and a fourth, his speed building until the well-used target was awash with arrows, and his quiver was empty.
"Could we be rather speedy about our collection this morning?" he queried, tone dripping with irritation that the maid who had been delegated to the tedious task of collecting every shot arrow could not do so in less than a couple of minutes. Mneme was not fast - in fact, she suffered from a mild limp which made her slower at completing more arduous tasks within the households, and which ensured Mihail thought her disposable enough to tend to this pseudo-dangerous task - and it only meant that Mihail grew irritable at her more often than not, even if he had assigned her the job himself. "I would like to practice, but I cannot if I am forced to wait for aeons before I can shoot my second set."
Despite his impatience, Mihail still took advantage of the brief break to wander back over to his wine and pour himself a second, cold goblet. He did not find the sport overly taxing on his energy, nor had it been all that long, but the coolness of the drink was refreshing anyhow as he took a moment to relax, gaze drifting absentmindedly back to the jewellery on the table. Hm. He was confident that, only moments prior, he had left seven rings there, but now he could only count six. His eyes narrowed, gaze shifting towards Mneme, since she was the last near the table, and he snapped his fingers in her direction for attention.
"Where is my viper ring?"
"M-my Lord?" She had approached tentatively, a bundle of arrows in her arms which she now slipped back into their place, straightening to face him as he launched his accusation.
The dark-haired man turned to face her, a hand dropping to his waist as he eyed the woman with pronounced suspicion. "I left seven rings on this table and yet, now, I see only six. My viper - my favourite - is now missing. I do not tolerate theft."
Mneme's face had turned to an expression which implied fear, though whether it stemmed from having committed the crime or otherwise, Mihail could not quite tell. He watched her for a moment, gaze steely and glare unforgiving, before she answered: "I only brought the wine, my Lord, I swear it. I would never-"
He cut her off. "I do not tolerate lying either."
It was several long seconds before she made another attempt to speak, though her words came out confused stutters, useless as a defence. It was too late, anyhow, for Mihail had already reached for the bow he had set down to enjoy his drink, sliding an arrow from its quiver. He had already started to walk away as he loaded his bow, calling over his shoulder to the woman in a surprisingly nonchalant tone, the corner of his mouth rising in amusement at the situation. He liked a moving target. "Perhaps if you are fast for once, I might miss."
She was not.
Surprisingly, there weren’t that many administrative matters that truly bothered Damocles right down to his core. For the most part, he had a natural inclination towards management and the finer points of supervision. He supposed perhaps the Gods had given him a set of skills uniquely forged for matters organizational. The silver-eyed man thought himself a natural-born leader, someone who was tenacious, ambitious, analytical and efficient. He resented those that justified their so-called superiority based only on the prospecting circumstances of their birth, and had very little tolerance for the mediocrity that often accompanied those of the aristocracy. For those that only spoke and talked without having raised themselves to a respectable position of rank and distinction solely by the pull of their own weight, Damocles would not spare much for thought. He supposed some would say he had accomplished much in his life, that he had become a self-made man all on his own, and for the most part he would not deny this.
Which is why the mission he had been given today was just absurdly beneath him.
Why, out of all the people in his entire entourage had his Baron seen fit to have him function as messenger? Why had his multiple, great talents been relegated to such a demeaning and quite frankly dismissible levels of mummery? Surely, that old man had to recognize that even if he worked for him, in the most nominal way possible, Damocles still had more important things to do than to rely written missives from him to another. It was such an infuriating instruction, one that he would have been more than happy to delegate to one of his own soldiers, or perhaps even an experienced runner who could go back and forth at a much more accustomed pace. He just simply could not believe that his time had been wasted on such a damnably mundane affair! Alas, even if it had been an infuriating experience, even he had to admit there was a certain level of profit that could be gained from the whole thing. After all, he was to deliver the missive to none other than Lord Dionysios of Thanasi himself.
Though Damocles had not experienced many interactions with the aristocratic man, even he was aware of the old snake’s reputation amongst the Royal Court. Yes, he was of an advanced age, but that was nothing to scoff at in and off itself. As far as he could trace back the stories and rumors, the patriarch of that Dynasteia had only been a nobleman once many winters ago, and with nothing but a baronial title and the powers of ambition and shrewdness had elevated his family to be one of the most affluent and influential bloodlines in Colchis, a particularly surprising feat, considering that, as far as he could tell, the elderly statesman had not been of a military inclination in his long life. To say that the public knowledge surrounding the man’s life had been an interesting compilation would have been an understanding to say the least. His was one of the few amongst the kingdom’s nobles that he could admit to harboring a modicum of respect for, even if there had been whispers of insanity surrounding the great politician as of late.
Now, the Herculean man had no idea what exactly it was that his Baron had written to the Lord Thanasi, but if he had to make an educated guess, then perhaps he would wager that it was something concerning trade and economics. As far as he could tell, Aristocles had always been more concerned over the weight of his pockets than matters of Court of Senate. Perhaps, it had been a deal concerning Arcanaes or Nethisa. At least, those were the provinces he could most logically ascertain to being of most relevance to the Lord of Magnemea, given the industrial might of the first and the close border with the second. A part of him wished to pry and see, to read and gain the information for himself. He was aware of methods one could employ to pry the seal open without cracking it first, but that would have required far more time than he had been expected to take to rely the missive in the first place. He supposed he could just whisper his words around the Lord of Magnemea’s ears once more and gain insight through him directly, but there was a time and place for that, and now was not it.
Given that this had not been a pre-arranged audience with the Lord Dionysios, Damocles had not thought it relevant to garb himself in his secondary, more decorative set of orichalcum brass armor, and instead opted for his more signature suit. A more fitting attire than the one he opted to wear in formal events, the dark, Hepatizon Bronze armor he imposingly wore was as black as nightmares, complete with a red-blood cape that fell easily across his massive size, and was crowned by a Corinthian-style plumed helmet fashioned out of the same material as his cuirass, bracers, greaves and shoulder-guards. Beneath it all, he wore a similarly dark chitoniskos tunic that clothed his figure and prevented chaffing. Finally, at his side, hung an unassuming longsword. It wasn’t anything particular at all, and it was not neither of his primary tools of battle at all. Yet, if he had to use a weapon at close combat, at least he could count on it to spare himself from any potential incidents.
As per his traditional make as a soldier, the colossal officer appeared before the palatial estate of the Thanasi at precisely the end of the current hour, which was neither too soon nor too late for him to make his acquaintance with Lord Dionysios. This had not been the first time he had ventured inside the den of the Snakes, but it was still a remarkably impressive building. Of course, he wasn’t going to waste time staring at statues or interior architecture. With a confident stride to his step, Damocles presented himself to the guardsmen of the archontiko, clarifying his purpose for the day in brief before being escorted to the Lord’s study. As he made his walk across the stony manse, the silver eyes of the militant noticed the rushed steps of an odd girl, dashing across the marbled floors with her hands clenched tight and close to her chest, as if she had been holding on to something particularly interesting between her fingers. Perhaps, she was tending to some business, or was to similarly deliver something to another aristocrat. Frankly, he did not care, nor did he want to waste time thinking on such small trivialities. He had more important people to intrigue about.
Unexpectedly, the meeting with Lord Dionysios had been a relatively quick and smooth event. The famous Lord of the Thanasi had not raised his stare to meet the Magnemean’s own grey eyes, for he was deep in thought and could not be bothered to care for such affairs. Damocles couldn’t really say he had thought that it would have been anything too unlike this brief encounter. He kept his words brief, but respectful, and left as soon as he had finished his affairs with the senior royal. With a fitting courtesy bow, the Captain of the Damned acknowledged the end of the brief encounter and was away from his presence just as soon as he had come. Once finished, he turned his back and moved languidly away, following his strides to the first floor of the estate.
Yet, as he made his way down to the lower levels of the mansion, Damocles’s silver eyes noticed a voice ring out. Curious to see if his suspicions were right, the militant traced the origins of the sound to none other than Mihail of Thanasi, the youth whom he had interacted with about a month ago before. It seemed that a slave had been at the receiving end of the lordling’s rage, a sight that did not surprise the militant at all. Nevertheless, he picked-upped on the mention of an object of worth that seemed to be precious to the dark-haired youth. It was then that Herculean man traced the thought of the rushed servant to the whole instance. Had this woman been the one that stole from the lordling instead of the servant he chastised? Well, it was simply a connection that Damocles could not resist inquiring about. Thus, though he knew his appearance was anything but ignorable, he turned around before he figured the Thanasi youth saw him in detail, and marched to the front guards of the estate. As he had predicted, the woman had been stopped on her tracks by the soldiers of the household, blocking her exit with crossed spears. Spotting an opportunity here and there, Damocles channeled his commanding presence and addressed the two guards.
“I’ll take care of this woman, my friends. I believe Lord Mihail has an interest in her.” he expressed, delighting in the prospect that his words had resulted in the two guards doing exactly as he said, throwing the woman to Damocles’s grasp. With a forceful pull of his hand on her locks, the militant dragged the woman across the house, snarling and thrashing frantically as she desperately tried to leave, until it was too late. In time, her hands loosened their grip and the ring fell to the ground. A devious smirk fastened across the heavily armored soldier’s handsome features, reflecting with delight that he had made the right assumption that the woman had indeed stolen from the Thanasi.
Once he returned to the general area of the lordling, the Magnemean noticed that the youth had already made short work of the servant he had been chastising. The sight of the now-lifeless woman did not particularly disturb the silver-eyed man, nor did the screamed protests that escaped his capture rattle him much. “Greetings Lord Mihail” began Damocles as he bowed his head in common courtesy before throwing the girl to the lordling’s feet. “I believe this is yours.” He continued, revealing the viper-shaped ring that had been clenched by the woman once, but had now fallen to Damocles’s temporary possession. “It seems as though this one sneaked about and took it for herself, intending for another to take the fall for her.” He summarized in his head after applying a bit of logic to the situation before him before he walked to the shorter male and returned the decorative jewelry piece back to its owner. “Shall I claim her head with my sword to make her suffer for her insolence?”
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Surprisingly, there weren’t that many administrative matters that truly bothered Damocles right down to his core. For the most part, he had a natural inclination towards management and the finer points of supervision. He supposed perhaps the Gods had given him a set of skills uniquely forged for matters organizational. The silver-eyed man thought himself a natural-born leader, someone who was tenacious, ambitious, analytical and efficient. He resented those that justified their so-called superiority based only on the prospecting circumstances of their birth, and had very little tolerance for the mediocrity that often accompanied those of the aristocracy. For those that only spoke and talked without having raised themselves to a respectable position of rank and distinction solely by the pull of their own weight, Damocles would not spare much for thought. He supposed some would say he had accomplished much in his life, that he had become a self-made man all on his own, and for the most part he would not deny this.
Which is why the mission he had been given today was just absurdly beneath him.
Why, out of all the people in his entire entourage had his Baron seen fit to have him function as messenger? Why had his multiple, great talents been relegated to such a demeaning and quite frankly dismissible levels of mummery? Surely, that old man had to recognize that even if he worked for him, in the most nominal way possible, Damocles still had more important things to do than to rely written missives from him to another. It was such an infuriating instruction, one that he would have been more than happy to delegate to one of his own soldiers, or perhaps even an experienced runner who could go back and forth at a much more accustomed pace. He just simply could not believe that his time had been wasted on such a damnably mundane affair! Alas, even if it had been an infuriating experience, even he had to admit there was a certain level of profit that could be gained from the whole thing. After all, he was to deliver the missive to none other than Lord Dionysios of Thanasi himself.
