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Mihail was not a frequent dreamer. In fact, if he did dream, then, more often than not, the memory would have vanished by the time he awoke the next morning. The only dreams that persisted, and which he never forgot, were those few nightmares which came to mind every so often, and which he tried so hard to bury. But he had always felt his fears so intently, and he could not hide the cold sweat that fell upon his face when he woke up in the middle of the night, panting and terrified, and worried that the world might end.
The worst of any nightmare was the drowning. It was a traumatic callback to that childhood moment which Mihail tried so hard to forget, and yet which never vanished from his memory. Every time he dreamt about it, he seemed to relive it in full. That moment when he knew he could not breathe, and knew he should not try, and yet still felt his body take a heaving breath as his arms and legs thrashed ploddingly and to no avail. The way he could not shout for help and knew that Dysius would not do it for him, so he was trapped in his suffering. He could feel the water ride up his nose and start to flood into him, and then, in the seconds where he thought he could hold on no longer, he would wake up.
It had happened more often than not on the boat.
But if there was one thing Mihail had learned as a Thanasi, it was that he should strive to create his own successes. Forge victory, so they called it. Of course, there was little which could be easily done when stuck on a boat in the middle of the sea, which meant Mihail would be forced to find a solution to his troubles which remained a possibility in the current situation. He had only one thought at present, although he could not quite confirm its feasibility (that was the problem with being trapped on a boat surrounded by others he barely knew - discovering their weaknesses was infinitely more complicated). If Mihail could not get off the ship, and away from this whole ordeal altogether, then he would have to take what little chance he had and twist it to his benefit.
Thus, when he had awoken from one of those same watery nightmares that morning, he had moved with clear intention. There was a benefit to the army, he supposed, in that they were made to awake at ludicrous hours, and that suited his typical schedule just fine, if not perfectly. The dark underbelly of a ship did not usually give one much opportunity to judge the time of day, and Mihail almost adamantly refused to stand on the deck unless it were an absolute necessity, for the sight of the water made him feel unwell, and the thought of death perpetually loomed before him. He became more withdrawn than usual, and paler than seemed possible, and would do his best to rush back to safety below deck.
Captain Attias was not the sort of man to which Mihail was used, if not solely because he had seemed unreceptive to threats in the face of Prince Vangelis. The Thanasi had visited Megaris on countless occasions in the past, stayed at the family home in their province and met with plenty of men who thought themselves to be of higher rank than they were, but he had few memories of the captain, who had never struck him as especially interesting. In fact, for a man who prided himself in part on high intellect and excellent memory, Captain Attias barely stood out in his mind at all, which did appear all that reassuring. He was plain, and dull, and all too strict when it came to a military regime, without the receptiveness of one who understood they belonged to another's House. Perhaps - hopefully - interaction would prove Mihail wrong.
The officers had the benefit of occupying a different area of the trireme than most of the soldiers, which meant Mihail had to spend more time than he truly desired balancing his way across the rocking ship, hoping with each step that the heaving movements of the boat did not mean they were about to sink into oblivion. When he finally made it across to where he intended, eyes half-shut just in case something did still manage to go wrong, he found that Captain Attias was already deep in discussion about something or other with Damocles, which only mildly irritated him in that it meant he could not hold a private conversation. Still, undeterred, Mihail drew himself up to his full height, and approached the leader of his unit with the kind of pride he possessed solely for knowing that, in some degree, he ranked higher than this man.
"Captain Attius," he announced, clearing his throat and offering Damocles only the vaguest of nods and glances by way of recognition, hands dropping to his hips though he had no pretty outfit to accentuate with the movement this time around, and the dark dye on his nails had started to fade. "As I am sure you must be aware, the conditions upon this ship are disastrous." In truth, they could likely be described as 'reasonable' for men of war, but Mihail was not here to settle for 'reasonable'. "I am a Thanasi, and I deserve to be treated as a Thanasi, not as some ignorant, common soldier."
For a second, his eyes flickered tentatively across to the other man, as if wondering whether the Magnemean would provide any use in the current situation, or whether engaging him would prove a waste of time. If anything, Damocles seemed close with the captain through the benefit of rank, and such a factor could bode well for Mihail's attempts at gaining comfort if all else failed. First, however, he moved to attempt his usual, and though his hand did not reach for the other's throat, and he made no movement to threaten the man physically, his eyes narrowed to glare at him with a lack of mercy upon which he might have acted had they not been stuck here, of all places.
"I should like to remind you, Captain Attius, that you are of Megaris, and that, as such, I quite nearly own you. If I desire it, I need only tell my brother, and your petty title shall be torn from you, and all because you could not respect a house which honours you so kindly." He was half-bluffing, as Mihail knew Dysius did not care for him enough to do such a thing, and he could not even be certain Nethis would either, even if he spun the tale to his benefit, but the threat felt enough. "I suggest you provide me with something better than filth, if you do not desire such a report. I am a Lord."
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Mihail was not a frequent dreamer. In fact, if he did dream, then, more often than not, the memory would have vanished by the time he awoke the next morning. The only dreams that persisted, and which he never forgot, were those few nightmares which came to mind every so often, and which he tried so hard to bury. But he had always felt his fears so intently, and he could not hide the cold sweat that fell upon his face when he woke up in the middle of the night, panting and terrified, and worried that the world might end.
The worst of any nightmare was the drowning. It was a traumatic callback to that childhood moment which Mihail tried so hard to forget, and yet which never vanished from his memory. Every time he dreamt about it, he seemed to relive it in full. That moment when he knew he could not breathe, and knew he should not try, and yet still felt his body take a heaving breath as his arms and legs thrashed ploddingly and to no avail. The way he could not shout for help and knew that Dysius would not do it for him, so he was trapped in his suffering. He could feel the water ride up his nose and start to flood into him, and then, in the seconds where he thought he could hold on no longer, he would wake up.
It had happened more often than not on the boat.
But if there was one thing Mihail had learned as a Thanasi, it was that he should strive to create his own successes. Forge victory, so they called it. Of course, there was little which could be easily done when stuck on a boat in the middle of the sea, which meant Mihail would be forced to find a solution to his troubles which remained a possibility in the current situation. He had only one thought at present, although he could not quite confirm its feasibility (that was the problem with being trapped on a boat surrounded by others he barely knew - discovering their weaknesses was infinitely more complicated). If Mihail could not get off the ship, and away from this whole ordeal altogether, then he would have to take what little chance he had and twist it to his benefit.
Thus, when he had awoken from one of those same watery nightmares that morning, he had moved with clear intention. There was a benefit to the army, he supposed, in that they were made to awake at ludicrous hours, and that suited his typical schedule just fine, if not perfectly. The dark underbelly of a ship did not usually give one much opportunity to judge the time of day, and Mihail almost adamantly refused to stand on the deck unless it were an absolute necessity, for the sight of the water made him feel unwell, and the thought of death perpetually loomed before him. He became more withdrawn than usual, and paler than seemed possible, and would do his best to rush back to safety below deck.
Captain Attias was not the sort of man to which Mihail was used, if not solely because he had seemed unreceptive to threats in the face of Prince Vangelis. The Thanasi had visited Megaris on countless occasions in the past, stayed at the family home in their province and met with plenty of men who thought themselves to be of higher rank than they were, but he had few memories of the captain, who had never struck him as especially interesting. In fact, for a man who prided himself in part on high intellect and excellent memory, Captain Attias barely stood out in his mind at all, which did appear all that reassuring. He was plain, and dull, and all too strict when it came to a military regime, without the receptiveness of one who understood they belonged to another's House. Perhaps - hopefully - interaction would prove Mihail wrong.
The officers had the benefit of occupying a different area of the trireme than most of the soldiers, which meant Mihail had to spend more time than he truly desired balancing his way across the rocking ship, hoping with each step that the heaving movements of the boat did not mean they were about to sink into oblivion. When he finally made it across to where he intended, eyes half-shut just in case something did still manage to go wrong, he found that Captain Attias was already deep in discussion about something or other with Damocles, which only mildly irritated him in that it meant he could not hold a private conversation. Still, undeterred, Mihail drew himself up to his full height, and approached the leader of his unit with the kind of pride he possessed solely for knowing that, in some degree, he ranked higher than this man.
"Captain Attius," he announced, clearing his throat and offering Damocles only the vaguest of nods and glances by way of recognition, hands dropping to his hips though he had no pretty outfit to accentuate with the movement this time around, and the dark dye on his nails had started to fade. "As I am sure you must be aware, the conditions upon this ship are disastrous." In truth, they could likely be described as 'reasonable' for men of war, but Mihail was not here to settle for 'reasonable'. "I am a Thanasi, and I deserve to be treated as a Thanasi, not as some ignorant, common soldier."
For a second, his eyes flickered tentatively across to the other man, as if wondering whether the Magnemean would provide any use in the current situation, or whether engaging him would prove a waste of time. If anything, Damocles seemed close with the captain through the benefit of rank, and such a factor could bode well for Mihail's attempts at gaining comfort if all else failed. First, however, he moved to attempt his usual, and though his hand did not reach for the other's throat, and he made no movement to threaten the man physically, his eyes narrowed to glare at him with a lack of mercy upon which he might have acted had they not been stuck here, of all places.
"I should like to remind you, Captain Attius, that you are of Megaris, and that, as such, I quite nearly own you. If I desire it, I need only tell my brother, and your petty title shall be torn from you, and all because you could not respect a house which honours you so kindly." He was half-bluffing, as Mihail knew Dysius did not care for him enough to do such a thing, and he could not even be certain Nethis would either, even if he spun the tale to his benefit, but the threat felt enough. "I suggest you provide me with something better than filth, if you do not desire such a report. I am a Lord."
Mihail was not a frequent dreamer. In fact, if he did dream, then, more often than not, the memory would have vanished by the time he awoke the next morning. The only dreams that persisted, and which he never forgot, were those few nightmares which came to mind every so often, and which he tried so hard to bury. But he had always felt his fears so intently, and he could not hide the cold sweat that fell upon his face when he woke up in the middle of the night, panting and terrified, and worried that the world might end.
The worst of any nightmare was the drowning. It was a traumatic callback to that childhood moment which Mihail tried so hard to forget, and yet which never vanished from his memory. Every time he dreamt about it, he seemed to relive it in full. That moment when he knew he could not breathe, and knew he should not try, and yet still felt his body take a heaving breath as his arms and legs thrashed ploddingly and to no avail. The way he could not shout for help and knew that Dysius would not do it for him, so he was trapped in his suffering. He could feel the water ride up his nose and start to flood into him, and then, in the seconds where he thought he could hold on no longer, he would wake up.
It had happened more often than not on the boat.
But if there was one thing Mihail had learned as a Thanasi, it was that he should strive to create his own successes. Forge victory, so they called it. Of course, there was little which could be easily done when stuck on a boat in the middle of the sea, which meant Mihail would be forced to find a solution to his troubles which remained a possibility in the current situation. He had only one thought at present, although he could not quite confirm its feasibility (that was the problem with being trapped on a boat surrounded by others he barely knew - discovering their weaknesses was infinitely more complicated). If Mihail could not get off the ship, and away from this whole ordeal altogether, then he would have to take what little chance he had and twist it to his benefit.
Thus, when he had awoken from one of those same watery nightmares that morning, he had moved with clear intention. There was a benefit to the army, he supposed, in that they were made to awake at ludicrous hours, and that suited his typical schedule just fine, if not perfectly. The dark underbelly of a ship did not usually give one much opportunity to judge the time of day, and Mihail almost adamantly refused to stand on the deck unless it were an absolute necessity, for the sight of the water made him feel unwell, and the thought of death perpetually loomed before him. He became more withdrawn than usual, and paler than seemed possible, and would do his best to rush back to safety below deck.