Though Damocles had not experienced many interactions with the aristocratic man, even he was aware of the old snake’s reputation amongst the Royal Court. Yes, he was of an advanced age, but that was nothing to scoff at in and off itself. As far as he could trace back the stories and rumors, the patriarch of that Dynasteia had only been a nobleman once many winters ago, and with nothing but a baronial title and the powers of ambition and shrewdness had elevated his family to be one of the most affluent and influential bloodlines in Colchis, a particularly surprising feat, considering that, as far as he could tell, the elderly statesman had not been of a military inclination in his long life. To say that the public knowledge surrounding the man’s life had been an interesting compilation would have been an understanding to say the least. His was one of the few amongst the kingdom’s nobles that he could admit to harboring a modicum of respect for, even if there had been whispers of insanity surrounding the great politician as of late.
Now, the Herculean man had no idea what exactly it was that his Baron had written to the Lord Thanasi, but if he had to make an educated guess, then perhaps he would wager that it was something concerning trade and economics. As far as he could tell, Aristocles had always been more concerned over the weight of his pockets than matters of Court of Senate. Perhaps, it had been a deal concerning Arcanaes or Nethisa. At least, those were the provinces he could most logically ascertain to being of most relevance to the Lord of Magnemea, given the industrial might of the first and the close border with the second. A part of him wished to pry and see, to read and gain the information for himself. He was aware of methods one could employ to pry the seal open without cracking it first, but that would have required far more time than he had been expected to take to rely the missive in the first place. He supposed he could just whisper his words around the Lord of Magnemea’s ears once more and gain insight through him directly, but there was a time and place for that, and now was not it.
Given that this had not been a pre-arranged audience with the Lord Dionysios, Damocles had not thought it relevant to garb himself in his secondary, more decorative set of orichalcum brass armor, and instead opted for his more signature suit. A more fitting attire than the one he opted to wear in formal events, the dark, Hepatizon Bronze armor he imposingly wore was as black as nightmares, complete with a red-blood cape that fell easily across his massive size, and was crowned by a Corinthian-style plumed helmet fashioned out of the same material as his cuirass, bracers, greaves and shoulder-guards. Beneath it all, he wore a similarly dark chitoniskos tunic that clothed his figure and prevented chaffing. Finally, at his side, hung an unassuming longsword. It wasn’t anything particular at all, and it was not neither of his primary tools of battle at all. Yet, if he had to use a weapon at close combat, at least he could count on it to spare himself from any potential incidents.
As per his traditional make as a soldier, the colossal officer appeared before the palatial estate of the Thanasi at precisely the end of the current hour, which was neither too soon nor too late for him to make his acquaintance with Lord Dionysios. This had not been the first time he had ventured inside the den of the Snakes, but it was still a remarkably impressive building. Of course, he wasn’t going to waste time staring at statues or interior architecture. With a confident stride to his step, Damocles presented himself to the guardsmen of the archontiko, clarifying his purpose for the day in brief before being escorted to the Lord’s study. As he made his walk across the stony manse, the silver eyes of the militant noticed the rushed steps of an odd girl, dashing across the marbled floors with her hands clenched tight and close to her chest, as if she had been holding on to something particularly interesting between her fingers. Perhaps, she was tending to some business, or was to similarly deliver something to another aristocrat. Frankly, he did not care, nor did he want to waste time thinking on such small trivialities. He had more important people to intrigue about.
Unexpectedly, the meeting with Lord Dionysios had been a relatively quick and smooth event. The famous Lord of the Thanasi had not raised his stare to meet the Magnemean’s own grey eyes, for he was deep in thought and could not be bothered to care for such affairs. Damocles couldn’t really say he had thought that it would have been anything too unlike this brief encounter. He kept his words brief, but respectful, and left as soon as he had finished his affairs with the senior royal. With a fitting courtesy bow, the Captain of the Damned acknowledged the end of the brief encounter and was away from his presence just as soon as he had come. Once finished, he turned his back and moved languidly away, following his strides to the first floor of the estate.
Yet, as he made his way down to the lower levels of the mansion, Damocles’s silver eyes noticed a voice ring out. Curious to see if his suspicions were right, the militant traced the origins of the sound to none other than Mihail of Thanasi, the youth whom he had interacted with about a month ago before. It seemed that a slave had been at the receiving end of the lordling’s rage, a sight that did not surprise the militant at all. Nevertheless, he picked-upped on the mention of an object of worth that seemed to be precious to the dark-haired youth. It was then that Herculean man traced the thought of the rushed servant to the whole instance. Had this woman been the one that stole from the lordling instead of the servant he chastised? Well, it was simply a connection that Damocles could not resist inquiring about. Thus, though he knew his appearance was anything but ignorable, he turned around before he figured the Thanasi youth saw him in detail, and marched to the front guards of the estate. As he had predicted, the woman had been stopped on her tracks by the soldiers of the household, blocking her exit with crossed spears. Spotting an opportunity here and there, Damocles channeled his commanding presence and addressed the two guards.
“I’ll take care of this woman, my friends. I believe Lord Mihail has an interest in her.” he expressed, delighting in the prospect that his words had resulted in the two guards doing exactly as he said, throwing the woman to Damocles’s grasp. With a forceful pull of his hand on her locks, the militant dragged the woman across the house, snarling and thrashing frantically as she desperately tried to leave, until it was too late. In time, her hands loosened their grip and the ring fell to the ground. A devious smirk fastened across the heavily armored soldier’s handsome features, reflecting with delight that he had made the right assumption that the woman had indeed stolen from the Thanasi.
Once he returned to the general area of the lordling, the Magnemean noticed that the youth had already made short work of the servant he had been chastising. The sight of the now-lifeless woman did not particularly disturb the silver-eyed man, nor did the screamed protests that escaped his capture rattle him much. “Greetings Lord Mihail” began Damocles as he bowed his head in common courtesy before throwing the girl to the lordling’s feet. “I believe this is yours.” He continued, revealing the viper-shaped ring that had been clenched by the woman once, but had now fallen to Damocles’s temporary possession. “It seems as though this one sneaked about and took it for herself, intending for another to take the fall for her.” He summarized in his head after applying a bit of logic to the situation before him before he walked to the shorter male and returned the decorative jewelry piece back to its owner. “Shall I claim her head with my sword to make her suffer for her insolence?”
Surprisingly, there weren’t that many administrative matters that truly bothered Damocles right down to his core. For the most part, he had a natural inclination towards management and the finer points of supervision. He supposed perhaps the Gods had given him a set of skills uniquely forged for matters organizational. The silver-eyed man thought himself a natural-born leader, someone who was tenacious, ambitious, analytical and efficient. He resented those that justified their so-called superiority based only on the prospecting circumstances of their birth, and had very little tolerance for the mediocrity that often accompanied those of the aristocracy. For those that only spoke and talked without having raised themselves to a respectable position of rank and distinction solely by the pull of their own weight, Damocles would not spare much for thought. He supposed some would say he had accomplished much in his life, that he had become a self-made man all on his own, and for the most part he would not deny this.
Which is why the mission he had been given today was just absurdly beneath him.
Why, out of all the people in his entire entourage had his Baron seen fit to have him function as messenger? Why had his multiple, great talents been relegated to such a demeaning and quite frankly dismissible levels of mummery? Surely, that old man had to recognize that even if he worked for him, in the most nominal way possible, Damocles still had more important things to do than to rely written missives from him to another. It was such an infuriating instruction, one that he would have been more than happy to delegate to one of his own soldiers, or perhaps even an experienced runner who could go back and forth at a much more accustomed pace. He just simply could not believe that his time had been wasted on such a damnably mundane affair! Alas, even if it had been an infuriating experience, even he had to admit there was a certain level of profit that could be gained from the whole thing. After all, he was to deliver the missive to none other than Lord Dionysios of Thanasi himself.
Though Damocles had not experienced many interactions with the aristocratic man, even he was aware of the old snake’s reputation amongst the Royal Court. Yes, he was of an advanced age, but that was nothing to scoff at in and off itself. As far as he could trace back the stories and rumors, the patriarch of that Dynasteia had only been a nobleman once many winters ago, and with nothing but a baronial title and the powers of ambition and shrewdness had elevated his family to be one of the most affluent and influential bloodlines in Colchis, a particularly surprising feat, considering that, as far as he could tell, the elderly statesman had not been of a military inclination in his long life. To say that the public knowledge surrounding the man’s life had been an interesting compilation would have been an understanding to say the least. His was one of the few amongst the kingdom’s nobles that he could admit to harboring a modicum of respect for, even if there had been whispers of insanity surrounding the great politician as of late.
Now, the Herculean man had no idea what exactly it was that his Baron had written to the Lord Thanasi, but if he had to make an educated guess, then perhaps he would wager that it was something concerning trade and economics. As far as he could tell, Aristocles had always been more concerned over the weight of his pockets than matters of Court of Senate. Perhaps, it had been a deal concerning Arcanaes or Nethisa. At least, those were the provinces he could most logically ascertain to being of most relevance to the Lord of Magnemea, given the industrial might of the first and the close border with the second. A part of him wished to pry and see, to read and gain the information for himself. He was aware of methods one could employ to pry the seal open without cracking it first, but that would have required far more time than he had been expected to take to rely the missive in the first place. He supposed he could just whisper his words around the Lord of Magnemea’s ears once more and gain insight through him directly, but there was a time and place for that, and now was not it.
Given that this had not been a pre-arranged audience with the Lord Dionysios, Damocles had not thought it relevant to garb himself in his secondary, more decorative set of orichalcum brass armor, and instead opted for his more signature suit. A more fitting attire than the one he opted to wear in formal events, the dark, Hepatizon Bronze armor he imposingly wore was as black as nightmares, complete with a red-blood cape that fell easily across his massive size, and was crowned by a Corinthian-style plumed helmet fashioned out of the same material as his cuirass, bracers, greaves and shoulder-guards. Beneath it all, he wore a similarly dark chitoniskos tunic that clothed his figure and prevented chaffing. Finally, at his side, hung an unassuming longsword. It wasn’t anything particular at all, and it was not neither of his primary tools of battle at all. Yet, if he had to use a weapon at close combat, at least he could count on it to spare himself from any potential incidents.
As per his traditional make as a soldier, the colossal officer appeared before the palatial estate of the Thanasi at precisely the end of the current hour, which was neither too soon nor too late for him to make his acquaintance with Lord Dionysios. This had not been the first time he had ventured inside the den of the Snakes, but it was still a remarkably impressive building. Of course, he wasn’t going to waste time staring at statues or interior architecture. With a confident stride to his step, Damocles presented himself to the guardsmen of the archontiko, clarifying his purpose for the day in brief before being escorted to the Lord’s study. As he made his walk across the stony manse, the silver eyes of the militant noticed the rushed steps of an odd girl, dashing across the marbled floors with her hands clenched tight and close to her chest, as if she had been holding on to something particularly interesting between her fingers. Perhaps, she was tending to some business, or was to similarly deliver something to another aristocrat. Frankly, he did not care, nor did he want to waste time thinking on such small trivialities. He had more important people to intrigue about.
Unexpectedly, the meeting with Lord Dionysios had been a relatively quick and smooth event. The famous Lord of the Thanasi had not raised his stare to meet the Magnemean’s own grey eyes, for he was deep in thought and could not be bothered to care for such affairs. Damocles couldn’t really say he had thought that it would have been anything too unlike this brief encounter. He kept his words brief, but respectful, and left as soon as he had finished his affairs with the senior royal. With a fitting courtesy bow, the Captain of the Damned acknowledged the end of the brief encounter and was away from his presence just as soon as he had come. Once finished, he turned his back and moved languidly away, following his strides to the first floor of the estate.