Captain Attias was not the sort of man to which Mihail was used, if not solely because he had seemed unreceptive to threats in the face of Prince Vangelis. The Thanasi had visited Megaris on countless occasions in the past, stayed at the family home in their province and met with plenty of men who thought themselves to be of higher rank than they were, but he had few memories of the captain, who had never struck him as especially interesting. In fact, for a man who prided himself in part on high intellect and excellent memory, Captain Attias barely stood out in his mind at all, which did appear all that reassuring. He was plain, and dull, and all too strict when it came to a military regime, without the receptiveness of one who understood they belonged to another's House. Perhaps - hopefully - interaction would prove Mihail wrong.
The officers had the benefit of occupying a different area of the trireme than most of the soldiers, which meant Mihail had to spend more time than he truly desired balancing his way across the rocking ship, hoping with each step that the heaving movements of the boat did not mean they were about to sink into oblivion. When he finally made it across to where he intended, eyes half-shut just in case something did still manage to go wrong, he found that Captain Attias was already deep in discussion about something or other with Damocles, which only mildly irritated him in that it meant he could not hold a private conversation. Still, undeterred, Mihail drew himself up to his full height, and approached the leader of his unit with the kind of pride he possessed solely for knowing that, in some degree, he ranked higher than this man.
"Captain Attius," he announced, clearing his throat and offering Damocles only the vaguest of nods and glances by way of recognition, hands dropping to his hips though he had no pretty outfit to accentuate with the movement this time around, and the dark dye on his nails had started to fade. "As I am sure you must be aware, the conditions upon this ship are disastrous." In truth, they could likely be described as 'reasonable' for men of war, but Mihail was not here to settle for 'reasonable'. "I am a Thanasi, and I deserve to be treated as a Thanasi, not as some ignorant, common soldier."
For a second, his eyes flickered tentatively across to the other man, as if wondering whether the Magnemean would provide any use in the current situation, or whether engaging him would prove a waste of time. If anything, Damocles seemed close with the captain through the benefit of rank, and such a factor could bode well for Mihail's attempts at gaining comfort if all else failed. First, however, he moved to attempt his usual, and though his hand did not reach for the other's throat, and he made no movement to threaten the man physically, his eyes narrowed to glare at him with a lack of mercy upon which he might have acted had they not been stuck here, of all places.
"I should like to remind you, Captain Attius, that you are of Megaris, and that, as such, I quite nearly own you. If I desire it, I need only tell my brother, and your petty title shall be torn from you, and all because you could not respect a house which honours you so kindly." He was half-bluffing, as Mihail knew Dysius did not care for him enough to do such a thing, and he could not even be certain Nethis would either, even if he spun the tale to his benefit, but the threat felt enough. "I suggest you provide me with something better than filth, if you do not desire such a report. I am a Lord."
By his own admission, there was not much to do onboard that, terribly loud and often annoyingly confining boat. For the longest time, he had been a man of action and movement, a person defined by his fondness for doing and being active. He disliked being locked inside the makeshift wooden walls of that shoddy vessel, loathed the unfreed movements he could on his own volition and disagreed with the limiting nature of the impossibly uneventful place. True, he had been one of the more comfortable men on the ghastly ship, seeing as his commission afforded him a privileged space and quarter in the form of a larger cabin whence compared to the rest allotted to the rank and file, but that did little to dissuade him from finding the entire thing unbearably boring.
He supposed however that it was all an intentional exercise in patience and calculated forbearance. Unlike the luxury yachts of the nobility or the fastener sailboats of sightseeing travelers, the boats commissioned for the great and large numbers of the military, and therefore comfort and pleasurable leisure had not much place whence consideration had been enacted upon said vessels. In a certain sense, it was a rather logical choice. Contrary to what many-a-fool thought, war was not a comfortable or enjoyable experience..for the most part. It was a bloody, messy and terrifying experience, one that separated the boys from the men, and settled forevermore those who truly were worthy of leadership and those that were just born to the wrong name by mere circumstance of their birth.
Of course, he had already taken great pains to alleviate his boredom by means of orders and commands he issued left and right whenever possible, but there was only so much to do amidst the rocking surfaces of those damnable wooden cages. Besides, though he held the rank of Captain, command had mostly been forfeited to another that knew better the trade of waves and sea. Had it been land, he would have found something to inspect or hound over, to drag forward to public attention or perhaps even to haul one of his soldiers by the bares of his hairs and rip at him like a whip against flesh. Alas, not even that was an enjoyable experience nowcome, for even if he had some fresh, new rookies to count on his garrisons and squads, they were led by soldiers of experience and tested endurance, many of which he knew by name and heart, and who he was inclined ot believe saw him in positive light as friend.
That being said, even if his forces were trained to perfection and organized to their fullest extent, the silver-eyed Magnemean did not find enough reason to dub his counterpart from Megaris in such a positive light. Over the years, Damocles had known of Attias, and had gone on more than one fair exchange of opinion in the past whenever the two crossed paths, but he had not much to recollect inasmuch as his skill as a leader were extended. He knew him a decent enough warrior and an archer by trade, but aside that he was not particularly aquainted with the man. That did not mean he was of a negative impression however. True, he might not have heard a great many things from the man, but from previous conversations held he seemed to be a man of visage and ambition, both traits that Damocles recognized as potentially useful, if directed through the proper channels.
Of the two men, the Magnemean was senior, having enjoyed a longer tenure as an official Captain and an even term of office once his years as Acting Captain were counted. He was a fair good years older than Attias, and that, in and of itself, was quite the opportunity. To sway another man at his direction and sway, and move him at a pace where the Magnemean could well enjoy some perched profit. Given his seniority, Damocles thought it wise to cajole the man into his side, to whip up his support and warrant so as to gain a new piece by which to move amongst the ever-changing game boards of strategy that he calculated three steps ahead of most. Hence, with a light smirk formed on his long, handsome face, the Captain of the Damned made for his intended future pawn, amusing himself with whatever machinations were developing in his black-forged mind.
It took little imagination to find the Megarian, with the Silver-eyed militant having correctedly assumed he would be by the uppermost deck of the ship, overlooking the waves and wind with a mask of steely determination that seemed to fool all but himself and the man who sought him out. Upon meeting him, some brief pleasantries and quaint words of faux friendship escaped the Magnemean’s lips, with a welcoming smile and an accompanying set of cordial gestures following suit. Better than to hammer in any potential plan of action, Damocles knew better and sought to make amiable his interactions with the man so as to potentially keep him from suspicion. As per his usual gifts, a content laugh escaped him once a joke was brokered and offered by the taller of the two, reflecting well the subtle maneuverings of the other. Eventually, he broached the subject of war and proposed here and then that their forces enjoyed a series of joint exercises whence they reached Taengea’s white shores proper. It only made sense, given how brief a time they would spend in the other kingdom before sailing forth Egypt. And yet, as he proceeded to further the details of their future expedition, a voice, familiar and remembered, sung in a form so classically haughty of him so as to cause Damocles to put forth a gambled guess as to whom it belonged.
As he had ascertained, the voice had belonged to none other than Mihail of Thanasi, that, long-entertained, thin youth that the Captain of the Damned had the pleasure, although some would say displeasure, of meeting beforehand. In a fashion that reflected his previous interactions with the youth, Damocles softened his bold features to an affable, albeit tight smile that did not betray his past experienced with the petulant boy-lord. “Lord Mihail.” Acknowledged Damocles with a proper and none-at-all exaggerated bow of his head as the other addressed him with a simple nod. Still, after finishing the expected circumstances of interactions, Damocles realized that the conversation that Mihail had brought was not intended for him.
Nevertheless, he heard it anyways.
It appeared as though Damocles hadn’t been the only one that was uncomfortable with the boats, seeing as how the young Thanasi had come to make his case known and demand that he he allotted a better chamber more suited to his so-called birth-righted station. Deep down, this did not sit well with the Magnemean. If anything, he thought that a bit of hardship would benefit the lordling, but he had plans for Mihail, and turning him away would only complicate matters more. So he kept his silence and listened attentively, analyzing the situation in quiet aloofness.
To his surprise, despite Mihail’s arrogant words and threats, it seemed as though Attias was of a different disposition and mind. With a cold stare of his brown eyes, the Captain of Megaris turned to the boy-lord and grimaced, leering at him with a disgusted look in his spheres that did not reflect any positive inclinations within him. Clearly, he had been upset by the royal’s pompous words, but that did not seem to quell the roused anger that his youthful face betrayed.
“And I would like to remind you, Lord Thanasi, that by virtue of your enlisting in the Hounds of Death you are under my command and authority. As far as I can care for, right now, you are only a soldier, nothing more, nothing less. You have done nothing to earn that demand. Thus, I’m disinclined to acquiesce to your request. Now leave. I have more important matters to tend to than to care for sailing arrangements.”
It would seem that Damocles had guessed Attias wrong, and that the Megarian was not a man that could be intimidated fairly easily. A noticeable part of him approved of the Captain’s prerogative, seeing as there was nothing to suggest that Mihail should be given a more privileged quarter than that of any other regular soldier. Yet, he disagreed with those words. Experienced had taught him that such harshness seldom manifested in a return for a set investment. So, before the situation rose to further tension and flared into something that neither party enjoyed, Damocles saw fit to intervene and offer his own piece of wisdom.
“Pardon me gentlemen, but if I may be so bold might I offer my own insight?” he began, dragging attention to himself so as to counter the denial of the Megarian. “Sir Attias, if my memory does me a service, I do recall hearing a rumor that the Lord Mihail once was heralded as a celebrated archer not so long ago. Furthermore, if I also remember correctly, the Hounds of Death specialize in archery, is that not so, my good friend. Then, would it not be more advantageous for all of us to award the Lord Thanasi for his expertise and birthright by reconsidering such proposal in an affirmative matter? If what is being asked for is true and right, it is only a merechange of quarters, a most minor of arrangements. Surely, we can do with that, hmm?” Argued Damocles, smiling at the two men with a reconciliatory tone to his otherwise baritone voice.
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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By his own admission, there was not much to do onboard that, terribly loud and often annoyingly confining boat. For the longest time, he had been a man of action and movement, a person defined by his fondness for doing and being active. He disliked being locked inside the makeshift wooden walls of that shoddy vessel, loathed the unfreed movements he could on his own volition and disagreed with the limiting nature of the impossibly uneventful place. True, he had been one of the more comfortable men on the ghastly ship, seeing as his commission afforded him a privileged space and quarter in the form of a larger cabin whence compared to the rest allotted to the rank and file, but that did little to dissuade him from finding the entire thing unbearably boring.
He supposed however that it was all an intentional exercise in patience and calculated forbearance. Unlike the luxury yachts of the nobility or the fastener sailboats of sightseeing travelers, the boats commissioned for the great and large numbers of the military, and therefore comfort and pleasurable leisure had not much place whence consideration had been enacted upon said vessels. In a certain sense, it was a rather logical choice. Contrary to what many-a-fool thought, war was not a comfortable or enjoyable experience..for the most part. It was a bloody, messy and terrifying experience, one that separated the boys from the men, and settled forevermore those who truly were worthy of leadership and those that were just born to the wrong name by mere circumstance of their birth.
Of course, he had already taken great pains to alleviate his boredom by means of orders and commands he issued left and right whenever possible, but there was only so much to do amidst the rocking surfaces of those damnable wooden cages. Besides, though he held the rank of Captain, command had mostly been forfeited to another that knew better the trade of waves and sea. Had it been land, he would have found something to inspect or hound over, to drag forward to public attention or perhaps even to haul one of his soldiers by the bares of his hairs and rip at him like a whip against flesh. Alas, not even that was an enjoyable experience nowcome, for even if he had some fresh, new rookies to count on his garrisons and squads, they were led by soldiers of experience and tested endurance, many of which he knew by name and heart, and who he was inclined ot believe saw him in positive light as friend.
That being said, even if his forces were trained to perfection and organized to their fullest extent, the silver-eyed Magnemean did not find enough reason to dub his counterpart from Megaris in such a positive light. Over the years, Damocles had known of Attias, and had gone on more than one fair exchange of opinion in the past whenever the two crossed paths, but he had not much to recollect inasmuch as his skill as a leader were extended. He knew him a decent enough warrior and an archer by trade, but aside that he was not particularly aquainted with the man. That did not mean he was of a negative impression however. True, he might not have heard a great many things from the man, but from previous conversations held he seemed to be a man of visage and ambition, both traits that Damocles recognized as potentially useful, if directed through the proper channels.