Yet, as he made his way down to the lower levels of the mansion, Damocles’s silver eyes noticed a voice ring out. Curious to see if his suspicions were right, the militant traced the origins of the sound to none other than Mihail of Thanasi, the youth whom he had interacted with about a month ago before. It seemed that a slave had been at the receiving end of the lordling’s rage, a sight that did not surprise the militant at all. Nevertheless, he picked-upped on the mention of an object of worth that seemed to be precious to the dark-haired youth. It was then that Herculean man traced the thought of the rushed servant to the whole instance. Had this woman been the one that stole from the lordling instead of the servant he chastised? Well, it was simply a connection that Damocles could not resist inquiring about. Thus, though he knew his appearance was anything but ignorable, he turned around before he figured the Thanasi youth saw him in detail, and marched to the front guards of the estate. As he had predicted, the woman had been stopped on her tracks by the soldiers of the household, blocking her exit with crossed spears. Spotting an opportunity here and there, Damocles channeled his commanding presence and addressed the two guards.
“I’ll take care of this woman, my friends. I believe Lord Mihail has an interest in her.” he expressed, delighting in the prospect that his words had resulted in the two guards doing exactly as he said, throwing the woman to Damocles’s grasp. With a forceful pull of his hand on her locks, the militant dragged the woman across the house, snarling and thrashing frantically as she desperately tried to leave, until it was too late. In time, her hands loosened their grip and the ring fell to the ground. A devious smirk fastened across the heavily armored soldier’s handsome features, reflecting with delight that he had made the right assumption that the woman had indeed stolen from the Thanasi.
Once he returned to the general area of the lordling, the Magnemean noticed that the youth had already made short work of the servant he had been chastising. The sight of the now-lifeless woman did not particularly disturb the silver-eyed man, nor did the screamed protests that escaped his capture rattle him much. “Greetings Lord Mihail” began Damocles as he bowed his head in common courtesy before throwing the girl to the lordling’s feet. “I believe this is yours.” He continued, revealing the viper-shaped ring that had been clenched by the woman once, but had now fallen to Damocles’s temporary possession. “It seems as though this one sneaked about and took it for herself, intending for another to take the fall for her.” He summarized in his head after applying a bit of logic to the situation before him before he walked to the shorter male and returned the decorative jewelry piece back to its owner. “Shall I claim her head with my sword to make her suffer for her insolence?”
Shooting the woman had been both easy and entertaining, but it was not particularly conducive to Mihail's cause. Dead, she was unable to give him the information he needed, which was a shame, because he did adore the viper ring in question. It was cut to an absurd level of realism, so that it genuinely resembled a minuscule silver snake curling its way along his middle finger, and matched the thin cuffs he sometimes slipped around his wrists. To lose it would have been a greater shame than the death of some incompetent servant (the ring, at least, was worth several times what she had been).
His arrow had slipped neatly into her chest, the angle correctly calculated so that it would directly hit her heart, the blood already begin to seep out as she fell to the ground. Setting his equipment down, Mihail approached tentatively, careful to avoid stepping in the sticky fluid so that his sandals would not be covered in the mess of her blood - he could not abide uncleanliness - and bent down to examine the body. There was no ring. He frowned, one hand reaching to pull apart her lips in case she had attempted to swallow it in her escape, the other reaching for the spear-point dagger he always kept at hand, lest he needed to slice open the carcass in this investigation. It was not quite what he had had in mind for the day's activities, but, then again, he had not made any plans past the practice of the sport, so it was hardly out of his way.
There was nothing trapped in her mouth either, and he had resolved to slice down the length of her throat to see if his ring had caught there when there was a shout from back towards the house, and his dark eyes naturally lifted to the sight of that rugged soldier he had met not long ago dragging forth another of the household servants. Mihail straightened himself once more at the sound of the man's greeting, gaze barely flickering to the girl thrown at his feet for the time being.
"Captain Damocles," he replied, as if the man had not walked in on him surrounded by such a damning scene. It was unlikely he would say anything to condemn the young lord, for though Mihail did not intend to trust him, he could not deny that the man did, at least, appear to possess a certain degree of intelligence. Besides, nobody would be so stupid as to convict a Thanasi over something so mundane." I do not typically care to be interrupted in my practice. However..." The lord glanced down at the ring clutched in the older man's hand, and his expression changed to one of genuine delight at the sight of his missing jewellery. Hm. Perhaps the other woman had not been lying after all—a shame. "I do appreciate your assistance in locating the perpetrator."
He stretched out his left hand, fingers extended so that Damocles could slide the ring back onto its designated position, then dropped the hand back to rest on his waist as he eyed the pair before him. Now that the accessory had been returned to its rightful place, there was only one matter left to handle, and the man finally allowed his gaze to fall upon the slave tossed before him. She was an unremarkable sort, but he recognised her from countless past requests for wine, surmising that she must have used his demand for the sweet drink to gain access to the ring in the first place. Mihail raised a hand to silence Damocles's offer of execution, spinning his dark dagger in his grip as he crouched to face the kneeling girl more easily. "I can handle this myself."
The Thanasi ran his tongue over his lip as he considered his intentions, eyes fixed on the girl's as she quivered in place, now clearly regretting the crime she would have gotten away with if not for the well-placed guards at the home's entrance. A delicately manicured hand reached to wrap around her throat, fingers squeezing tightly enough that red marks were already beginning to form, and nails digging mercilessly into her pale skin. His gaze did not leave hers, nor did his brow unfurrow, though his lips had begun to curve upwards in passive enjoyment of her bulge-eyed panic, grip tightening with every laboured breath. "We own you. We house you and feed you, and yet you see fit to steal from a Thanasi and attempt to run? You see fit to steal from me?" He raised his blade to press its tip into the soft skin of her cheek, the obsidian sharp enough that it cut into her with barely any additional pressure, and she let out an awkward whimper. "You will never betray me again. Is that understood?"
Her response was less of an agreement and more of an awkward squeak of deference, but it was enough for Mihail to withdraw his hold on her. She scrambled to stand amid her heavy breaths, as if thinking she was escaping with nothing more than a reprimand and a thin - likely permanent - slit carved into her face, but he pushed her back into place, not yet finished. "The dead are incapable of betraying others, anyhow."
It was a quick slice. The girl could have tried to run and evade the length of his blade as it cut across her throat but, instead, she only fell forward, one hand catching on the ground before her as the other raised to where the blood already spluttered unforgivingly from her throat. It did not matter how hard she tried, for the damage had been done, and she was now left bursting for air as blood flowed through the hole in her trachea and filled her lungs. It was a slow and cruel death, but it was more than satisfactory to Mihail.
The dark-haired lord had paid Damocles little attention throughout the ordeal, but now he raised his head once more, tilting it to one side with a somewhat more innocent smile than was deserved gracing his features as he faced the soldier, tongue flicking out to lick the excess ichor off his blade. He did not care that the man had just witnessed the slave's death, although witnesses might generally have been a concern, for he himself had offered to end her life only moments before he had acted, and there was little which could be done on Thanasi property anyhow. The guards were more than used to the small miscarriages of justice that could befall the more incompetent members of staff on any given day. "Call some of the guards to have this cleaned up, if you do wish to aid me further. I do not care for mess where I practise," he requested of the man, as if it were his responsibility, strutting over to the first body to tug the barbed arrow from the woman's chest.
"She ruined my chiton," he announced nonchalantly as the matter was handled, as if this was the greatest of the morning's concerns, dropping his dagger and the stray arrow on the table by the collection of elegant rings and selecting a smaller jug of fresh water that had been set beside the wine, as if he might choose to drink that instead. "Net would gawk at the cost of the embroidery - it was certainly worth more than that girl - and now it has been ruined by some pathetic thief." Mihail sighed and poured the clear liquid over his hands as he spoke, washing away any of the blood which might have remained. "Still, at least I have my favoured ring returned to me, and I have had a lovely morning. I do wish I could have played with her a little longer, but punishment must be swift." He offered one of the guards a cursory glance, momentarily off-topic. "Do pass on the instruction that I would adore a heated bath after all this drama, perhaps something with roses? I am awfully exhausted."
Once the contents of the jug had been depleted and he was suitably satisfied with the state of his hands, Mihail poured a goblet full of wine, an eyebrow raised at his military companion as he took a long sip. "Now, what brings you to my home? Surely you did not visit solely to aid me in handling this heinous crime, nor to watch me shoot."
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Shooting the woman had been both easy and entertaining, but it was not particularly conducive to Mihail's cause. Dead, she was unable to give him the information he needed, which was a shame, because he did adore the viper ring in question. It was cut to an absurd level of realism, so that it genuinely resembled a minuscule silver snake curling its way along his middle finger, and matched the thin cuffs he sometimes slipped around his wrists. To lose it would have been a greater shame than the death of some incompetent servant (the ring, at least, was worth several times what she had been).
His arrow had slipped neatly into her chest, the angle correctly calculated so that it would directly hit her heart, the blood already begin to seep out as she fell to the ground. Setting his equipment down, Mihail approached tentatively, careful to avoid stepping in the sticky fluid so that his sandals would not be covered in the mess of her blood - he could not abide uncleanliness - and bent down to examine the body. There was no ring. He frowned, one hand reaching to pull apart her lips in case she had attempted to swallow it in her escape, the other reaching for the spear-point dagger he always kept at hand, lest he needed to slice open the carcass in this investigation. It was not quite what he had had in mind for the day's activities, but, then again, he had not made any plans past the practice of the sport, so it was hardly out of his way.
There was nothing trapped in her mouth either, and he had resolved to slice down the length of her throat to see if his ring had caught there when there was a shout from back towards the house, and his dark eyes naturally lifted to the sight of that rugged soldier he had met not long ago dragging forth another of the household servants. Mihail straightened himself once more at the sound of the man's greeting, gaze barely flickering to the girl thrown at his feet for the time being.
"Captain Damocles," he replied, as if the man had not walked in on him surrounded by such a damning scene. It was unlikely he would say anything to condemn the young lord, for though Mihail did not intend to trust him, he could not deny that the man did, at least, appear to possess a certain degree of intelligence. Besides, nobody would be so stupid as to convict a Thanasi over something so mundane." I do not typically care to be interrupted in my practice. However..." The lord glanced down at the ring clutched in the older man's hand, and his expression changed to one of genuine delight at the sight of his missing jewellery. Hm. Perhaps the other woman had not been lying after all—a shame. "I do appreciate your assistance in locating the perpetrator."
He stretched out his left hand, fingers extended so that Damocles could slide the ring back onto its designated position, then dropped the hand back to rest on his waist as he eyed the pair before him. Now that the accessory had been returned to its rightful place, there was only one matter left to handle, and the man finally allowed his gaze to fall upon the slave tossed before him. She was an unremarkable sort, but he recognised her from countless past requests for wine, surmising that she must have used his demand for the sweet drink to gain access to the ring in the first place. Mihail raised a hand to silence Damocles's offer of execution, spinning his dark dagger in his grip as he crouched to face the kneeling girl more easily. "I can handle this myself."