Of the two men, the Magnemean was senior, having enjoyed a longer tenure as an official Captain and an even term of office once his years as Acting Captain were counted. He was a fair good years older than Attias, and that, in and of itself, was quite the opportunity. To sway another man at his direction and sway, and move him at a pace where the Magnemean could well enjoy some perched profit. Given his seniority, Damocles thought it wise to cajole the man into his side, to whip up his support and warrant so as to gain a new piece by which to move amongst the ever-changing game boards of strategy that he calculated three steps ahead of most. Hence, with a light smirk formed on his long, handsome face, the Captain of the Damned made for his intended future pawn, amusing himself with whatever machinations were developing in his black-forged mind.
It took little imagination to find the Megarian, with the Silver-eyed militant having correctedly assumed he would be by the uppermost deck of the ship, overlooking the waves and wind with a mask of steely determination that seemed to fool all but himself and the man who sought him out. Upon meeting him, some brief pleasantries and quaint words of faux friendship escaped the Magnemean’s lips, with a welcoming smile and an accompanying set of cordial gestures following suit. Better than to hammer in any potential plan of action, Damocles knew better and sought to make amiable his interactions with the man so as to potentially keep him from suspicion. As per his usual gifts, a content laugh escaped him once a joke was brokered and offered by the taller of the two, reflecting well the subtle maneuverings of the other. Eventually, he broached the subject of war and proposed here and then that their forces enjoyed a series of joint exercises whence they reached Taengea’s white shores proper. It only made sense, given how brief a time they would spend in the other kingdom before sailing forth Egypt. And yet, as he proceeded to further the details of their future expedition, a voice, familiar and remembered, sung in a form so classically haughty of him so as to cause Damocles to put forth a gambled guess as to whom it belonged.
As he had ascertained, the voice had belonged to none other than Mihail of Thanasi, that, long-entertained, thin youth that the Captain of the Damned had the pleasure, although some would say displeasure, of meeting beforehand. In a fashion that reflected his previous interactions with the youth, Damocles softened his bold features to an affable, albeit tight smile that did not betray his past experienced with the petulant boy-lord. “Lord Mihail.” Acknowledged Damocles with a proper and none-at-all exaggerated bow of his head as the other addressed him with a simple nod. Still, after finishing the expected circumstances of interactions, Damocles realized that the conversation that Mihail had brought was not intended for him.
Nevertheless, he heard it anyways.
It appeared as though Damocles hadn’t been the only one that was uncomfortable with the boats, seeing as how the young Thanasi had come to make his case known and demand that he he allotted a better chamber more suited to his so-called birth-righted station. Deep down, this did not sit well with the Magnemean. If anything, he thought that a bit of hardship would benefit the lordling, but he had plans for Mihail, and turning him away would only complicate matters more. So he kept his silence and listened attentively, analyzing the situation in quiet aloofness.
To his surprise, despite Mihail’s arrogant words and threats, it seemed as though Attias was of a different disposition and mind. With a cold stare of his brown eyes, the Captain of Megaris turned to the boy-lord and grimaced, leering at him with a disgusted look in his spheres that did not reflect any positive inclinations within him. Clearly, he had been upset by the royal’s pompous words, but that did not seem to quell the roused anger that his youthful face betrayed.
“And I would like to remind you, Lord Thanasi, that by virtue of your enlisting in the Hounds of Death you are under my command and authority. As far as I can care for, right now, you are only a soldier, nothing more, nothing less. You have done nothing to earn that demand. Thus, I’m disinclined to acquiesce to your request. Now leave. I have more important matters to tend to than to care for sailing arrangements.”
It would seem that Damocles had guessed Attias wrong, and that the Megarian was not a man that could be intimidated fairly easily. A noticeable part of him approved of the Captain’s prerogative, seeing as there was nothing to suggest that Mihail should be given a more privileged quarter than that of any other regular soldier. Yet, he disagreed with those words. Experienced had taught him that such harshness seldom manifested in a return for a set investment. So, before the situation rose to further tension and flared into something that neither party enjoyed, Damocles saw fit to intervene and offer his own piece of wisdom.
“Pardon me gentlemen, but if I may be so bold might I offer my own insight?” he began, dragging attention to himself so as to counter the denial of the Megarian. “Sir Attias, if my memory does me a service, I do recall hearing a rumor that the Lord Mihail once was heralded as a celebrated archer not so long ago. Furthermore, if I also remember correctly, the Hounds of Death specialize in archery, is that not so, my good friend. Then, would it not be more advantageous for all of us to award the Lord Thanasi for his expertise and birthright by reconsidering such proposal in an affirmative matter? If what is being asked for is true and right, it is only a merechange of quarters, a most minor of arrangements. Surely, we can do with that, hmm?” Argued Damocles, smiling at the two men with a reconciliatory tone to his otherwise baritone voice.
By his own admission, there was not much to do onboard that, terribly loud and often annoyingly confining boat. For the longest time, he had been a man of action and movement, a person defined by his fondness for doing and being active. He disliked being locked inside the makeshift wooden walls of that shoddy vessel, loathed the unfreed movements he could on his own volition and disagreed with the limiting nature of the impossibly uneventful place. True, he had been one of the more comfortable men on the ghastly ship, seeing as his commission afforded him a privileged space and quarter in the form of a larger cabin whence compared to the rest allotted to the rank and file, but that did little to dissuade him from finding the entire thing unbearably boring.
He supposed however that it was all an intentional exercise in patience and calculated forbearance. Unlike the luxury yachts of the nobility or the fastener sailboats of sightseeing travelers, the boats commissioned for the great and large numbers of the military, and therefore comfort and pleasurable leisure had not much place whence consideration had been enacted upon said vessels. In a certain sense, it was a rather logical choice. Contrary to what many-a-fool thought, war was not a comfortable or enjoyable experience..for the most part. It was a bloody, messy and terrifying experience, one that separated the boys from the men, and settled forevermore those who truly were worthy of leadership and those that were just born to the wrong name by mere circumstance of their birth.
Of course, he had already taken great pains to alleviate his boredom by means of orders and commands he issued left and right whenever possible, but there was only so much to do amidst the rocking surfaces of those damnable wooden cages. Besides, though he held the rank of Captain, command had mostly been forfeited to another that knew better the trade of waves and sea. Had it been land, he would have found something to inspect or hound over, to drag forward to public attention or perhaps even to haul one of his soldiers by the bares of his hairs and rip at him like a whip against flesh. Alas, not even that was an enjoyable experience nowcome, for even if he had some fresh, new rookies to count on his garrisons and squads, they were led by soldiers of experience and tested endurance, many of which he knew by name and heart, and who he was inclined ot believe saw him in positive light as friend.
That being said, even if his forces were trained to perfection and organized to their fullest extent, the silver-eyed Magnemean did not find enough reason to dub his counterpart from Megaris in such a positive light. Over the years, Damocles had known of Attias, and had gone on more than one fair exchange of opinion in the past whenever the two crossed paths, but he had not much to recollect inasmuch as his skill as a leader were extended. He knew him a decent enough warrior and an archer by trade, but aside that he was not particularly aquainted with the man. That did not mean he was of a negative impression however. True, he might not have heard a great many things from the man, but from previous conversations held he seemed to be a man of visage and ambition, both traits that Damocles recognized as potentially useful, if directed through the proper channels.
Of the two men, the Magnemean was senior, having enjoyed a longer tenure as an official Captain and an even term of office once his years as Acting Captain were counted. He was a fair good years older than Attias, and that, in and of itself, was quite the opportunity. To sway another man at his direction and sway, and move him at a pace where the Magnemean could well enjoy some perched profit. Given his seniority, Damocles thought it wise to cajole the man into his side, to whip up his support and warrant so as to gain a new piece by which to move amongst the ever-changing game boards of strategy that he calculated three steps ahead of most. Hence, with a light smirk formed on his long, handsome face, the Captain of the Damned made for his intended future pawn, amusing himself with whatever machinations were developing in his black-forged mind.
It took little imagination to find the Megarian, with the Silver-eyed militant having correctedly assumed he would be by the uppermost deck of the ship, overlooking the waves and wind with a mask of steely determination that seemed to fool all but himself and the man who sought him out. Upon meeting him, some brief pleasantries and quaint words of faux friendship escaped the Magnemean’s lips, with a welcoming smile and an accompanying set of cordial gestures following suit. Better than to hammer in any potential plan of action, Damocles knew better and sought to make amiable his interactions with the man so as to potentially keep him from suspicion. As per his usual gifts, a content laugh escaped him once a joke was brokered and offered by the taller of the two, reflecting well the subtle maneuverings of the other. Eventually, he broached the subject of war and proposed here and then that their forces enjoyed a series of joint exercises whence they reached Taengea’s white shores proper. It only made sense, given how brief a time they would spend in the other kingdom before sailing forth Egypt. And yet, as he proceeded to further the details of their future expedition, a voice, familiar and remembered, sung in a form so classically haughty of him so as to cause Damocles to put forth a gambled guess as to whom it belonged.
As he had ascertained, the voice had belonged to none other than Mihail of Thanasi, that, long-entertained, thin youth that the Captain of the Damned had the pleasure, although some would say displeasure, of meeting beforehand. In a fashion that reflected his previous interactions with the youth, Damocles softened his bold features to an affable, albeit tight smile that did not betray his past experienced with the petulant boy-lord. “Lord Mihail.” Acknowledged Damocles with a proper and none-at-all exaggerated bow of his head as the other addressed him with a simple nod. Still, after finishing the expected circumstances of interactions, Damocles realized that the conversation that Mihail had brought was not intended for him.
Nevertheless, he heard it anyways.
It appeared as though Damocles hadn’t been the only one that was uncomfortable with the boats, seeing as how the young Thanasi had come to make his case known and demand that he he allotted a better chamber more suited to his so-called birth-righted station. Deep down, this did not sit well with the Magnemean. If anything, he thought that a bit of hardship would benefit the lordling, but he had plans for Mihail, and turning him away would only complicate matters more. So he kept his silence and listened attentively, analyzing the situation in quiet aloofness.
To his surprise, despite Mihail’s arrogant words and threats, it seemed as though Attias was of a different disposition and mind. With a cold stare of his brown eyes, the Captain of Megaris turned to the boy-lord and grimaced, leering at him with a disgusted look in his spheres that did not reflect any positive inclinations within him. Clearly, he had been upset by the royal’s pompous words, but that did not seem to quell the roused anger that his youthful face betrayed.
“And I would like to remind you, Lord Thanasi, that by virtue of your enlisting in the Hounds of Death you are under my command and authority. As far as I can care for, right now, you are only a soldier, nothing more, nothing less. You have done nothing to earn that demand. Thus, I’m disinclined to acquiesce to your request. Now leave. I have more important matters to tend to than to care for sailing arrangements.”
It would seem that Damocles had guessed Attias wrong, and that the Megarian was not a man that could be intimidated fairly easily. A noticeable part of him approved of the Captain’s prerogative, seeing as there was nothing to suggest that Mihail should be given a more privileged quarter than that of any other regular soldier. Yet, he disagreed with those words. Experienced had taught him that such harshness seldom manifested in a return for a set investment. So, before the situation rose to further tension and flared into something that neither party enjoyed, Damocles saw fit to intervene and offer his own piece of wisdom.
“Pardon me gentlemen, but if I may be so bold might I offer my own insight?” he began, dragging attention to himself so as to counter the denial of the Megarian. “Sir Attias, if my memory does me a service, I do recall hearing a rumor that the Lord Mihail once was heralded as a celebrated archer not so long ago. Furthermore, if I also remember correctly, the Hounds of Death specialize in archery, is that not so, my good friend. Then, would it not be more advantageous for all of us to award the Lord Thanasi for his expertise and birthright by reconsidering such proposal in an affirmative matter? If what is being asked for is true and right, it is only a merechange of quarters, a most minor of arrangements. Surely, we can do with that, hmm?” Argued Damocles, smiling at the two men with a reconciliatory tone to his otherwise baritone voice.