The Thanasi ran his tongue over his lip as he considered his intentions, eyes fixed on the girl's as she quivered in place, now clearly regretting the crime she would have gotten away with if not for the well-placed guards at the home's entrance. A delicately manicured hand reached to wrap around her throat, fingers squeezing tightly enough that red marks were already beginning to form, and nails digging mercilessly into her pale skin. His gaze did not leave hers, nor did his brow unfurrow, though his lips had begun to curve upwards in passive enjoyment of her bulge-eyed panic, grip tightening with every laboured breath. "We own you. We house you and feed you, and yet you see fit to steal from a Thanasi and attempt to run? You see fit to steal from me?" He raised his blade to press its tip into the soft skin of her cheek, the obsidian sharp enough that it cut into her with barely any additional pressure, and she let out an awkward whimper. "You will never betray me again. Is that understood?"
Her response was less of an agreement and more of an awkward squeak of deference, but it was enough for Mihail to withdraw his hold on her. She scrambled to stand amid her heavy breaths, as if thinking she was escaping with nothing more than a reprimand and a thin - likely permanent - slit carved into her face, but he pushed her back into place, not yet finished. "The dead are incapable of betraying others, anyhow."
It was a quick slice. The girl could have tried to run and evade the length of his blade as it cut across her throat but, instead, she only fell forward, one hand catching on the ground before her as the other raised to where the blood already spluttered unforgivingly from her throat. It did not matter how hard she tried, for the damage had been done, and she was now left bursting for air as blood flowed through the hole in her trachea and filled her lungs. It was a slow and cruel death, but it was more than satisfactory to Mihail.
The dark-haired lord had paid Damocles little attention throughout the ordeal, but now he raised his head once more, tilting it to one side with a somewhat more innocent smile than was deserved gracing his features as he faced the soldier, tongue flicking out to lick the excess ichor off his blade. He did not care that the man had just witnessed the slave's death, although witnesses might generally have been a concern, for he himself had offered to end her life only moments before he had acted, and there was little which could be done on Thanasi property anyhow. The guards were more than used to the small miscarriages of justice that could befall the more incompetent members of staff on any given day. "Call some of the guards to have this cleaned up, if you do wish to aid me further. I do not care for mess where I practise," he requested of the man, as if it were his responsibility, strutting over to the first body to tug the barbed arrow from the woman's chest.
"She ruined my chiton," he announced nonchalantly as the matter was handled, as if this was the greatest of the morning's concerns, dropping his dagger and the stray arrow on the table by the collection of elegant rings and selecting a smaller jug of fresh water that had been set beside the wine, as if he might choose to drink that instead. "Net would gawk at the cost of the embroidery - it was certainly worth more than that girl - and now it has been ruined by some pathetic thief." Mihail sighed and poured the clear liquid over his hands as he spoke, washing away any of the blood which might have remained. "Still, at least I have my favoured ring returned to me, and I have had a lovely morning. I do wish I could have played with her a little longer, but punishment must be swift." He offered one of the guards a cursory glance, momentarily off-topic. "Do pass on the instruction that I would adore a heated bath after all this drama, perhaps something with roses? I am awfully exhausted."
Once the contents of the jug had been depleted and he was suitably satisfied with the state of his hands, Mihail poured a goblet full of wine, an eyebrow raised at his military companion as he took a long sip. "Now, what brings you to my home? Surely you did not visit solely to aid me in handling this heinous crime, nor to watch me shoot."
Shooting the woman had been both easy and entertaining, but it was not particularly conducive to Mihail's cause. Dead, she was unable to give him the information he needed, which was a shame, because he did adore the viper ring in question. It was cut to an absurd level of realism, so that it genuinely resembled a minuscule silver snake curling its way along his middle finger, and matched the thin cuffs he sometimes slipped around his wrists. To lose it would have been a greater shame than the death of some incompetent servant (the ring, at least, was worth several times what she had been).
His arrow had slipped neatly into her chest, the angle correctly calculated so that it would directly hit her heart, the blood already begin to seep out as she fell to the ground. Setting his equipment down, Mihail approached tentatively, careful to avoid stepping in the sticky fluid so that his sandals would not be covered in the mess of her blood - he could not abide uncleanliness - and bent down to examine the body. There was no ring. He frowned, one hand reaching to pull apart her lips in case she had attempted to swallow it in her escape, the other reaching for the spear-point dagger he always kept at hand, lest he needed to slice open the carcass in this investigation. It was not quite what he had had in mind for the day's activities, but, then again, he had not made any plans past the practice of the sport, so it was hardly out of his way.
There was nothing trapped in her mouth either, and he had resolved to slice down the length of her throat to see if his ring had caught there when there was a shout from back towards the house, and his dark eyes naturally lifted to the sight of that rugged soldier he had met not long ago dragging forth another of the household servants. Mihail straightened himself once more at the sound of the man's greeting, gaze barely flickering to the girl thrown at his feet for the time being.
"Captain Damocles," he replied, as if the man had not walked in on him surrounded by such a damning scene. It was unlikely he would say anything to condemn the young lord, for though Mihail did not intend to trust him, he could not deny that the man did, at least, appear to possess a certain degree of intelligence. Besides, nobody would be so stupid as to convict a Thanasi over something so mundane." I do not typically care to be interrupted in my practice. However..." The lord glanced down at the ring clutched in the older man's hand, and his expression changed to one of genuine delight at the sight of his missing jewellery. Hm. Perhaps the other woman had not been lying after all—a shame. "I do appreciate your assistance in locating the perpetrator."
He stretched out his left hand, fingers extended so that Damocles could slide the ring back onto its designated position, then dropped the hand back to rest on his waist as he eyed the pair before him. Now that the accessory had been returned to its rightful place, there was only one matter left to handle, and the man finally allowed his gaze to fall upon the slave tossed before him. She was an unremarkable sort, but he recognised her from countless past requests for wine, surmising that she must have used his demand for the sweet drink to gain access to the ring in the first place. Mihail raised a hand to silence Damocles's offer of execution, spinning his dark dagger in his grip as he crouched to face the kneeling girl more easily. "I can handle this myself."
The Thanasi ran his tongue over his lip as he considered his intentions, eyes fixed on the girl's as she quivered in place, now clearly regretting the crime she would have gotten away with if not for the well-placed guards at the home's entrance. A delicately manicured hand reached to wrap around her throat, fingers squeezing tightly enough that red marks were already beginning to form, and nails digging mercilessly into her pale skin. His gaze did not leave hers, nor did his brow unfurrow, though his lips had begun to curve upwards in passive enjoyment of her bulge-eyed panic, grip tightening with every laboured breath. "We own you. We house you and feed you, and yet you see fit to steal from a Thanasi and attempt to run? You see fit to steal from me?" He raised his blade to press its tip into the soft skin of her cheek, the obsidian sharp enough that it cut into her with barely any additional pressure, and she let out an awkward whimper. "You will never betray me again. Is that understood?"
Her response was less of an agreement and more of an awkward squeak of deference, but it was enough for Mihail to withdraw his hold on her. She scrambled to stand amid her heavy breaths, as if thinking she was escaping with nothing more than a reprimand and a thin - likely permanent - slit carved into her face, but he pushed her back into place, not yet finished. "The dead are incapable of betraying others, anyhow."
It was a quick slice. The girl could have tried to run and evade the length of his blade as it cut across her throat but, instead, she only fell forward, one hand catching on the ground before her as the other raised to where the blood already spluttered unforgivingly from her throat. It did not matter how hard she tried, for the damage had been done, and she was now left bursting for air as blood flowed through the hole in her trachea and filled her lungs. It was a slow and cruel death, but it was more than satisfactory to Mihail.
The dark-haired lord had paid Damocles little attention throughout the ordeal, but now he raised his head once more, tilting it to one side with a somewhat more innocent smile than was deserved gracing his features as he faced the soldier, tongue flicking out to lick the excess ichor off his blade. He did not care that the man had just witnessed the slave's death, although witnesses might generally have been a concern, for he himself had offered to end her life only moments before he had acted, and there was little which could be done on Thanasi property anyhow. The guards were more than used to the small miscarriages of justice that could befall the more incompetent members of staff on any given day. "Call some of the guards to have this cleaned up, if you do wish to aid me further. I do not care for mess where I practise," he requested of the man, as if it were his responsibility, strutting over to the first body to tug the barbed arrow from the woman's chest.
"She ruined my chiton," he announced nonchalantly as the matter was handled, as if this was the greatest of the morning's concerns, dropping his dagger and the stray arrow on the table by the collection of elegant rings and selecting a smaller jug of fresh water that had been set beside the wine, as if he might choose to drink that instead. "Net would gawk at the cost of the embroidery - it was certainly worth more than that girl - and now it has been ruined by some pathetic thief." Mihail sighed and poured the clear liquid over his hands as he spoke, washing away any of the blood which might have remained. "Still, at least I have my favoured ring returned to me, and I have had a lovely morning. I do wish I could have played with her a little longer, but punishment must be swift." He offered one of the guards a cursory glance, momentarily off-topic. "Do pass on the instruction that I would adore a heated bath after all this drama, perhaps something with roses? I am awfully exhausted."
Once the contents of the jug had been depleted and he was suitably satisfied with the state of his hands, Mihail poured a goblet full of wine, an eyebrow raised at his military companion as he took a long sip. "Now, what brings you to my home? Surely you did not visit solely to aid me in handling this heinous crime, nor to watch me shoot."
It was rare for Damocles to be much moved by the sight of blood and violence. He had been educated to war and battle after all, and had made peace with the easy strides of death, called forth by emptied, hollowed bodies before. It wasn’t a sight that particularly disturbed him, nor did he feel a sense of fraternal sympathy for the girl that had thought herself willy enough to try and make do with an token possession of one of the Thanasi. If anything, he saw her as worthy of death, for if by greed or ambition one had been spurred to action and conduct an act against one’s masters, but done so without the proper considerations, precautions or foresighted calculations, then one truly was but a fool, deserving only death and the quick reprieve of a felled, quick sentence brought down by a singular blade against the press of skin.
At the same time however, he was not going to pretend to particularly care for the outlandish petulance of Mihail over what was essentially just another piece of jewelry, easily replaced and by a cleaver exchange of coin and bantered words. Personally, Damocles had never really had much thought for embroidery, fashion or the concept of banal luxury himself. Wealth, after all, was the opulent palace that looked pretty and offered grandeur, but started to come undone by the fast unravel of but ten measly years. In contrast, power was the old stone building that weathered the fall of kingdoms and empires, and stands for a thousand years before the first signs of wear and tear show. Any person who could not understand that fundamental difference neither deserved his respect or admiration.
Alas, such blatant opinions, if shared, would be neither here nor there. As farsighted and ambitious as he was, Damocles knew that, in the eyes of the aristocracy, he was still merely a captain. He was well-aware that his thoughts and opinions would not be taken into careful consideration unless propelled by an act of extraordinary providence. Of course, one could not solely count on the divine and mystic to provide for oneself. For those select few that put stock in self-growth and individual prosperity above petty titles or minor displays of affluence, there might never come such moments of anointed glory, and so it was to fall unto the right and proper course to create such extraordinary circumstances by whatever means the willing and able are willing to go in the pursuit of magnificence.
Thus, after sliding the ring in the other’s long finger, Damocles took a step back and crossed his arms over his chest. He remained calmed and collected, with his features nonchalant and his stoic disposition unmoved and restrained. Indeed, rather than helping the girl and her sealed fate, he chose to focus his attentions on the Thanasi boy, studying his words, his reactions and the shift of his tone at the coming moment. “As you wish, Lord Mihail.” Acknowledged Damocles as he accepted his rejection for disposing of the girl. Rather than being annoyed or angered by the other’s denial, Damocles maintained his studious composure. It was not often that a noble outside of a baron or head or house took direct action when it came to justice and its delivery, but then again, the silvered-eyed militant assumed that was due to some inherently sadistic desire to inflict pain and punishment by their own hand.
Though he was not of a bloodthirsty disposition himself, Damocles did at least recognize the importance of carrying out one’s most personal affairs by their own deft self. To trust another in the delegation of tasks most important was a foolish action after all, equally unwise as stealing from one’s superiors without thinking things through. Thus, even if he disagreed with the unnecessary bloodshed that came about as a result of the Thanasi’s execution of justice, he could at least respect him for being brave enough to at least carry out the sentence himself. Had he been the judge in this trial he would have been done with it with haste and beheaded the girl with a single swing of a sharpened, heavy sword. There were other matters that required his attention after all, and distractions to one’s work oftentimes lead to poor performances in matters private and public.
Nevertheless, he had to admit, that even if it had been an unnecessarily prolonged and dragged-on execution, there was a certain flair to the whole thing. Revenge was a dish best served cold after all, and even if he wasn’t a particularly gory man himself, Damocles acknowledged that killing was an art, one that required a certain elegance and poise that separated a murderer from the assassin. The murderer was maddened, frenzied and disheveled, feigning artistry and efficiency for an uninspiring performance. The assassins however was precise, aloof and unemotional, relishing in the act of killing without remorse or hesitation. In his experience, it was obvious to ascertain the difference in subtle things such as bladework. The kills of a murderer were patchy, haggard and clumsy, denoting inexperience and a quintessential lack of resolve, motivated primarily by instinct and not calculation. The assassins nevertheless was neat and organized, with a precise delivery of strike that was neither unplanned or miscalculated. And in that moment, he recognized the cleanness of Mihail’s bladework, showing mastery and exposure to the art of killing that not many possessed.
Without giving an answer but a mere nod of his head, Damocles fetched the household’s guard, personally presenting them with the instructions necessary to clean and dispose of the body so as to not raise any suspicious eyebrows at all. He himself however did not particulate in the task, and instead turned his eyes towards Mihail, though his steely gaze did not linger too far from the guardsmen. In that moment, he heard the other man lament the state of affairs of his clothing, once more causing the militant to non-physically roll his eyes at the words, though his face did not convey his inner objections. Rather, he conceived of a more useful list of words to use so as to make advantage of this experience.
“Lord Mihail, if you would like, I could purchase a replacement slave from the myriad that are arriving at Magnemea in a few days. I would need coin for this transaction, but it could be done relatively quickly.” Explained Damocles as he joined the other man before glaring at a soldier that did a sloppy work and missed a spot, prompting the militant to instruct him to finish his job as was told. “She was rather fetching, I will admit.” Said the militant trying to strike up a conversation with the Thanasi, before he chose to use his words to fit the other’s perceived thoughts. “But yes, I do agree. When it comes to justice one must not delay.” He matched lowering his head with a single bow as he heard the other’s instructions and did as told, prompting the staff to draw up the bath for the youth, doing so as if he had been a Thanasi militant instead of a Drakos captain. His voice rung with authority and intensity, making the staffers rush faster than they seemed to usually do so.
Finally however, after returning to the other’s side, the matter of his arrival was breached, causing Damocles to shrug his shoulders and once more return to his dispassionate, but still affable demeanor. “Not all all. Rest easy Lord Mihail for I came here first and foremost on official business. Princess Tythra wished for me to personally deliver a missive to your father, Lord Dionysios. As to the content of the letter, I know naught, I promise. Though, if I had to guess, it was most likely business with the Senate over Nethisa. I must admit however that I stayed my welcome after seeing your archery. It was quite impressive and caught my attention as a soldier.” Answered Damocles as he added a cleaver final shift of words so as to turn the discussion right back to the Thanasi youth. He had been mostly honest in his reply, seeing as he did come to the manor on official Drakos business and had seen some interest in the other’s potential. “Do you enjoy archery, my Lord?”
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It was rare for Damocles to be much moved by the sight of blood and violence. He had been educated to war and battle after all, and had made peace with the easy strides of death, called forth by emptied, hollowed bodies before. It wasn’t a sight that particularly disturbed him, nor did he feel a sense of fraternal sympathy for the girl that had thought herself willy enough to try and make do with an token possession of one of the Thanasi. If anything, he saw her as worthy of death, for if by greed or ambition one had been spurred to action and conduct an act against one’s masters, but done so without the proper considerations, precautions or foresighted calculations, then one truly was but a fool, deserving only death and the quick reprieve of a felled, quick sentence brought down by a singular blade against the press of skin.
At the same time however, he was not going to pretend to particularly care for the outlandish petulance of Mihail over what was essentially just another piece of jewelry, easily replaced and by a cleaver exchange of coin and bantered words. Personally, Damocles had never really had much thought for embroidery, fashion or the concept of banal luxury himself. Wealth, after all, was the opulent palace that looked pretty and offered grandeur, but started to come undone by the fast unravel of but ten measly years. In contrast, power was the old stone building that weathered the fall of kingdoms and empires, and stands for a thousand years before the first signs of wear and tear show. Any person who could not understand that fundamental difference neither deserved his respect or admiration.
Alas, such blatant opinions, if shared, would be neither here nor there. As farsighted and ambitious as he was, Damocles knew that, in the eyes of the aristocracy, he was still merely a captain. He was well-aware that his thoughts and opinions would not be taken into careful consideration unless propelled by an act of extraordinary providence. Of course, one could not solely count on the divine and mystic to provide for oneself. For those select few that put stock in self-growth and individual prosperity above petty titles or minor displays of affluence, there might never come such moments of anointed glory, and so it was to fall unto the right and proper course to create such extraordinary circumstances by whatever means the willing and able are willing to go in the pursuit of magnificence.
Thus, after sliding the ring in the other’s long finger, Damocles took a step back and crossed his arms over his chest. He remained calmed and collected, with his features nonchalant and his stoic disposition unmoved and restrained. Indeed, rather than helping the girl and her sealed fate, he chose to focus his attentions on the Thanasi boy, studying his words, his reactions and the shift of his tone at the coming moment. “As you wish, Lord Mihail.” Acknowledged Damocles as he accepted his rejection for disposing of the girl. Rather than being annoyed or angered by the other’s denial, Damocles maintained his studious composure. It was not often that a noble outside of a baron or head or house took direct action when it came to justice and its delivery, but then again, the silvered-eyed militant assumed that was due to some inherently sadistic desire to inflict pain and punishment by their own hand.
Though he was not of a bloodthirsty disposition himself, Damocles did at least recognize the importance of carrying out one’s most personal affairs by their own deft self. To trust another in the delegation of tasks most important was a foolish action after all, equally unwise as stealing from one’s superiors without thinking things through. Thus, even if he disagreed with the unnecessary bloodshed that came about as a result of the Thanasi’s execution of justice, he could at least respect him for being brave enough to at least carry out the sentence himself. Had he been the judge in this trial he would have been done with it with haste and beheaded the girl with a single swing of a sharpened, heavy sword. There were other matters that required his attention after all, and distractions to one’s work oftentimes lead to poor performances in matters private and public.
Nevertheless, he had to admit, that even if it had been an unnecessarily prolonged and dragged-on execution, there was a certain flair to the whole thing. Revenge was a dish best served cold after all, and even if he wasn’t a particularly gory man himself, Damocles acknowledged that killing was an art, one that required a certain elegance and poise that separated a murderer from the assassin. The murderer was maddened, frenzied and disheveled, feigning artistry and efficiency for an uninspiring performance. The assassins however was precise, aloof and unemotional, relishing in the act of killing without remorse or hesitation. In his experience, it was obvious to ascertain the difference in subtle things such as bladework. The kills of a murderer were patchy, haggard and clumsy, denoting inexperience and a quintessential lack of resolve, motivated primarily by instinct and not calculation. The assassins nevertheless was neat and organized, with a precise delivery of strike that was neither unplanned or miscalculated. And in that moment, he recognized the cleanness of Mihail’s bladework, showing mastery and exposure to the art of killing that not many possessed.
Without giving an answer but a mere nod of his head, Damocles fetched the household’s guard, personally presenting them with the instructions necessary to clean and dispose of the body so as to not raise any suspicious eyebrows at all. He himself however did not particulate in the task, and instead turned his eyes towards Mihail, though his steely gaze did not linger too far from the guardsmen. In that moment, he heard the other man lament the state of affairs of his clothing, once more causing the militant to non-physically roll his eyes at the words, though his face did not convey his inner objections. Rather, he conceived of a more useful list of words to use so as to make advantage of this experience.
“Lord Mihail, if you would like, I could purchase a replacement slave from the myriad that are arriving at Magnemea in a few days. I would need coin for this transaction, but it could be done relatively quickly.” Explained Damocles as he joined the other man before glaring at a soldier that did a sloppy work and missed a spot, prompting the militant to instruct him to finish his job as was told. “She was rather fetching, I will admit.” Said the militant trying to strike up a conversation with the Thanasi, before he chose to use his words to fit the other’s perceived thoughts. “But yes, I do agree. When it comes to justice one must not delay.” He matched lowering his head with a single bow as he heard the other’s instructions and did as told, prompting the staff to draw up the bath for the youth, doing so as if he had been a Thanasi militant instead of a Drakos captain. His voice rung with authority and intensity, making the staffers rush faster than they seemed to usually do so.
Finally however, after returning to the other’s side, the matter of his arrival was breached, causing Damocles to shrug his shoulders and once more return to his dispassionate, but still affable demeanor. “Not all all. Rest easy Lord Mihail for I came here first and foremost on official business. Princess Tythra wished for me to personally deliver a missive to your father, Lord Dionysios. As to the content of the letter, I know naught, I promise. Though, if I had to guess, it was most likely business with the Senate over Nethisa. I must admit however that I stayed my welcome after seeing your archery. It was quite impressive and caught my attention as a soldier.” Answered Damocles as he added a cleaver final shift of words so as to turn the discussion right back to the Thanasi youth. He had been mostly honest in his reply, seeing as he did come to the manor on official Drakos business and had seen some interest in the other’s potential. “Do you enjoy archery, my Lord?”
It was rare for Damocles to be much moved by the sight of blood and violence. He had been educated to war and battle after all, and had made peace with the easy strides of death, called forth by emptied, hollowed bodies before. It wasn’t a sight that particularly disturbed him, nor did he feel a sense of fraternal sympathy for the girl that had thought herself willy enough to try and make do with an token possession of one of the Thanasi. If anything, he saw her as worthy of death, for if by greed or ambition one had been spurred to action and conduct an act against one’s masters, but done so without the proper considerations, precautions or foresighted calculations, then one truly was but a fool, deserving only death and the quick reprieve of a felled, quick sentence brought down by a singular blade against the press of skin.
At the same time however, he was not going to pretend to particularly care for the outlandish petulance of Mihail over what was essentially just another piece of jewelry, easily replaced and by a cleaver exchange of coin and bantered words. Personally, Damocles had never really had much thought for embroidery, fashion or the concept of banal luxury himself. Wealth, after all, was the opulent palace that looked pretty and offered grandeur, but started to come undone by the fast unravel of but ten measly years. In contrast, power was the old stone building that weathered the fall of kingdoms and empires, and stands for a thousand years before the first signs of wear and tear show. Any person who could not understand that fundamental difference neither deserved his respect or admiration.