This was not the way Mihail had expected the conversation to go. He was used to making his demands of the lesser Thanasi lords and them usually accepting them with little question. The baron of Nethisa, for example, was his friend solely through the virtue of his eldest sister making it clear on various occasions that he was to treat her littlest brother with all that he desired - not that Mihail had ever been made privy to such secretive machinations - and the baron of Pieria had been subject to several of his commands and unkindnesses. The Thanasi sisters, while they had been more than competent in raising Mihail while their mother had denied any interest, were not the best at moderating his wants, ever-tainted by their natural sisterly love which gave in more often than not, and, as a result, he was less than used to being denied, mainly when it came to those who ranked below him.
Captain Attias was clearly a stronger man than most, and, though that could usually be fixed with the right combination of cruel words and threatening actions, the necessary resources with which to ensure that outcome were not exactly readily available in their current environment. Mihail could sense the irritation in his expression even before he spoke, and had braced himself for the rejection, although his mind was already working to figure out what would be his best course of action if his title of a Thanasi lord was going to be ignored.
"You do not command me," he reprimanded the man, somehow managing to hiss the words without pronouncing any sibilants, one of those slender fingers tinted with fading paint reaching out to jab the captain in the chest with each syllable. "Soldier aside, I am a Lord of House Thanasi and, as such, you are bound by blood to obey my demands and seek to please me. There are no others here capable of feeding your deeds back to my siblings and father, and there are no others on this ship with the power to ensure they offer you blessings you do not deserve." His gaze flickered to Damocles for a moment, as if wondering whether the captain had any leverage in spreading secrets to Nethis solely through some distant business relation, but then decided it was no concern compared to his own power over his sisters. "Besides, I think you will find that, regardless of the words of others, it is my testimony that my sister will be most inclined to believe, and if I tell my dearest Nethis that you were wicked and attempted to lead me, her favoured younger brother, to an uncomfortable death, well...I doubt she shall be thrilled."
Mihail watched the other's movements as he spoke, his eyes fixed on the Thanasi captain's to determine even the slightest hint of the desired fear or subordination, the one hand still resting on his hip while the left was positioned with his finger pressed pointedly against the man's chest. This was the kind of man he loathed, the sort who thought themselves better than all others because they had been foolishly bestowed a title through their ability to harm others and force them into submission. It was the kind he felt his brother - though not a military man himself - had always been towards him, and it was the sort which filled him with more unbridled fury than any other. Underestimating him solely because he did not possess military honours of his own, as if he could not prove himself countless times over were they to take a bow up against one another. The Thanasi could guarantee that, were the pair ever paired in an archery competition, then not one of his arrows would be aimed towards the target; instead, each would be aimed directly towards this insolent warrior, and Mihail did not make a habit of missing.
Putting other's in their place was always a drastically entertaining activity, and never more so than when it came to those who mistakenly thought themselves powerful.
Before the Megaris captain had a chance to answer, however, it seemed that the third party in the conversation saw fit to offer his own opinion, interrupting his slight fantasy regarding the fate of the other. Ordinarily, Mihail had little interest in the thoughts of those who were of no rank or limited import to the conversation, but he supposed he had sufficient history with Captain Damocles to concede a few out-of-place comments. Still, one of his brows quirked upwards in amusement at the man's opening statement, spare hand dropping back to mirror the other, shifting slightly to face him instead.
He could not deny that Damocles's words were relatively sane, and he appreciated the acknowledgement of his skill as an archer. There were too many who ignored the silver arrow he had been awarded as proof of his expertise in Athenia several years back, and, solely because he did not participate actively in the military, believed he was not as talented as he was. He had mastered the art, so far as he was concerned, and had yet to find someone who could match him (not that he believed he ever would). The captain's endorsement of his ability, hopefully, would convince Captain Attias that he was a valuable asset to the army, though reasoning with others was not his usual style of negotiation. Mihail nodded in grateful answer to the beneficial words, his head tilting towards the tallest of the three men as if to accentuate his points.
"Captain Damocles is correct. As the finest archer in Greece and, therefore, the finest soldier in your unit, I think you shall find there is no reason for my being denied a more comfortable set of quarters for this trip. I am not asking for much, and I am certain there are some of your soldiers who are far less deserving than I." Likely, this was not the case, but Mihail had hardly been raised to think excessively on the comfort of others, and he already considered himself far above the rest of the men on this gods-forsaken ship solely by the benefit of his possible birth. He raised his chin as he faced Captain Attius once more, the corners of his mouth curved firmly downwards despite his satisfaction at this new line of argument. "I suggest you listen to your Magnemean counterpart, as I trust you can prove a man of some intelligence, and do not wish the pain of denying me. I shall give you a moment to consider your options."
With his newest claim to comfort delivered, Mihail took his chance to face Damocles with a more personal set of complaints, seeing no problem with taking advantage of his presence to air his grievances. "Your man, Lysandros. He is fine, but he is boring in repetition. I should like another from your unit, if possible - there is a younger blonde with lovely green eyes, if you do not mind? Separately, are we truly expected to go so long without any proper wine or opium? I am parched, and shall gladly pay for the privilege. I have already spent far more time than necessary suffering horrid poverty at the baron's estate in Nethisa, and I do not think I can take much more here." He batted his eyelashes at the man, widening his eyes as if distressed as he stepped a little closer to him, in the manner which always worked with those older, rich men in Colchis who were willing to abandon their wives for more enticing (and, admittedly, far more expensive) companionship. "You can fix that for me too, yes?"
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This was not the way Mihail had expected the conversation to go. He was used to making his demands of the lesser Thanasi lords and them usually accepting them with little question. The baron of Nethisa, for example, was his friend solely through the virtue of his eldest sister making it clear on various occasions that he was to treat her littlest brother with all that he desired - not that Mihail had ever been made privy to such secretive machinations - and the baron of Pieria had been subject to several of his commands and unkindnesses. The Thanasi sisters, while they had been more than competent in raising Mihail while their mother had denied any interest, were not the best at moderating his wants, ever-tainted by their natural sisterly love which gave in more often than not, and, as a result, he was less than used to being denied, mainly when it came to those who ranked below him.
Captain Attias was clearly a stronger man than most, and, though that could usually be fixed with the right combination of cruel words and threatening actions, the necessary resources with which to ensure that outcome were not exactly readily available in their current environment. Mihail could sense the irritation in his expression even before he spoke, and had braced himself for the rejection, although his mind was already working to figure out what would be his best course of action if his title of a Thanasi lord was going to be ignored.
"You do not command me," he reprimanded the man, somehow managing to hiss the words without pronouncing any sibilants, one of those slender fingers tinted with fading paint reaching out to jab the captain in the chest with each syllable. "Soldier aside, I am a Lord of House Thanasi and, as such, you are bound by blood to obey my demands and seek to please me. There are no others here capable of feeding your deeds back to my siblings and father, and there are no others on this ship with the power to ensure they offer you blessings you do not deserve." His gaze flickered to Damocles for a moment, as if wondering whether the captain had any leverage in spreading secrets to Nethis solely through some distant business relation, but then decided it was no concern compared to his own power over his sisters. "Besides, I think you will find that, regardless of the words of others, it is my testimony that my sister will be most inclined to believe, and if I tell my dearest Nethis that you were wicked and attempted to lead me, her favoured younger brother, to an uncomfortable death, well...I doubt she shall be thrilled."
Mihail watched the other's movements as he spoke, his eyes fixed on the Thanasi captain's to determine even the slightest hint of the desired fear or subordination, the one hand still resting on his hip while the left was positioned with his finger pressed pointedly against the man's chest. This was the kind of man he loathed, the sort who thought themselves better than all others because they had been foolishly bestowed a title through their ability to harm others and force them into submission. It was the kind he felt his brother - though not a military man himself - had always been towards him, and it was the sort which filled him with more unbridled fury than any other. Underestimating him solely because he did not possess military honours of his own, as if he could not prove himself countless times over were they to take a bow up against one another. The Thanasi could guarantee that, were the pair ever paired in an archery competition, then not one of his arrows would be aimed towards the target; instead, each would be aimed directly towards this insolent warrior, and Mihail did not make a habit of missing.
Putting other's in their place was always a drastically entertaining activity, and never more so than when it came to those who mistakenly thought themselves powerful.
Before the Megaris captain had a chance to answer, however, it seemed that the third party in the conversation saw fit to offer his own opinion, interrupting his slight fantasy regarding the fate of the other. Ordinarily, Mihail had little interest in the thoughts of those who were of no rank or limited import to the conversation, but he supposed he had sufficient history with Captain Damocles to concede a few out-of-place comments. Still, one of his brows quirked upwards in amusement at the man's opening statement, spare hand dropping back to mirror the other, shifting slightly to face him instead.
He could not deny that Damocles's words were relatively sane, and he appreciated the acknowledgement of his skill as an archer. There were too many who ignored the silver arrow he had been awarded as proof of his expertise in Athenia several years back, and, solely because he did not participate actively in the military, believed he was not as talented as he was. He had mastered the art, so far as he was concerned, and had yet to find someone who could match him (not that he believed he ever would). The captain's endorsement of his ability, hopefully, would convince Captain Attias that he was a valuable asset to the army, though reasoning with others was not his usual style of negotiation. Mihail nodded in grateful answer to the beneficial words, his head tilting towards the tallest of the three men as if to accentuate his points.
"Captain Damocles is correct. As the finest archer in Greece and, therefore, the finest soldier in your unit, I think you shall find there is no reason for my being denied a more comfortable set of quarters for this trip. I am not asking for much, and I am certain there are some of your soldiers who are far less deserving than I." Likely, this was not the case, but Mihail had hardly been raised to think excessively on the comfort of others, and he already considered himself far above the rest of the men on this gods-forsaken ship solely by the benefit of his possible birth. He raised his chin as he faced Captain Attius once more, the corners of his mouth curved firmly downwards despite his satisfaction at this new line of argument. "I suggest you listen to your Magnemean counterpart, as I trust you can prove a man of some intelligence, and do not wish the pain of denying me. I shall give you a moment to consider your options."
With his newest claim to comfort delivered, Mihail took his chance to face Damocles with a more personal set of complaints, seeing no problem with taking advantage of his presence to air his grievances. "Your man, Lysandros. He is fine, but he is boring in repetition. I should like another from your unit, if possible - there is a younger blonde with lovely green eyes, if you do not mind? Separately, are we truly expected to go so long without any proper wine or opium? I am parched, and shall gladly pay for the privilege. I have already spent far more time than necessary suffering horrid poverty at the baron's estate in Nethisa, and I do not think I can take much more here." He batted his eyelashes at the man, widening his eyes as if distressed as he stepped a little closer to him, in the manner which always worked with those older, rich men in Colchis who were willing to abandon their wives for more enticing (and, admittedly, far more expensive) companionship. "You can fix that for me too, yes?"
This was not the way Mihail had expected the conversation to go. He was used to making his demands of the lesser Thanasi lords and them usually accepting them with little question. The baron of Nethisa, for example, was his friend solely through the virtue of his eldest sister making it clear on various occasions that he was to treat her littlest brother with all that he desired - not that Mihail had ever been made privy to such secretive machinations - and the baron of Pieria had been subject to several of his commands and unkindnesses. The Thanasi sisters, while they had been more than competent in raising Mihail while their mother had denied any interest, were not the best at moderating his wants, ever-tainted by their natural sisterly love which gave in more often than not, and, as a result, he was less than used to being denied, mainly when it came to those who ranked below him.
Captain Attias was clearly a stronger man than most, and, though that could usually be fixed with the right combination of cruel words and threatening actions, the necessary resources with which to ensure that outcome were not exactly readily available in their current environment. Mihail could sense the irritation in his expression even before he spoke, and had braced himself for the rejection, although his mind was already working to figure out what would be his best course of action if his title of a Thanasi lord was going to be ignored.