Alas, such blatant opinions, if shared, would be neither here nor there. As farsighted and ambitious as he was, Damocles knew that, in the eyes of the aristocracy, he was still merely a captain. He was well-aware that his thoughts and opinions would not be taken into careful consideration unless propelled by an act of extraordinary providence. Of course, one could not solely count on the divine and mystic to provide for oneself. For those select few that put stock in self-growth and individual prosperity above petty titles or minor displays of affluence, there might never come such moments of anointed glory, and so it was to fall unto the right and proper course to create such extraordinary circumstances by whatever means the willing and able are willing to go in the pursuit of magnificence.
Thus, after sliding the ring in the other’s long finger, Damocles took a step back and crossed his arms over his chest. He remained calmed and collected, with his features nonchalant and his stoic disposition unmoved and restrained. Indeed, rather than helping the girl and her sealed fate, he chose to focus his attentions on the Thanasi boy, studying his words, his reactions and the shift of his tone at the coming moment. “As you wish, Lord Mihail.” Acknowledged Damocles as he accepted his rejection for disposing of the girl. Rather than being annoyed or angered by the other’s denial, Damocles maintained his studious composure. It was not often that a noble outside of a baron or head or house took direct action when it came to justice and its delivery, but then again, the silvered-eyed militant assumed that was due to some inherently sadistic desire to inflict pain and punishment by their own hand.
Though he was not of a bloodthirsty disposition himself, Damocles did at least recognize the importance of carrying out one’s most personal affairs by their own deft self. To trust another in the delegation of tasks most important was a foolish action after all, equally unwise as stealing from one’s superiors without thinking things through. Thus, even if he disagreed with the unnecessary bloodshed that came about as a result of the Thanasi’s execution of justice, he could at least respect him for being brave enough to at least carry out the sentence himself. Had he been the judge in this trial he would have been done with it with haste and beheaded the girl with a single swing of a sharpened, heavy sword. There were other matters that required his attention after all, and distractions to one’s work oftentimes lead to poor performances in matters private and public.
Nevertheless, he had to admit, that even if it had been an unnecessarily prolonged and dragged-on execution, there was a certain flair to the whole thing. Revenge was a dish best served cold after all, and even if he wasn’t a particularly gory man himself, Damocles acknowledged that killing was an art, one that required a certain elegance and poise that separated a murderer from the assassin. The murderer was maddened, frenzied and disheveled, feigning artistry and efficiency for an uninspiring performance. The assassins however was precise, aloof and unemotional, relishing in the act of killing without remorse or hesitation. In his experience, it was obvious to ascertain the difference in subtle things such as bladework. The kills of a murderer were patchy, haggard and clumsy, denoting inexperience and a quintessential lack of resolve, motivated primarily by instinct and not calculation. The assassins nevertheless was neat and organized, with a precise delivery of strike that was neither unplanned or miscalculated. And in that moment, he recognized the cleanness of Mihail’s bladework, showing mastery and exposure to the art of killing that not many possessed.
Without giving an answer but a mere nod of his head, Damocles fetched the household’s guard, personally presenting them with the instructions necessary to clean and dispose of the body so as to not raise any suspicious eyebrows at all. He himself however did not particulate in the task, and instead turned his eyes towards Mihail, though his steely gaze did not linger too far from the guardsmen. In that moment, he heard the other man lament the state of affairs of his clothing, once more causing the militant to non-physically roll his eyes at the words, though his face did not convey his inner objections. Rather, he conceived of a more useful list of words to use so as to make advantage of this experience.
“Lord Mihail, if you would like, I could purchase a replacement slave from the myriad that are arriving at Magnemea in a few days. I would need coin for this transaction, but it could be done relatively quickly.” Explained Damocles as he joined the other man before glaring at a soldier that did a sloppy work and missed a spot, prompting the militant to instruct him to finish his job as was told. “She was rather fetching, I will admit.” Said the militant trying to strike up a conversation with the Thanasi, before he chose to use his words to fit the other’s perceived thoughts. “But yes, I do agree. When it comes to justice one must not delay.” He matched lowering his head with a single bow as he heard the other’s instructions and did as told, prompting the staff to draw up the bath for the youth, doing so as if he had been a Thanasi militant instead of a Drakos captain. His voice rung with authority and intensity, making the staffers rush faster than they seemed to usually do so.
Finally however, after returning to the other’s side, the matter of his arrival was breached, causing Damocles to shrug his shoulders and once more return to his dispassionate, but still affable demeanor. “Not all all. Rest easy Lord Mihail for I came here first and foremost on official business. Princess Tythra wished for me to personally deliver a missive to your father, Lord Dionysios. As to the content of the letter, I know naught, I promise. Though, if I had to guess, it was most likely business with the Senate over Nethisa. I must admit however that I stayed my welcome after seeing your archery. It was quite impressive and caught my attention as a soldier.” Answered Damocles as he added a cleaver final shift of words so as to turn the discussion right back to the Thanasi youth. He had been mostly honest in his reply, seeing as he did come to the manor on official Drakos business and had seen some interest in the other’s potential. “Do you enjoy archery, my Lord?”
If there was one thing which pleased Mihail, it was that Damocles, at the very least, was efficient. He did not work under the House of Thanasi, nor was he one of their vassals, but he followed the instructions that had so carelessly been thrown in his direction without question, and it was that type of obedience which satisfied, even when the lord was focussing his attention elsewhere. If only more of the staff could deign to do as well as this man did.
The suggestion of a replacement slave was not the worst, and Mihail raised an eyebrow in thought as he considered the benefits of the action. On the one hand, there were plenty of slaves in the Thanasi house, and it was implausible that the removal of the one — or two, considering the first loss of the day — would come to much notice or cause any trouble. On the other hand, he did enjoy the general prospect of the replacement, if solely because it amused him. It never hurt to have a greater amount of staff around the household.
"Was she? I did not notice," he responded in answer to the following statement regarding the girl's looks, glancing vaguely in the direction of where the body had lain a moment before, as though that might spark a decision. In truth, most of the staff's looks thoroughly passed him over unless they leaned significantly in either direction, for he tended to think he had better things to do. "Either way, it is no excuse. I should not want members of the staff to consider themselves exempt from the required consequences of their actions singularly because their appearance is more attractive than another." It was such behaviour that likely led to less-than-effective staff, which was far from what Mihail desired in their household. One did have to provide unbiased discipline, after all.
Finishing the wine goblet and returning it to the table, his hands dropped to his slim hips as they always did now almost by default, naturally frowning towards one of the servants who had drifted back to the pair of them to comment on the completion of his various tasks and nodding his head in the general direction of his military companion. "Captain Damocles requires coin for his purchase." How much a new slave of good quality would cost was a more complicated matter, since these were not the usual purchases with which the youngest of the family had ever concerned himself, but he supposed he could make an educated guess; besides, an overestimate could never hurt. "A hundred will do, I believe." That felt quite a lot more than reasonable, a thought which felt supported by the half-concerned expression that flickered across the instructed servant's face in answer to the demand, as though the wealth was his to give and he was allowed to comment. Father would be too delirious to notice the sudden loss of coin, and Nethis would likely only care until Mihail cried and explained the entire drama or hid it under some frivolous jewellery purchases (and then she would still probably care, but would not harass him to an equal degree). He saw no fault in the amount. "Do hurry in fetching it. We do not have all day to dawdle as you apparently do."
Honestly, the nerve of some of the staff in the house was astounding.
The dark-haired lord was surprised to hear that Damocles was visiting the home with news from a Drakos to his father. They were not exactly a pair of families who had ever gotten on particularly well, though if there was some discussion between them, then perhaps there would be some degree of improvement in their animosity.
"Well, do keep me informed if you discover anything else of interest on the subject." Not that Mihail much suspected Damocles would, but it was somewhat polite to ask. If the matter grew to be one which required a proper investigation, then he could manage that himself. Likely, as the man suggested, it was just the dull vestiges of some long-finished senate meeting, and hardly worth the brainpower that the Thanasi could focus on far more pressing matters.
As Damocles commented on his archery, Mihail found himself reminded of why he was standing outside in this light breeze in the first place, and returned his delicate bow to his hand. The bath could wait, and they would keep it hot for as long as he required, so there was no rush. He could stay and chat with the man as long as he desired.
'Impressive' was a word the boy enjoyed as a descriptor of his skills — it was not one he received as often as he desired — and he could not help but shift his lips upwards into a bright smile of appreciation that seemed strange on his features. He loaded an arrow into the weapon, gliding past his companion to position himself to shoot once more. "I am the finest archer in Greece." This was the truth, if his pretty silver award was to be believed, but, as though to justify the statement, he tilted the bow to one side, narrowing his eyes to face Damocles directly as he shot, making an exaggerated show of not looking at the target. Shsh-thunk. Another neat shot landing perfectly where he intended, and proving his point nicely. "I adore it."
Mihail lowered his bow once more, raising a questioning eyebrow as he ran his gaze over the captain's body once more, attempting to decide if he considered him an archer in any right. Not all of the Colchian military tended towards the more elegant sport, and he did not think the man's hulking size to be conducive towards it either. Nonetheless, he chose to ask the question out of nothing more than sheer friendliness, somewhat enjoying the company. Besides, if he could pull a little entertainment for the bath, then he would hardly complain.
"Do you shoot?" The Thanasi had an extensive collection of old bows that had fallen out of his favour over the years, and he supposed at least one of them would suit the gargantuan man. He did enjoy any chance to show off his skills further. "Perhaps a game? I prefer to practice for two hours each morning, and I have not yet had the chance I require."
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If there was one thing which pleased Mihail, it was that Damocles, at the very least, was efficient. He did not work under the House of Thanasi, nor was he one of their vassals, but he followed the instructions that had so carelessly been thrown in his direction without question, and it was that type of obedience which satisfied, even when the lord was focussing his attention elsewhere. If only more of the staff could deign to do as well as this man did.
The suggestion of a replacement slave was not the worst, and Mihail raised an eyebrow in thought as he considered the benefits of the action. On the one hand, there were plenty of slaves in the Thanasi house, and it was implausible that the removal of the one — or two, considering the first loss of the day — would come to much notice or cause any trouble. On the other hand, he did enjoy the general prospect of the replacement, if solely because it amused him. It never hurt to have a greater amount of staff around the household.
"Was she? I did not notice," he responded in answer to the following statement regarding the girl's looks, glancing vaguely in the direction of where the body had lain a moment before, as though that might spark a decision. In truth, most of the staff's looks thoroughly passed him over unless they leaned significantly in either direction, for he tended to think he had better things to do. "Either way, it is no excuse. I should not want members of the staff to consider themselves exempt from the required consequences of their actions singularly because their appearance is more attractive than another." It was such behaviour that likely led to less-than-effective staff, which was far from what Mihail desired in their household. One did have to provide unbiased discipline, after all.
Finishing the wine goblet and returning it to the table, his hands dropped to his slim hips as they always did now almost by default, naturally frowning towards one of the servants who had drifted back to the pair of them to comment on the completion of his various tasks and nodding his head in the general direction of his military companion. "Captain Damocles requires coin for his purchase." How much a new slave of good quality would cost was a more complicated matter, since these were not the usual purchases with which the youngest of the family had ever concerned himself, but he supposed he could make an educated guess; besides, an overestimate could never hurt. "A hundred will do, I believe." That felt quite a lot more than reasonable, a thought which felt supported by the half-concerned expression that flickered across the instructed servant's face in answer to the demand, as though the wealth was his to give and he was allowed to comment. Father would be too delirious to notice the sudden loss of coin, and Nethis would likely only care until Mihail cried and explained the entire drama or hid it under some frivolous jewellery purchases (and then she would still probably care, but would not harass him to an equal degree). He saw no fault in the amount. "Do hurry in fetching it. We do not have all day to dawdle as you apparently do."
Honestly, the nerve of some of the staff in the house was astounding.
The dark-haired lord was surprised to hear that Damocles was visiting the home with news from a Drakos to his father. They were not exactly a pair of families who had ever gotten on particularly well, though if there was some discussion between them, then perhaps there would be some degree of improvement in their animosity.
"Well, do keep me informed if you discover anything else of interest on the subject." Not that Mihail much suspected Damocles would, but it was somewhat polite to ask. If the matter grew to be one which required a proper investigation, then he could manage that himself. Likely, as the man suggested, it was just the dull vestiges of some long-finished senate meeting, and hardly worth the brainpower that the Thanasi could focus on far more pressing matters.
As Damocles commented on his archery, Mihail found himself reminded of why he was standing outside in this light breeze in the first place, and returned his delicate bow to his hand. The bath could wait, and they would keep it hot for as long as he required, so there was no rush. He could stay and chat with the man as long as he desired.
'Impressive' was a word the boy enjoyed as a descriptor of his skills — it was not one he received as often as he desired — and he could not help but shift his lips upwards into a bright smile of appreciation that seemed strange on his features. He loaded an arrow into the weapon, gliding past his companion to position himself to shoot once more. "I am the finest archer in Greece." This was the truth, if his pretty silver award was to be believed, but, as though to justify the statement, he tilted the bow to one side, narrowing his eyes to face Damocles directly as he shot, making an exaggerated show of not looking at the target. Shsh-thunk. Another neat shot landing perfectly where he intended, and proving his point nicely. "I adore it."
Mihail lowered his bow once more, raising a questioning eyebrow as he ran his gaze over the captain's body once more, attempting to decide if he considered him an archer in any right. Not all of the Colchian military tended towards the more elegant sport, and he did not think the man's hulking size to be conducive towards it either. Nonetheless, he chose to ask the question out of nothing more than sheer friendliness, somewhat enjoying the company. Besides, if he could pull a little entertainment for the bath, then he would hardly complain.
"Do you shoot?" The Thanasi had an extensive collection of old bows that had fallen out of his favour over the years, and he supposed at least one of them would suit the gargantuan man. He did enjoy any chance to show off his skills further. "Perhaps a game? I prefer to practice for two hours each morning, and I have not yet had the chance I require."
If there was one thing which pleased Mihail, it was that Damocles, at the very least, was efficient. He did not work under the House of Thanasi, nor was he one of their vassals, but he followed the instructions that had so carelessly been thrown in his direction without question, and it was that type of obedience which satisfied, even when the lord was focussing his attention elsewhere. If only more of the staff could deign to do as well as this man did.
The suggestion of a replacement slave was not the worst, and Mihail raised an eyebrow in thought as he considered the benefits of the action. On the one hand, there were plenty of slaves in the Thanasi house, and it was implausible that the removal of the one — or two, considering the first loss of the day — would come to much notice or cause any trouble. On the other hand, he did enjoy the general prospect of the replacement, if solely because it amused him. It never hurt to have a greater amount of staff around the household.
"Was she? I did not notice," he responded in answer to the following statement regarding the girl's looks, glancing vaguely in the direction of where the body had lain a moment before, as though that might spark a decision. In truth, most of the staff's looks thoroughly passed him over unless they leaned significantly in either direction, for he tended to think he had better things to do. "Either way, it is no excuse. I should not want members of the staff to consider themselves exempt from the required consequences of their actions singularly because their appearance is more attractive than another." It was such behaviour that likely led to less-than-effective staff, which was far from what Mihail desired in their household. One did have to provide unbiased discipline, after all.
Finishing the wine goblet and returning it to the table, his hands dropped to his slim hips as they always did now almost by default, naturally frowning towards one of the servants who had drifted back to the pair of them to comment on the completion of his various tasks and nodding his head in the general direction of his military companion. "Captain Damocles requires coin for his purchase." How much a new slave of good quality would cost was a more complicated matter, since these were not the usual purchases with which the youngest of the family had ever concerned himself, but he supposed he could make an educated guess; besides, an overestimate could never hurt. "A hundred will do, I believe." That felt quite a lot more than reasonable, a thought which felt supported by the half-concerned expression that flickered across the instructed servant's face in answer to the demand, as though the wealth was his to give and he was allowed to comment. Father would be too delirious to notice the sudden loss of coin, and Nethis would likely only care until Mihail cried and explained the entire drama or hid it under some frivolous jewellery purchases (and then she would still probably care, but would not harass him to an equal degree). He saw no fault in the amount. "Do hurry in fetching it. We do not have all day to dawdle as you apparently do."
Honestly, the nerve of some of the staff in the house was astounding.
The dark-haired lord was surprised to hear that Damocles was visiting the home with news from a Drakos to his father. They were not exactly a pair of families who had ever gotten on particularly well, though if there was some discussion between them, then perhaps there would be some degree of improvement in their animosity.
"Well, do keep me informed if you discover anything else of interest on the subject." Not that Mihail much suspected Damocles would, but it was somewhat polite to ask. If the matter grew to be one which required a proper investigation, then he could manage that himself. Likely, as the man suggested, it was just the dull vestiges of some long-finished senate meeting, and hardly worth the brainpower that the Thanasi could focus on far more pressing matters.
As Damocles commented on his archery, Mihail found himself reminded of why he was standing outside in this light breeze in the first place, and returned his delicate bow to his hand. The bath could wait, and they would keep it hot for as long as he required, so there was no rush. He could stay and chat with the man as long as he desired.
'Impressive' was a word the boy enjoyed as a descriptor of his skills — it was not one he received as often as he desired — and he could not help but shift his lips upwards into a bright smile of appreciation that seemed strange on his features. He loaded an arrow into the weapon, gliding past his companion to position himself to shoot once more. "I am the finest archer in Greece." This was the truth, if his pretty silver award was to be believed, but, as though to justify the statement, he tilted the bow to one side, narrowing his eyes to face Damocles directly as he shot, making an exaggerated show of not looking at the target. Shsh-thunk. Another neat shot landing perfectly where he intended, and proving his point nicely. "I adore it."
Mihail lowered his bow once more, raising a questioning eyebrow as he ran his gaze over the captain's body once more, attempting to decide if he considered him an archer in any right. Not all of the Colchian military tended towards the more elegant sport, and he did not think the man's hulking size to be conducive towards it either. Nonetheless, he chose to ask the question out of nothing more than sheer friendliness, somewhat enjoying the company. Besides, if he could pull a little entertainment for the bath, then he would hardly complain.
"Do you shoot?" The Thanasi had an extensive collection of old bows that had fallen out of his favour over the years, and he supposed at least one of them would suit the gargantuan man. He did enjoy any chance to show off his skills further. "Perhaps a game? I prefer to practice for two hours each morning, and I have not yet had the chance I require."
While most men would have had some semblance of shocked disposition at the sights laid bare in the confinces of the Thanasi archontiko, Damocles could not look any less unfazed. His days in Magnemea had chiseled at sensitivities and, for the most part, made him immune from the sight of blood and carnage, all of which was just another part of his job as the military leader of that dark horrible province. Slaves died all the time in his barony of service, and it was not uncommon to hear reports of missing husbands who turned up dead over infractions raised in the shoddy taverns of the vast, winding maze that was that notoriously oppressive land. His eyes remained calmed and serene, and his hands crossed over his chest, a sign of his unbothered state that betrayed his lack of care for those beneath him.
His words towards the murdered woman’s appearance were less a statement on empathy, and more a casual observation of sorts, one that he would neither remember nor fuzz over. She had been pretty, but no particular great beauty was in that girl. Besides, the fact that she had stolen from a high lord in such a bold and brazen manner only highlighted her absence of intelligence, a trait that the stalwart militant found more offsetting than any positive features he fair body offered. “It is so difficult to find good subordinates these days, wouldn’t you agree Lord Thanasi?” considered the darkly dressed warrior as he turned around from the corpse and focused his attentions elsewhere, unto the topic of procuring a replacement for the lordling, one that would work better than the spare-brained girl who had caused the other man to loosen his rage in such a manner.
Upon being given a small purse of coins that contained the means by which to procure the new little plaything for Mihail to use as he wished, Damocles extended his large hand and grasped the sack, tying it unto himself so as to keep it on his person for the time, hiding it behind the distinct scarlet cape that often came as part of his armored uniform so as to avert its presence from wandering eyes. For a moment, he considered his options in silence. Maybe he had overestimated the other man’s shrewdness in some regards. One hundred drachma was an excessive amount of money for a slave, especially when one could buy them cheap from the docks of provinces like Dolomesa, Midas and Arcanaes. In that moment he thought how easy it would have been for him to just snatch a fair-bodied miner, clean them up and haul them before the royal, while keeping the money for himself and lying about the expenses of the whole thing. It would have meant a hefty and luxurious victory in terms of monetary value.
Alas, such a plan was short-sighted and could have ended poorly. If the Thanasi lord had butchered a woman over a mere trinket, he would not entertain the idea of angering Mihail or his brood merely over a few coins. No, he was playing the long-game, one that required short-term losses in favor of future gains of far more significant value. Besides, as Damocles saw it, this could easily have been a test of sorts, one to judge the weight of the militant’s word and possible value. A less foresighted man might have thought about stealing from the Thanasi, but this was not Damocles’s game, he had other, more subtle and strategic plans in store. “Yes, this will suffice. We do not have to go over the details. It will not be necessary.” His voice maintained a confidence in it that transmitted his certainly. He knew exactly what the Thanasi wanted: a reliable servant, one that knew its place and would work efficiently and diligently for their new master. Such a business was not difficult to tend to, but…as he stared at the other man’s dark eyes, a quiet, more subtle idea popped into his head, one that perhaps would please the other man.
“I’ll be sure to return all the coin that was spared from such a transaction.” It seemed as an obvious enough statement at face value, but Damocles was planning something much more insidious than merely purchasing a slave. It was just as he had calculated before: slaves always disappeared and died in Magnemea. So, what wrong would it be if he made two vanish from thin air, without a trace, before bringing them to the lord Thanasi and returning his hundred coins, unspent? It would be as if nothing had ever even transpired, a quiet, subtle and untraceable act that was almost laughably easy to cover-up with his position of authority in that province. He could always lie to the Thanasi lord and tell him that the slave merchant had been a friend of his and owed Damocles a favor or two, thus explaining the whole thing in an entirely reasonable and logical manner that did not raise suspicions. In any case, even if the slave families raised an issue, pirates always haunted the waters of that province, so he could just blame some sea thief over the whole ordeal.
Once that topic of conversation ended, Damocles saw how Mihail tried to gain some insight into the words of the missive he had delivered, a matter that the towering man neither cared for, nor could be bothered to investigate. He saw how the other expressed some off-handed interest in the content of the letter, but, quite honestly, the silver-eyed man thought the whle thing trivial and insignificant. Perhaps the Drakos and Thanasi heads were discussing border matters between Nethisa and Magnemea, but that was about the biggest issue that Damocles could think worthwhile enough. “Will do.” He confirmed, nodding approvingly as he turned his attention towards other, more potentially interesting topics of conversation, archery.