"You do not command me," he reprimanded the man, somehow managing to hiss the words without pronouncing any sibilants, one of those slender fingers tinted with fading paint reaching out to jab the captain in the chest with each syllable. "Soldier aside, I am a Lord of House Thanasi and, as such, you are bound by blood to obey my demands and seek to please me. There are no others here capable of feeding your deeds back to my siblings and father, and there are no others on this ship with the power to ensure they offer you blessings you do not deserve." His gaze flickered to Damocles for a moment, as if wondering whether the captain had any leverage in spreading secrets to Nethis solely through some distant business relation, but then decided it was no concern compared to his own power over his sisters. "Besides, I think you will find that, regardless of the words of others, it is my testimony that my sister will be most inclined to believe, and if I tell my dearest Nethis that you were wicked and attempted to lead me, her favoured younger brother, to an uncomfortable death, well...I doubt she shall be thrilled."
Mihail watched the other's movements as he spoke, his eyes fixed on the Thanasi captain's to determine even the slightest hint of the desired fear or subordination, the one hand still resting on his hip while the left was positioned with his finger pressed pointedly against the man's chest. This was the kind of man he loathed, the sort who thought themselves better than all others because they had been foolishly bestowed a title through their ability to harm others and force them into submission. It was the kind he felt his brother - though not a military man himself - had always been towards him, and it was the sort which filled him with more unbridled fury than any other. Underestimating him solely because he did not possess military honours of his own, as if he could not prove himself countless times over were they to take a bow up against one another. The Thanasi could guarantee that, were the pair ever paired in an archery competition, then not one of his arrows would be aimed towards the target; instead, each would be aimed directly towards this insolent warrior, and Mihail did not make a habit of missing.
Putting other's in their place was always a drastically entertaining activity, and never more so than when it came to those who mistakenly thought themselves powerful.
Before the Megaris captain had a chance to answer, however, it seemed that the third party in the conversation saw fit to offer his own opinion, interrupting his slight fantasy regarding the fate of the other. Ordinarily, Mihail had little interest in the thoughts of those who were of no rank or limited import to the conversation, but he supposed he had sufficient history with Captain Damocles to concede a few out-of-place comments. Still, one of his brows quirked upwards in amusement at the man's opening statement, spare hand dropping back to mirror the other, shifting slightly to face him instead.
He could not deny that Damocles's words were relatively sane, and he appreciated the acknowledgement of his skill as an archer. There were too many who ignored the silver arrow he had been awarded as proof of his expertise in Athenia several years back, and, solely because he did not participate actively in the military, believed he was not as talented as he was. He had mastered the art, so far as he was concerned, and had yet to find someone who could match him (not that he believed he ever would). The captain's endorsement of his ability, hopefully, would convince Captain Attias that he was a valuable asset to the army, though reasoning with others was not his usual style of negotiation. Mihail nodded in grateful answer to the beneficial words, his head tilting towards the tallest of the three men as if to accentuate his points.
"Captain Damocles is correct. As the finest archer in Greece and, therefore, the finest soldier in your unit, I think you shall find there is no reason for my being denied a more comfortable set of quarters for this trip. I am not asking for much, and I am certain there are some of your soldiers who are far less deserving than I." Likely, this was not the case, but Mihail had hardly been raised to think excessively on the comfort of others, and he already considered himself far above the rest of the men on this gods-forsaken ship solely by the benefit of his possible birth. He raised his chin as he faced Captain Attius once more, the corners of his mouth curved firmly downwards despite his satisfaction at this new line of argument. "I suggest you listen to your Magnemean counterpart, as I trust you can prove a man of some intelligence, and do not wish the pain of denying me. I shall give you a moment to consider your options."
With his newest claim to comfort delivered, Mihail took his chance to face Damocles with a more personal set of complaints, seeing no problem with taking advantage of his presence to air his grievances. "Your man, Lysandros. He is fine, but he is boring in repetition. I should like another from your unit, if possible - there is a younger blonde with lovely green eyes, if you do not mind? Separately, are we truly expected to go so long without any proper wine or opium? I am parched, and shall gladly pay for the privilege. I have already spent far more time than necessary suffering horrid poverty at the baron's estate in Nethisa, and I do not think I can take much more here." He batted his eyelashes at the man, widening his eyes as if distressed as he stepped a little closer to him, in the manner which always worked with those older, rich men in Colchis who were willing to abandon their wives for more enticing (and, admittedly, far more expensive) companionship. "You can fix that for me too, yes?"
Though he kept his features stoic and non-responsive, as he heard the bitter exchange of barbed words exchanged between the proud militant and the haughty youth, Damocles could not help but feel the urge to smirk just a bit at the delightful madness that this entire chaos proposed. It was in his nature to bid his time, to wait for the right time to strike and press forward with grasping fingers at the prospecting opportunity that could be. He could feel the intensity of the dispute, petty and inconsequential as he saw it through his own silver eyes. Yet, he supposed that what he dismissed as rather unimportant could potentially be a matter of grave consequence to the little Lord Thanasi. As far as he could tell, based on his past experiences with the man, the dark-haired youth had been spoiled rotten and raised with nothing but excessive luxury. It made sense therefore to Damocles that, if viewed through the lens of pampered overindulgence, the matter of better sleeping arrangements could be seen as quite serious.
Yet, he too could see wherefore the Megarian captain was coming from. Technically, at the current time and space, the militant did outrank the royal-born based on senior experience in matters martial. Furthermore, Mihail had been but a last-minute recruit, freshly cut from a long string of more veteran soldiers that had earned their commission and place in the Hounds of Death through their industry and labor. If a warrior as green and inexperienced as Mihail was shown lavish favor in such a blunt and obvious manner, it could easily have undermined the legitimacy of Attius as a commander. Perhaps, his choice of words had been wrong and incorrect, but if he had been in a similar situation, Damocles would not have allowed someone to just come up to him and demand better treatment in such a bold and audacious manner. Royalty and blood-right be damned. When it came to war all men bled the same, and neither crowns nor titles would prevent even the most dignified and arrogant of aristocrats from dying if stabbed with either sword or spear.
Then again, Mihail was not just some random royal. He was a Thanasi, a member of a bloodline that had latched itself close to the Crown as of late, first via marriage to the second prince, Zanon and now, if gossip upon court was true, through Vangelis. It was a delicious rumor of course, but one that had been only that. Would that prospect not delight every enemy of that vile bloodline of Kotas and set all the tongues of Midas wagging. There indeed was much that could be gain if favor was secured with a bloodline that had slithered so close to the throne and all but bared its venomous fangs against foe. Besides, if his memories of the past were true, he had promised to the Lady of Thanasi, the famously cleaver Nethis of said name, to both secure and protect the interests and needs of the boy. Moreover, though he sympathized with the meritocracy that the Megarian seemed so inclined to try and enforce, Damocles was not an ideologue and saw the pragmatic application of bending one’s beliefs a bit if it were for the pursuit of forged success. Far often people got to wrapped-up in their beliefs and stances, and not prioritized the importance of flexibility and adaptability. So, with his ears atuned to the situation, the Magnemean smirked and placed his gambit, casting the die to what could be a very lucrative investment.
“While I do understand the importance of maintaining our military hierarchy, my friend Attias, we are not currently at war still, and there could be much to gain in simply abiding by such a minor request. I for one am not fond of having dissent amongst the ranks. And besides, its only an upgrade of lodgins.” Persuaded Damocles with the same sneaky eloquence he oftentimes used when dealing with others who could be bent to satisfy his own personal goals.
“No! I refuse! He is my soldier and he shall do as I command him! Am I understood?” obstinately stonewalled the Megarian militant, much to Damocles’s unimpressed calmness. Honestly, was this man lacking in brains? Surely, even a muscleheaded idiot like himself could recognize that arguing against the desires of a nobleman in public was futile and a waste of one’s time. “Very well. Then, if your Captain will not satisfy your request, Lord Mihail, I invite you, not as a soldier of the Hounds of Death, but as a royal of the House of Thanasi, to stay in one of my own lieutenant’s upgraded lodgings. I am sure my men will be pleased to honor the greatest archer in Greece after all.” Cunningly invited Damocles as he used rhetoric, trickery and simple wordplay to go around the other militant’s obstinacy.
“He will not go! He is my soldier and I wil-“ objected the Megarian before he was cut off by the colossal Captain of the Damned.
“Yes, he is your soldier and as such he is free to do as you wish in his capacity as a militant. Yet, in his capacity as a royal, he is free to do as he wishes at any time. And in similar fashion, as the leader of another unit independent of your own, I am likewise free to extend any invitation I so wish to whomever I desire, including, but not limited to…” logically argued Damocles with a grin on his face as he knew that the captain was aware that his argument was entirely logical. “Yes?” goaded Damocles more, noticing the anger in the other man’s words as he humiliated him and forced him to finish his own last sentence so as to have him admit to his own flawed logic.
“Royals and nobles….” Begrudgingly muttered the other militant as he looked away with growing discontent, knowing fully well that he had lost this battle of wits and would have to face the consequences for his own stupid obstinacy. “Exactly!” mockingly laughed the Magnemean as he further twisted the metaphorical dagger behind the man’s back, enjoying the public humiliation before the Thanasi as a small piece of theater that Damocles was sure would amuse Mihail. “Now, if you would please, Lord Thanasi, I will be more than happy to show you to your new sleeping arrangements.” Politely gestured the monumentally tall man as he turned his back at the other militant and glared at him with a look of cold, hollow chilled-dismissal that betrayed the senior captain’s disappointment at a man who had once seemed to be an intelligent person.
As he walked down the lower, main deck of the ship, Damocles returned his attention at the younger man and decided to make some small talk with him. “I do apologize for Captain Attias’s stupidity. It seems common sense is the least common of senses.” He lightheartedly joked as he made his way to the topmost deck, noticing the odd sway of the ship that seemed to be making an ominously disturbing sound, creaking through its wooden beams and hardened floors. “Worry not, I will make sure that you receive all that you would like. And between you and me, my Lord, I have a special crate of Condos wine that I secured for myself in this ship. If you’d like, I could gift you a bottle for your own consumption. A small token of apology for that show of injustified bravado that you had to witness from the captain of Megaris.” Offered Damocles with honeyed words…before he clenched the side of the ship and grunted, noticing the abrupt shift in the deck that forced the vessel to move abruptly and in an intense, forceful manner. “What is the meaning of this? Who is steering this thing!” he snarled at a random sailor before noticing that Mihail of Thanasi was nowhere to be found, until he turned to the side of the ship and saw splashing and bubbles…the clear sign of someone drowning.
“Man overboard! Man overboard!” shouted Damocles taking off his armor and garments as the ship was stopped in its movement while the crew moved frantically to try and ascertain the situation. He was quick to take away his layered objects and clenched about, tightly. The fact that their was someone drowning and that Mihail was nowhere to be found meant only one thing…Mihail of Thanasi was the person who had been thrown over the sea and had been cast into the waters. “You! Throw me a line of rope once I come up from the water and make sure I am dragged up, and I clear!” he ordered to one of his soldiers, taking away the last of his weighted armor before he dove right into the water headfirst, showing not a hint of hesitation as the man lounged forward to try and rescue the assumedly drowning Thanasi.
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Though he kept his features stoic and non-responsive, as he heard the bitter exchange of barbed words exchanged between the proud militant and the haughty youth, Damocles could not help but feel the urge to smirk just a bit at the delightful madness that this entire chaos proposed. It was in his nature to bid his time, to wait for the right time to strike and press forward with grasping fingers at the prospecting opportunity that could be. He could feel the intensity of the dispute, petty and inconsequential as he saw it through his own silver eyes. Yet, he supposed that what he dismissed as rather unimportant could potentially be a matter of grave consequence to the little Lord Thanasi. As far as he could tell, based on his past experiences with the man, the dark-haired youth had been spoiled rotten and raised with nothing but excessive luxury. It made sense therefore to Damocles that, if viewed through the lens of pampered overindulgence, the matter of better sleeping arrangements could be seen as quite serious.
Yet, he too could see wherefore the Megarian captain was coming from. Technically, at the current time and space, the militant did outrank the royal-born based on senior experience in matters martial. Furthermore, Mihail had been but a last-minute recruit, freshly cut from a long string of more veteran soldiers that had earned their commission and place in the Hounds of Death through their industry and labor. If a warrior as green and inexperienced as Mihail was shown lavish favor in such a blunt and obvious manner, it could easily have undermined the legitimacy of Attius as a commander. Perhaps, his choice of words had been wrong and incorrect, but if he had been in a similar situation, Damocles would not have allowed someone to just come up to him and demand better treatment in such a bold and audacious manner. Royalty and blood-right be damned. When it came to war all men bled the same, and neither crowns nor titles would prevent even the most dignified and arrogant of aristocrats from dying if stabbed with either sword or spear.
Then again, Mihail was not just some random royal. He was a Thanasi, a member of a bloodline that had latched itself close to the Crown as of late, first via marriage to the second prince, Zanon and now, if gossip upon court was true, through Vangelis. It was a delicious rumor of course, but one that had been only that. Would that prospect not delight every enemy of that vile bloodline of Kotas and set all the tongues of Midas wagging. There indeed was much that could be gain if favor was secured with a bloodline that had slithered so close to the throne and all but bared its venomous fangs against foe. Besides, if his memories of the past were true, he had promised to the Lady of Thanasi, the famously cleaver Nethis of said name, to both secure and protect the interests and needs of the boy. Moreover, though he sympathized with the meritocracy that the Megarian seemed so inclined to try and enforce, Damocles was not an ideologue and saw the pragmatic application of bending one’s beliefs a bit if it were for the pursuit of forged success. Far often people got to wrapped-up in their beliefs and stances, and not prioritized the importance of flexibility and adaptability. So, with his ears atuned to the situation, the Magnemean smirked and placed his gambit, casting the die to what could be a very lucrative investment.
“While I do understand the importance of maintaining our military hierarchy, my friend Attias, we are not currently at war still, and there could be much to gain in simply abiding by such a minor request. I for one am not fond of having dissent amongst the ranks. And besides, its only an upgrade of lodgins.” Persuaded Damocles with the same sneaky eloquence he oftentimes used when dealing with others who could be bent to satisfy his own personal goals.
“No! I refuse! He is my soldier and he shall do as I command him! Am I understood?” obstinately stonewalled the Megarian militant, much to Damocles’s unimpressed calmness. Honestly, was this man lacking in brains? Surely, even a muscleheaded idiot like himself could recognize that arguing against the desires of a nobleman in public was futile and a waste of one’s time. “Very well. Then, if your Captain will not satisfy your request, Lord Mihail, I invite you, not as a soldier of the Hounds of Death, but as a royal of the House of Thanasi, to stay in one of my own lieutenant’s upgraded lodgings. I am sure my men will be pleased to honor the greatest archer in Greece after all.” Cunningly invited Damocles as he used rhetoric, trickery and simple wordplay to go around the other militant’s obstinacy.
“He will not go! He is my soldier and I wil-“ objected the Megarian before he was cut off by the colossal Captain of the Damned.
“Yes, he is your soldier and as such he is free to do as you wish in his capacity as a militant. Yet, in his capacity as a royal, he is free to do as he wishes at any time. And in similar fashion, as the leader of another unit independent of your own, I am likewise free to extend any invitation I so wish to whomever I desire, including, but not limited to…” logically argued Damocles with a grin on his face as he knew that the captain was aware that his argument was entirely logical. “Yes?” goaded Damocles more, noticing the anger in the other man’s words as he humiliated him and forced him to finish his own last sentence so as to have him admit to his own flawed logic.
“Royals and nobles….” Begrudgingly muttered the other militant as he looked away with growing discontent, knowing fully well that he had lost this battle of wits and would have to face the consequences for his own stupid obstinacy. “Exactly!” mockingly laughed the Magnemean as he further twisted the metaphorical dagger behind the man’s back, enjoying the public humiliation before the Thanasi as a small piece of theater that Damocles was sure would amuse Mihail. “Now, if you would please, Lord Thanasi, I will be more than happy to show you to your new sleeping arrangements.” Politely gestured the monumentally tall man as he turned his back at the other militant and glared at him with a look of cold, hollow chilled-dismissal that betrayed the senior captain’s disappointment at a man who had once seemed to be an intelligent person.
As he walked down the lower, main deck of the ship, Damocles returned his attention at the younger man and decided to make some small talk with him. “I do apologize for Captain Attias’s stupidity. It seems common sense is the least common of senses.” He lightheartedly joked as he made his way to the topmost deck, noticing the odd sway of the ship that seemed to be making an ominously disturbing sound, creaking through its wooden beams and hardened floors. “Worry not, I will make sure that you receive all that you would like. And between you and me, my Lord, I have a special crate of Condos wine that I secured for myself in this ship. If you’d like, I could gift you a bottle for your own consumption. A small token of apology for that show of injustified bravado that you had to witness from the captain of Megaris.” Offered Damocles with honeyed words…before he clenched the side of the ship and grunted, noticing the abrupt shift in the deck that forced the vessel to move abruptly and in an intense, forceful manner. “What is the meaning of this? Who is steering this thing!” he snarled at a random sailor before noticing that Mihail of Thanasi was nowhere to be found, until he turned to the side of the ship and saw splashing and bubbles…the clear sign of someone drowning.
“Man overboard! Man overboard!” shouted Damocles taking off his armor and garments as the ship was stopped in its movement while the crew moved frantically to try and ascertain the situation. He was quick to take away his layered objects and clenched about, tightly. The fact that their was someone drowning and that Mihail was nowhere to be found meant only one thing…Mihail of Thanasi was the person who had been thrown over the sea and had been cast into the waters. “You! Throw me a line of rope once I come up from the water and make sure I am dragged up, and I clear!” he ordered to one of his soldiers, taking away the last of his weighted armor before he dove right into the water headfirst, showing not a hint of hesitation as the man lounged forward to try and rescue the assumedly drowning Thanasi.
Though he kept his features stoic and non-responsive, as he heard the bitter exchange of barbed words exchanged between the proud militant and the haughty youth, Damocles could not help but feel the urge to smirk just a bit at the delightful madness that this entire chaos proposed. It was in his nature to bid his time, to wait for the right time to strike and press forward with grasping fingers at the prospecting opportunity that could be. He could feel the intensity of the dispute, petty and inconsequential as he saw it through his own silver eyes. Yet, he supposed that what he dismissed as rather unimportant could potentially be a matter of grave consequence to the little Lord Thanasi. As far as he could tell, based on his past experiences with the man, the dark-haired youth had been spoiled rotten and raised with nothing but excessive luxury. It made sense therefore to Damocles that, if viewed through the lens of pampered overindulgence, the matter of better sleeping arrangements could be seen as quite serious.
Yet, he too could see wherefore the Megarian captain was coming from. Technically, at the current time and space, the militant did outrank the royal-born based on senior experience in matters martial. Furthermore, Mihail had been but a last-minute recruit, freshly cut from a long string of more veteran soldiers that had earned their commission and place in the Hounds of Death through their industry and labor. If a warrior as green and inexperienced as Mihail was shown lavish favor in such a blunt and obvious manner, it could easily have undermined the legitimacy of Attius as a commander. Perhaps, his choice of words had been wrong and incorrect, but if he had been in a similar situation, Damocles would not have allowed someone to just come up to him and demand better treatment in such a bold and audacious manner. Royalty and blood-right be damned. When it came to war all men bled the same, and neither crowns nor titles would prevent even the most dignified and arrogant of aristocrats from dying if stabbed with either sword or spear.
Then again, Mihail was not just some random royal. He was a Thanasi, a member of a bloodline that had latched itself close to the Crown as of late, first via marriage to the second prince, Zanon and now, if gossip upon court was true, through Vangelis. It was a delicious rumor of course, but one that had been only that. Would that prospect not delight every enemy of that vile bloodline of Kotas and set all the tongues of Midas wagging. There indeed was much that could be gain if favor was secured with a bloodline that had slithered so close to the throne and all but bared its venomous fangs against foe. Besides, if his memories of the past were true, he had promised to the Lady of Thanasi, the famously cleaver Nethis of said name, to both secure and protect the interests and needs of the boy. Moreover, though he sympathized with the meritocracy that the Megarian seemed so inclined to try and enforce, Damocles was not an ideologue and saw the pragmatic application of bending one’s beliefs a bit if it were for the pursuit of forged success. Far often people got to wrapped-up in their beliefs and stances, and not prioritized the importance of flexibility and adaptability. So, with his ears atuned to the situation, the Magnemean smirked and placed his gambit, casting the die to what could be a very lucrative investment.
“While I do understand the importance of maintaining our military hierarchy, my friend Attias, we are not currently at war still, and there could be much to gain in simply abiding by such a minor request. I for one am not fond of having dissent amongst the ranks. And besides, its only an upgrade of lodgins.” Persuaded Damocles with the same sneaky eloquence he oftentimes used when dealing with others who could be bent to satisfy his own personal goals.
“No! I refuse! He is my soldier and he shall do as I command him! Am I understood?” obstinately stonewalled the Megarian militant, much to Damocles’s unimpressed calmness. Honestly, was this man lacking in brains? Surely, even a muscleheaded idiot like himself could recognize that arguing against the desires of a nobleman in public was futile and a waste of one’s time. “Very well. Then, if your Captain will not satisfy your request, Lord Mihail, I invite you, not as a soldier of the Hounds of Death, but as a royal of the House of Thanasi, to stay in one of my own lieutenant’s upgraded lodgings. I am sure my men will be pleased to honor the greatest archer in Greece after all.” Cunningly invited Damocles as he used rhetoric, trickery and simple wordplay to go around the other militant’s obstinacy.
“He will not go! He is my soldier and I wil-“ objected the Megarian before he was cut off by the colossal Captain of the Damned.
“Yes, he is your soldier and as such he is free to do as you wish in his capacity as a militant. Yet, in his capacity as a royal, he is free to do as he wishes at any time. And in similar fashion, as the leader of another unit independent of your own, I am likewise free to extend any invitation I so wish to whomever I desire, including, but not limited to…” logically argued Damocles with a grin on his face as he knew that the captain was aware that his argument was entirely logical. “Yes?” goaded Damocles more, noticing the anger in the other man’s words as he humiliated him and forced him to finish his own last sentence so as to have him admit to his own flawed logic.
“Royals and nobles….” Begrudgingly muttered the other militant as he looked away with growing discontent, knowing fully well that he had lost this battle of wits and would have to face the consequences for his own stupid obstinacy. “Exactly!” mockingly laughed the Magnemean as he further twisted the metaphorical dagger behind the man’s back, enjoying the public humiliation before the Thanasi as a small piece of theater that Damocles was sure would amuse Mihail. “Now, if you would please, Lord Thanasi, I will be more than happy to show you to your new sleeping arrangements.” Politely gestured the monumentally tall man as he turned his back at the other militant and glared at him with a look of cold, hollow chilled-dismissal that betrayed the senior captain’s disappointment at a man who had once seemed to be an intelligent person.
As he walked down the lower, main deck of the ship, Damocles returned his attention at the younger man and decided to make some small talk with him. “I do apologize for Captain Attias’s stupidity. It seems common sense is the least common of senses.” He lightheartedly joked as he made his way to the topmost deck, noticing the odd sway of the ship that seemed to be making an ominously disturbing sound, creaking through its wooden beams and hardened floors. “Worry not, I will make sure that you receive all that you would like. And between you and me, my Lord, I have a special crate of Condos wine that I secured for myself in this ship. If you’d like, I could gift you a bottle for your own consumption. A small token of apology for that show of injustified bravado that you had to witness from the captain of Megaris.” Offered Damocles with honeyed words…before he clenched the side of the ship and grunted, noticing the abrupt shift in the deck that forced the vessel to move abruptly and in an intense, forceful manner. “What is the meaning of this? Who is steering this thing!” he snarled at a random sailor before noticing that Mihail of Thanasi was nowhere to be found, until he turned to the side of the ship and saw splashing and bubbles…the clear sign of someone drowning.