Admittedly, Damocles was not particularly gifted with the bow and arrow, but he could recognize the other’s talent. Maybe it was a bit too early to say that he was the ‘best archer in Greece’, but he was not about to argue such pointless denomination at this hour. If the other man wanted to be known for his skill at archery, so be it. Nevertheless, the other man’s skill was undeniable, and it really wasn’t that much of a stretch to at least admit that Mihail was quite gifted with the weapon, something that had him question why he had chosen the knife over the arrow when he killed the last slave girl moments ago. “I fear I am more a man of the spear and shield than of the bow and arrow.” He confessed, something that wasn’t too shocking he hoped, given his obvious size and build. Regardless, he could intuitively sense just how much the other man wished to shoot at the practice targets today, and though he had little to no skill with the weapon, he could at least try to get closer with the other man by making Mihail feel better about himself on that day, another small sacrifice aimed towards his future ambitions. “Hmm…do you have a spare bow you could lend me?”
This character is currently a work in progress.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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While most men would have had some semblance of shocked disposition at the sights laid bare in the confinces of the Thanasi archontiko, Damocles could not look any less unfazed. His days in Magnemea had chiseled at sensitivities and, for the most part, made him immune from the sight of blood and carnage, all of which was just another part of his job as the military leader of that dark horrible province. Slaves died all the time in his barony of service, and it was not uncommon to hear reports of missing husbands who turned up dead over infractions raised in the shoddy taverns of the vast, winding maze that was that notoriously oppressive land. His eyes remained calmed and serene, and his hands crossed over his chest, a sign of his unbothered state that betrayed his lack of care for those beneath him.
His words towards the murdered woman’s appearance were less a statement on empathy, and more a casual observation of sorts, one that he would neither remember nor fuzz over. She had been pretty, but no particular great beauty was in that girl. Besides, the fact that she had stolen from a high lord in such a bold and brazen manner only highlighted her absence of intelligence, a trait that the stalwart militant found more offsetting than any positive features he fair body offered. “It is so difficult to find good subordinates these days, wouldn’t you agree Lord Thanasi?” considered the darkly dressed warrior as he turned around from the corpse and focused his attentions elsewhere, unto the topic of procuring a replacement for the lordling, one that would work better than the spare-brained girl who had caused the other man to loosen his rage in such a manner.
Upon being given a small purse of coins that contained the means by which to procure the new little plaything for Mihail to use as he wished, Damocles extended his large hand and grasped the sack, tying it unto himself so as to keep it on his person for the time, hiding it behind the distinct scarlet cape that often came as part of his armored uniform so as to avert its presence from wandering eyes. For a moment, he considered his options in silence. Maybe he had overestimated the other man’s shrewdness in some regards. One hundred drachma was an excessive amount of money for a slave, especially when one could buy them cheap from the docks of provinces like Dolomesa, Midas and Arcanaes. In that moment he thought how easy it would have been for him to just snatch a fair-bodied miner, clean them up and haul them before the royal, while keeping the money for himself and lying about the expenses of the whole thing. It would have meant a hefty and luxurious victory in terms of monetary value.
Alas, such a plan was short-sighted and could have ended poorly. If the Thanasi lord had butchered a woman over a mere trinket, he would not entertain the idea of angering Mihail or his brood merely over a few coins. No, he was playing the long-game, one that required short-term losses in favor of future gains of far more significant value. Besides, as Damocles saw it, this could easily have been a test of sorts, one to judge the weight of the militant’s word and possible value. A less foresighted man might have thought about stealing from the Thanasi, but this was not Damocles’s game, he had other, more subtle and strategic plans in store. “Yes, this will suffice. We do not have to go over the details. It will not be necessary.” His voice maintained a confidence in it that transmitted his certainly. He knew exactly what the Thanasi wanted: a reliable servant, one that knew its place and would work efficiently and diligently for their new master. Such a business was not difficult to tend to, but…as he stared at the other man’s dark eyes, a quiet, more subtle idea popped into his head, one that perhaps would please the other man.
“I’ll be sure to return all the coin that was spared from such a transaction.” It seemed as an obvious enough statement at face value, but Damocles was planning something much more insidious than merely purchasing a slave. It was just as he had calculated before: slaves always disappeared and died in Magnemea. So, what wrong would it be if he made two vanish from thin air, without a trace, before bringing them to the lord Thanasi and returning his hundred coins, unspent? It would be as if nothing had ever even transpired, a quiet, subtle and untraceable act that was almost laughably easy to cover-up with his position of authority in that province. He could always lie to the Thanasi lord and tell him that the slave merchant had been a friend of his and owed Damocles a favor or two, thus explaining the whole thing in an entirely reasonable and logical manner that did not raise suspicions. In any case, even if the slave families raised an issue, pirates always haunted the waters of that province, so he could just blame some sea thief over the whole ordeal.
Once that topic of conversation ended, Damocles saw how Mihail tried to gain some insight into the words of the missive he had delivered, a matter that the towering man neither cared for, nor could be bothered to investigate. He saw how the other expressed some off-handed interest in the content of the letter, but, quite honestly, the silver-eyed man thought the whle thing trivial and insignificant. Perhaps the Drakos and Thanasi heads were discussing border matters between Nethisa and Magnemea, but that was about the biggest issue that Damocles could think worthwhile enough. “Will do.” He confirmed, nodding approvingly as he turned his attention towards other, more potentially interesting topics of conversation, archery.
Admittedly, Damocles was not particularly gifted with the bow and arrow, but he could recognize the other’s talent. Maybe it was a bit too early to say that he was the ‘best archer in Greece’, but he was not about to argue such pointless denomination at this hour. If the other man wanted to be known for his skill at archery, so be it. Nevertheless, the other man’s skill was undeniable, and it really wasn’t that much of a stretch to at least admit that Mihail was quite gifted with the weapon, something that had him question why he had chosen the knife over the arrow when he killed the last slave girl moments ago. “I fear I am more a man of the spear and shield than of the bow and arrow.” He confessed, something that wasn’t too shocking he hoped, given his obvious size and build. Regardless, he could intuitively sense just how much the other man wished to shoot at the practice targets today, and though he had little to no skill with the weapon, he could at least try to get closer with the other man by making Mihail feel better about himself on that day, another small sacrifice aimed towards his future ambitions. “Hmm…do you have a spare bow you could lend me?”
While most men would have had some semblance of shocked disposition at the sights laid bare in the confinces of the Thanasi archontiko, Damocles could not look any less unfazed. His days in Magnemea had chiseled at sensitivities and, for the most part, made him immune from the sight of blood and carnage, all of which was just another part of his job as the military leader of that dark horrible province. Slaves died all the time in his barony of service, and it was not uncommon to hear reports of missing husbands who turned up dead over infractions raised in the shoddy taverns of the vast, winding maze that was that notoriously oppressive land. His eyes remained calmed and serene, and his hands crossed over his chest, a sign of his unbothered state that betrayed his lack of care for those beneath him.
His words towards the murdered woman’s appearance were less a statement on empathy, and more a casual observation of sorts, one that he would neither remember nor fuzz over. She had been pretty, but no particular great beauty was in that girl. Besides, the fact that she had stolen from a high lord in such a bold and brazen manner only highlighted her absence of intelligence, a trait that the stalwart militant found more offsetting than any positive features he fair body offered. “It is so difficult to find good subordinates these days, wouldn’t you agree Lord Thanasi?” considered the darkly dressed warrior as he turned around from the corpse and focused his attentions elsewhere, unto the topic of procuring a replacement for the lordling, one that would work better than the spare-brained girl who had caused the other man to loosen his rage in such a manner.
Upon being given a small purse of coins that contained the means by which to procure the new little plaything for Mihail to use as he wished, Damocles extended his large hand and grasped the sack, tying it unto himself so as to keep it on his person for the time, hiding it behind the distinct scarlet cape that often came as part of his armored uniform so as to avert its presence from wandering eyes. For a moment, he considered his options in silence. Maybe he had overestimated the other man’s shrewdness in some regards. One hundred drachma was an excessive amount of money for a slave, especially when one could buy them cheap from the docks of provinces like Dolomesa, Midas and Arcanaes. In that moment he thought how easy it would have been for him to just snatch a fair-bodied miner, clean them up and haul them before the royal, while keeping the money for himself and lying about the expenses of the whole thing. It would have meant a hefty and luxurious victory in terms of monetary value.
Alas, such a plan was short-sighted and could have ended poorly. If the Thanasi lord had butchered a woman over a mere trinket, he would not entertain the idea of angering Mihail or his brood merely over a few coins. No, he was playing the long-game, one that required short-term losses in favor of future gains of far more significant value. Besides, as Damocles saw it, this could easily have been a test of sorts, one to judge the weight of the militant’s word and possible value. A less foresighted man might have thought about stealing from the Thanasi, but this was not Damocles’s game, he had other, more subtle and strategic plans in store. “Yes, this will suffice. We do not have to go over the details. It will not be necessary.” His voice maintained a confidence in it that transmitted his certainly. He knew exactly what the Thanasi wanted: a reliable servant, one that knew its place and would work efficiently and diligently for their new master. Such a business was not difficult to tend to, but…as he stared at the other man’s dark eyes, a quiet, more subtle idea popped into his head, one that perhaps would please the other man.
“I’ll be sure to return all the coin that was spared from such a transaction.” It seemed as an obvious enough statement at face value, but Damocles was planning something much more insidious than merely purchasing a slave. It was just as he had calculated before: slaves always disappeared and died in Magnemea. So, what wrong would it be if he made two vanish from thin air, without a trace, before bringing them to the lord Thanasi and returning his hundred coins, unspent? It would be as if nothing had ever even transpired, a quiet, subtle and untraceable act that was almost laughably easy to cover-up with his position of authority in that province. He could always lie to the Thanasi lord and tell him that the slave merchant had been a friend of his and owed Damocles a favor or two, thus explaining the whole thing in an entirely reasonable and logical manner that did not raise suspicions. In any case, even if the slave families raised an issue, pirates always haunted the waters of that province, so he could just blame some sea thief over the whole ordeal.
Once that topic of conversation ended, Damocles saw how Mihail tried to gain some insight into the words of the missive he had delivered, a matter that the towering man neither cared for, nor could be bothered to investigate. He saw how the other expressed some off-handed interest in the content of the letter, but, quite honestly, the silver-eyed man thought the whle thing trivial and insignificant. Perhaps the Drakos and Thanasi heads were discussing border matters between Nethisa and Magnemea, but that was about the biggest issue that Damocles could think worthwhile enough. “Will do.” He confirmed, nodding approvingly as he turned his attention towards other, more potentially interesting topics of conversation, archery.
Admittedly, Damocles was not particularly gifted with the bow and arrow, but he could recognize the other’s talent. Maybe it was a bit too early to say that he was the ‘best archer in Greece’, but he was not about to argue such pointless denomination at this hour. If the other man wanted to be known for his skill at archery, so be it. Nevertheless, the other man’s skill was undeniable, and it really wasn’t that much of a stretch to at least admit that Mihail was quite gifted with the weapon, something that had him question why he had chosen the knife over the arrow when he killed the last slave girl moments ago. “I fear I am more a man of the spear and shield than of the bow and arrow.” He confessed, something that wasn’t too shocking he hoped, given his obvious size and build. Regardless, he could intuitively sense just how much the other man wished to shoot at the practice targets today, and though he had little to no skill with the weapon, he could at least try to get closer with the other man by making Mihail feel better about himself on that day, another small sacrifice aimed towards his future ambitions. “Hmm…do you have a spare bow you could lend me?”