“Man overboard! Man overboard!” shouted Damocles taking off his armor and garments as the ship was stopped in its movement while the crew moved frantically to try and ascertain the situation. He was quick to take away his layered objects and clenched about, tightly. The fact that their was someone drowning and that Mihail was nowhere to be found meant only one thing…Mihail of Thanasi was the person who had been thrown over the sea and had been cast into the waters. “You! Throw me a line of rope once I come up from the water and make sure I am dragged up, and I clear!” he ordered to one of his soldiers, taking away the last of his weighted armor before he dove right into the water headfirst, showing not a hint of hesitation as the man lounged forward to try and rescue the assumedly drowning Thanasi.
Arguing, arguing, arguing. There was so much tedious argumentation for which Mihail did not care. His life was quite often consumed by the most unnecessary discussions: silly disputes with Dysius over matters which did not concern either of them; over-dramatic conflicts with his thick-witted father over those many small things which Mihail did that did not entirely conform to Lord Dionysios's backwards view of the world; and miniature quarrels with anybody who felt the need to object to Thanasi world view (and it was a somewhat different view to the ordinary). Now, he was not so put out by watching this dull discussion between Captain Damocles and the leader of the Megaris unit. Instead, his gaze flickered past the pair of them to stare half-thoughtfully at the few soldiers who passed by the group, some of them occasionally sparing an inquisitive glance towards the commotion.
At long last, it appeared a settlement had been reached. The young lord did not think the rhetoric which had been thrown out in conversation was all that logical, but it was working in his advantage, so he permitted it to continue as he dropped his hands to rest on his slim hips and smiled up at the tall man with a vague degree of appreciation. Nothing overly kind, for he did not wish to give the impression that he was any more grateful than was appropriate, and he did not desire that Captain Damocles begin to mistake thanks for friendliness.
"I shall inform Nethis of your disobedience," he told Captain Attias, as if the threat truly meant anything and was not, instead, a vague statement promising something menacing that would likely never occur. Nethis was not the sort of woman who was concerned by such petty matters, and he himself did not have the time to ferry useless information in her direction. He only cared about valuable gossip, as did she. There was no use in the dull complaints he had about random members of the military. "I am sure that she shall be most displeased to hear of your horrendous treatment of her most favourite brother, and that you shall presently find yourself remove of a title." That way, he would consider himself lucky when there was no punishment in sight, given that that was to be the most likely of situations.
Mihail waved the man off as if he were not the one who would be walking away from them, turning towards the man who had saved him from the awful fate of a continued uncomfortable bed. "Yes, do lead the way to these new quarters," he agreed, dropping his arms to rest more leisurely behind him as they began to walk, his steps slow and steady as he tried his best to maintain balance on the swaying ship.
Damocles did not walk at a speed that the Thanasi lord thought to be all that helpful to him. On solid ground, he had no real trouble strolling at a much faster pace than was likely the average - many had complained in the past that Mihail did not make a habit of awaiting them when he should have done so - but when his surface tilted from side to side at varying speeds as this one did, the dark-haired lord was not entirely sure how he was expected to walk with no trouble, as so many of these soldiers seemed to do.
The ship was wobbling far too dramatically now for Mihail's liking, and he could hardly manage to stand. Though the weather did not appear all that adverse, a strong wind must have picked up without him realising it, and the waves had grown choppy and sharp and unforgiving. He could not help but let his gaze fall in their direction, so that he was partially distracted by the view of the water, and, suddenly unable to continue his walking, he stopped, gripping the guard rail with his eyes half-closed for a moment, trying his hardest not to focus on the water or on whatever the Magnamean captain was currently saying. He did not have the mind to pay attention to his reassurance of wine at present.
A wave raised higher than the others, jagging the ship at an angle that was unquestionably unsafe, and, quite suddenly, he could no longer feel the grip of the wet wood beneath his fingers, and he was slipping, and the fall was over in a moment and yet took forever all at once, and then he had crashed unceremoniously into the water. At first, he did not realise what had happened, and his eyes stung with the pain of the salt and his body hardened in shocked paralysis as the close-to-freezing temperature of the tumultuous, unkind sea seeped through his bones and shivered them so that they would not move quite as he desired them, and he felt himself sinker deeper and deeper into the inevitable death and the abyss of the ocean.
With a tremendous amount of effort, he heaved his deadened arms away from where he had attempted to wrap them snuggly around himself to protect from the cold, flapping them pathetically against the current. He tried to stay a head - half a head, even, only so that his crooked nose lingered above the waves as long as possible - above the chilling water, and as carefully close to the fast-moving ship as possible, so that he would not be dragged away by some sudden wave and trapped in a foreign stretch of water. The only concern was that he did not know the correct actions, and though his feet kicked frantically and his arms waved about in confusion, he did not know what he was doing, nor what would be best.
No one had ever taught Mihail to swim. There had never appeared to be any need for lessons, and he had thoroughly eschewed them after his first horrific experience under the cruel cover of the water. He had almost managed to condition himself not to feel such overwhelming fear when he was safe on a travelling ship above the waves, but never one as large as this, and never in some weather as horrific as this. This was his worst fear come to life, and he wondered for a moment what deeds the gods had chosen to punish him for, quite certain that this would be the moment at which his life would be sucked away from him, and his body would be lost at sea, and he would never make it home, and Nethis would be ashamed of him in death, and all his life would have been for nought.
It must have been longer than a minute, though he was unsure, and all he knew was that he could not breathe and he could not try to do so or else it would all be over. And yet, though he tried to hold his own against the thrashing waves, his body was working against his mind, and he could sense himself taking a heaving breath right when the liquid washed over him, as his arms and legs flailed and plodded pathetically in the water, trying to keep him above the threshold though the waves flew over his head. He struggled as he felt the water riding mercilessly up his nose and flooding him, and his vision blurred. He was growing quickly tired, and he did not know what he could do to prevent this fate.
There was someone else in the water.
In his failing state, he half-recognised the sight of Captain Damocles, his eyes unable to remain fully open so that the only vague picture he had was through the thickness of his eyelashes. The youngest Thanasi tried to let out a surprised shout, but the only sound that emerged from his mouth was a gargled cry of nothingness, and as soon as he parted his lips, he felt his insides flooded with salty liquid once again. He gasped for a new burst of air, trying to hold it within him for as long as possible, so scared was he that without it he would be gone. Mihail moved in the broad direction of the swimming captain - his presumed rescuer - and, though it was a troubled and jerking movement, he almost managed to make it. He was far too tired to go on all that much later, and once he found himself close enough, he reached out, laying that hand heavily on his saviour's arm.
He clambered helplessly onto the other, not thinking entirely straight and fully intent on self-preservation at that moment. All that Mihail wished was to keep himself above the sea's worst movements, and with his arms wrapped around the other's shoulders without warning, nails digging harshly into the other. He only wished to be saved, and whether that particular action resulted in the temporary loss of his dignity or forced him to drag another down, he did not care. Mihail wanted to be saved, but his lungs were filling with cold water, and his shaking breaths were growing far too laboured to maintain, and all he wanted was to close his heavy eyes for a long while and to sleep.
Perhaps he would do that. Just close his eyes for a moment and rest on the other's floating shape, now that he had some degree of purchase. He would be alright, he thought, but he needed to rest.
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Check out their information page here.
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Arguing, arguing, arguing. There was so much tedious argumentation for which Mihail did not care. His life was quite often consumed by the most unnecessary discussions: silly disputes with Dysius over matters which did not concern either of them; over-dramatic conflicts with his thick-witted father over those many small things which Mihail did that did not entirely conform to Lord Dionysios's backwards view of the world; and miniature quarrels with anybody who felt the need to object to Thanasi world view (and it was a somewhat different view to the ordinary). Now, he was not so put out by watching this dull discussion between Captain Damocles and the leader of the Megaris unit. Instead, his gaze flickered past the pair of them to stare half-thoughtfully at the few soldiers who passed by the group, some of them occasionally sparing an inquisitive glance towards the commotion.
At long last, it appeared a settlement had been reached. The young lord did not think the rhetoric which had been thrown out in conversation was all that logical, but it was working in his advantage, so he permitted it to continue as he dropped his hands to rest on his slim hips and smiled up at the tall man with a vague degree of appreciation. Nothing overly kind, for he did not wish to give the impression that he was any more grateful than was appropriate, and he did not desire that Captain Damocles begin to mistake thanks for friendliness.
"I shall inform Nethis of your disobedience," he told Captain Attias, as if the threat truly meant anything and was not, instead, a vague statement promising something menacing that would likely never occur. Nethis was not the sort of woman who was concerned by such petty matters, and he himself did not have the time to ferry useless information in her direction. He only cared about valuable gossip, as did she. There was no use in the dull complaints he had about random members of the military. "I am sure that she shall be most displeased to hear of your horrendous treatment of her most favourite brother, and that you shall presently find yourself remove of a title." That way, he would consider himself lucky when there was no punishment in sight, given that that was to be the most likely of situations.
Mihail waved the man off as if he were not the one who would be walking away from them, turning towards the man who had saved him from the awful fate of a continued uncomfortable bed. "Yes, do lead the way to these new quarters," he agreed, dropping his arms to rest more leisurely behind him as they began to walk, his steps slow and steady as he tried his best to maintain balance on the swaying ship.
Damocles did not walk at a speed that the Thanasi lord thought to be all that helpful to him. On solid ground, he had no real trouble strolling at a much faster pace than was likely the average - many had complained in the past that Mihail did not make a habit of awaiting them when he should have done so - but when his surface tilted from side to side at varying speeds as this one did, the dark-haired lord was not entirely sure how he was expected to walk with no trouble, as so many of these soldiers seemed to do.
The ship was wobbling far too dramatically now for Mihail's liking, and he could hardly manage to stand. Though the weather did not appear all that adverse, a strong wind must have picked up without him realising it, and the waves had grown choppy and sharp and unforgiving. He could not help but let his gaze fall in their direction, so that he was partially distracted by the view of the water, and, suddenly unable to continue his walking, he stopped, gripping the guard rail with his eyes half-closed for a moment, trying his hardest not to focus on the water or on whatever the Magnamean captain was currently saying. He did not have the mind to pay attention to his reassurance of wine at present.
A wave raised higher than the others, jagging the ship at an angle that was unquestionably unsafe, and, quite suddenly, he could no longer feel the grip of the wet wood beneath his fingers, and he was slipping, and the fall was over in a moment and yet took forever all at once, and then he had crashed unceremoniously into the water. At first, he did not realise what had happened, and his eyes stung with the pain of the salt and his body hardened in shocked paralysis as the close-to-freezing temperature of the tumultuous, unkind sea seeped through his bones and shivered them so that they would not move quite as he desired them, and he felt himself sinker deeper and deeper into the inevitable death and the abyss of the ocean.
With a tremendous amount of effort, he heaved his deadened arms away from where he had attempted to wrap them snuggly around himself to protect from the cold, flapping them pathetically against the current. He tried to stay a head - half a head, even, only so that his crooked nose lingered above the waves as long as possible - above the chilling water, and as carefully close to the fast-moving ship as possible, so that he would not be dragged away by some sudden wave and trapped in a foreign stretch of water. The only concern was that he did not know the correct actions, and though his feet kicked frantically and his arms waved about in confusion, he did not know what he was doing, nor what would be best.
No one had ever taught Mihail to swim. There had never appeared to be any need for lessons, and he had thoroughly eschewed them after his first horrific experience under the cruel cover of the water. He had almost managed to condition himself not to feel such overwhelming fear when he was safe on a travelling ship above the waves, but never one as large as this, and never in some weather as horrific as this. This was his worst fear come to life, and he wondered for a moment what deeds the gods had chosen to punish him for, quite certain that this would be the moment at which his life would be sucked away from him, and his body would be lost at sea, and he would never make it home, and Nethis would be ashamed of him in death, and all his life would have been for nought.
It must have been longer than a minute, though he was unsure, and all he knew was that he could not breathe and he could not try to do so or else it would all be over. And yet, though he tried to hold his own against the thrashing waves, his body was working against his mind, and he could sense himself taking a heaving breath right when the liquid washed over him, as his arms and legs flailed and plodded pathetically in the water, trying to keep him above the threshold though the waves flew over his head. He struggled as he felt the water riding mercilessly up his nose and flooding him, and his vision blurred. He was growing quickly tired, and he did not know what he could do to prevent this fate.
There was someone else in the water.
In his failing state, he half-recognised the sight of Captain Damocles, his eyes unable to remain fully open so that the only vague picture he had was through the thickness of his eyelashes. The youngest Thanasi tried to let out a surprised shout, but the only sound that emerged from his mouth was a gargled cry of nothingness, and as soon as he parted his lips, he felt his insides flooded with salty liquid once again. He gasped for a new burst of air, trying to hold it within him for as long as possible, so scared was he that without it he would be gone. Mihail moved in the broad direction of the swimming captain - his presumed rescuer - and, though it was a troubled and jerking movement, he almost managed to make it. He was far too tired to go on all that much later, and once he found himself close enough, he reached out, laying that hand heavily on his saviour's arm.
He clambered helplessly onto the other, not thinking entirely straight and fully intent on self-preservation at that moment. All that Mihail wished was to keep himself above the sea's worst movements, and with his arms wrapped around the other's shoulders without warning, nails digging harshly into the other. He only wished to be saved, and whether that particular action resulted in the temporary loss of his dignity or forced him to drag another down, he did not care. Mihail wanted to be saved, but his lungs were filling with cold water, and his shaking breaths were growing far too laboured to maintain, and all he wanted was to close his heavy eyes for a long while and to sleep.
Perhaps he would do that. Just close his eyes for a moment and rest on the other's floating shape, now that he had some degree of purchase. He would be alright, he thought, but he needed to rest.
Arguing, arguing, arguing. There was so much tedious argumentation for which Mihail did not care. His life was quite often consumed by the most unnecessary discussions: silly disputes with Dysius over matters which did not concern either of them; over-dramatic conflicts with his thick-witted father over those many small things which Mihail did that did not entirely conform to Lord Dionysios's backwards view of the world; and miniature quarrels with anybody who felt the need to object to Thanasi world view (and it was a somewhat different view to the ordinary). Now, he was not so put out by watching this dull discussion between Captain Damocles and the leader of the Megaris unit. Instead, his gaze flickered past the pair of them to stare half-thoughtfully at the few soldiers who passed by the group, some of them occasionally sparing an inquisitive glance towards the commotion.
At long last, it appeared a settlement had been reached. The young lord did not think the rhetoric which had been thrown out in conversation was all that logical, but it was working in his advantage, so he permitted it to continue as he dropped his hands to rest on his slim hips and smiled up at the tall man with a vague degree of appreciation. Nothing overly kind, for he did not wish to give the impression that he was any more grateful than was appropriate, and he did not desire that Captain Damocles begin to mistake thanks for friendliness.
"I shall inform Nethis of your disobedience," he told Captain Attias, as if the threat truly meant anything and was not, instead, a vague statement promising something menacing that would likely never occur. Nethis was not the sort of woman who was concerned by such petty matters, and he himself did not have the time to ferry useless information in her direction. He only cared about valuable gossip, as did she. There was no use in the dull complaints he had about random members of the military. "I am sure that she shall be most displeased to hear of your horrendous treatment of her most favourite brother, and that you shall presently find yourself remove of a title." That way, he would consider himself lucky when there was no punishment in sight, given that that was to be the most likely of situations.
Mihail waved the man off as if he were not the one who would be walking away from them, turning towards the man who had saved him from the awful fate of a continued uncomfortable bed. "Yes, do lead the way to these new quarters," he agreed, dropping his arms to rest more leisurely behind him as they began to walk, his steps slow and steady as he tried his best to maintain balance on the swaying ship.
Damocles did not walk at a speed that the Thanasi lord thought to be all that helpful to him. On solid ground, he had no real trouble strolling at a much faster pace than was likely the average - many had complained in the past that Mihail did not make a habit of awaiting them when he should have done so - but when his surface tilted from side to side at varying speeds as this one did, the dark-haired lord was not entirely sure how he was expected to walk with no trouble, as so many of these soldiers seemed to do.
The ship was wobbling far too dramatically now for Mihail's liking, and he could hardly manage to stand. Though the weather did not appear all that adverse, a strong wind must have picked up without him realising it, and the waves had grown choppy and sharp and unforgiving. He could not help but let his gaze fall in their direction, so that he was partially distracted by the view of the water, and, suddenly unable to continue his walking, he stopped, gripping the guard rail with his eyes half-closed for a moment, trying his hardest not to focus on the water or on whatever the Magnamean captain was currently saying. He did not have the mind to pay attention to his reassurance of wine at present.
A wave raised higher than the others, jagging the ship at an angle that was unquestionably unsafe, and, quite suddenly, he could no longer feel the grip of the wet wood beneath his fingers, and he was slipping, and the fall was over in a moment and yet took forever all at once, and then he had crashed unceremoniously into the water. At first, he did not realise what had happened, and his eyes stung with the pain of the salt and his body hardened in shocked paralysis as the close-to-freezing temperature of the tumultuous, unkind sea seeped through his bones and shivered them so that they would not move quite as he desired them, and he felt himself sinker deeper and deeper into the inevitable death and the abyss of the ocean.
With a tremendous amount of effort, he heaved his deadened arms away from where he had attempted to wrap them snuggly around himself to protect from the cold, flapping them pathetically against the current. He tried to stay a head - half a head, even, only so that his crooked nose lingered above the waves as long as possible - above the chilling water, and as carefully close to the fast-moving ship as possible, so that he would not be dragged away by some sudden wave and trapped in a foreign stretch of water. The only concern was that he did not know the correct actions, and though his feet kicked frantically and his arms waved about in confusion, he did not know what he was doing, nor what would be best.
No one had ever taught Mihail to swim. There had never appeared to be any need for lessons, and he had thoroughly eschewed them after his first horrific experience under the cruel cover of the water. He had almost managed to condition himself not to feel such overwhelming fear when he was safe on a travelling ship above the waves, but never one as large as this, and never in some weather as horrific as this. This was his worst fear come to life, and he wondered for a moment what deeds the gods had chosen to punish him for, quite certain that this would be the moment at which his life would be sucked away from him, and his body would be lost at sea, and he would never make it home, and Nethis would be ashamed of him in death, and all his life would have been for nought.
It must have been longer than a minute, though he was unsure, and all he knew was that he could not breathe and he could not try to do so or else it would all be over. And yet, though he tried to hold his own against the thrashing waves, his body was working against his mind, and he could sense himself taking a heaving breath right when the liquid washed over him, as his arms and legs flailed and plodded pathetically in the water, trying to keep him above the threshold though the waves flew over his head. He struggled as he felt the water riding mercilessly up his nose and flooding him, and his vision blurred. He was growing quickly tired, and he did not know what he could do to prevent this fate.
There was someone else in the water.
In his failing state, he half-recognised the sight of Captain Damocles, his eyes unable to remain fully open so that the only vague picture he had was through the thickness of his eyelashes. The youngest Thanasi tried to let out a surprised shout, but the only sound that emerged from his mouth was a gargled cry of nothingness, and as soon as he parted his lips, he felt his insides flooded with salty liquid once again. He gasped for a new burst of air, trying to hold it within him for as long as possible, so scared was he that without it he would be gone. Mihail moved in the broad direction of the swimming captain - his presumed rescuer - and, though it was a troubled and jerking movement, he almost managed to make it. He was far too tired to go on all that much later, and once he found himself close enough, he reached out, laying that hand heavily on his saviour's arm.
He clambered helplessly onto the other, not thinking entirely straight and fully intent on self-preservation at that moment. All that Mihail wished was to keep himself above the sea's worst movements, and with his arms wrapped around the other's shoulders without warning, nails digging harshly into the other. He only wished to be saved, and whether that particular action resulted in the temporary loss of his dignity or forced him to drag another down, he did not care. Mihail wanted to be saved, but his lungs were filling with cold water, and his shaking breaths were growing far too laboured to maintain, and all he wanted was to close his heavy eyes for a long while and to sleep.
Perhaps he would do that. Just close his eyes for a moment and rest on the other's floating shape, now that he had some degree of purchase. He would be alright, he thought, but he needed to rest.
For the most part, Damocles would not consider himself a particularly skilled or noteworthy swimmer for he was first and foremost a militant trained in the use of swords, shields and spears, not a seaman who had ventured to make true his mark upon that watery domain that Poseidon had long ruled over called the Aegean sea. Yet, what he lacked in expertise he more than made up in determination and grit, and there was certainly much of both when it came to that moment right there and then. Without thinking it twice, he threw away his heavier clothes and left himself in a lighter, easier to maneuver outfit consisting mostly of some makeshift trousers while opting to remain bare-chested and swift as he barked orders to the sailors and soldiers to stop everything as he lunged headfirst unto those deep waters with the grace and elegance of a rookie, but still efficient swimmer.
It had not been the case that he learned how to swim due to his career. Rather, he had learned to maneuver around the waves because of the very nature of the province he had been born into. Removed from the mainland of Colchis, Magnemean had been an island, cold, ruthless and remote yes, but an island nonetheless, and as such, it was less of a hobby and more of a prerequisite of his home to known at least how to tame the sea, a necessary life skill for one who had to occasionally, but not too frequently, go out to the waters of the Sea God as part of his job, even though he was no naval officer of sorts. Many slaves from that northern province had thought themselves clever and opted to swim towards Nethisa as a means to escape their condemnation, and while he sympathized somewhat with their endeavors, the Silver-eyed Captain of the Damned could not relate too much for there had been far more thoughtful and subtle ways to escape that harsh barony than to dip oneself against the Aegean.
Hold on to a piece of rope that he had thought useful to hoist the Thanasi lord from the sea and raised him back unto the wooden decks of the ship, Damocles pushed against the salty waters that had swallowed Mihail and kicked back as he quickly recognized the other man and attempted to reach out for him. His first attempt had almost resulted in a proper rescue, as the black-haired youth had seemed to noticed the broad-shouldered Captain, frantically thrashing about as he seemed to try and help out in his own saving. Yet, it was not entirely successful. Mihail seemed to have given up mid-stroke, falling deeper unto the sea as Damocles mentally cursed at the outcome before delving further even still. This time, he thrust his arm towards the barely concious man and jerked him up to his shoulder, positioning him on his back as the Magnemean turned around and began to swim upwards, content that he had saved the other from what could have been a certain death.
Yet, not all went as smoothly as he wished, with Mihail clawing at his back as he seemed to recover himself once the reached the surface. Deep down he could not hold it against the other man if he reacted in such a frightened and ungraceful state, for it had almost looked as if Poseidon would have escorted the Thanasi lord down to the domain of Hades for the rest of eternity. Yet, the Captain of the Damned was not about to let the royal-born man leave life yet. He had been too important to his future plans in trying to court favor with the snake lords of Colchis, and he refused to let this opportunity slip through his fingers. Feeling the urge to snarl at the other to find some semblance of self-control, but not actually responding in such a manner, Damocles instead was able to tie the other safely unto the rope he had brought over, wrapping it around the other’s waist as he looked on to his subordinates so they could pull and bring the lord to the relative safety of the ship once more.
Once Mihal was brought to the top of the ship, the rope that had been used to bring him to the surface was thrown to Damocles, who was brought back in a similar fashion. He was panting hard, catching his breath as his broad shoulders huffed up and down while he looked on at the Thanasi lord. “Medic! Bring a medic right now!” He shouted, resulting in the immediate appearance of an expert in health who would look after the condition of the Colchian royal. Meanwhile, the hulking militant turned his anger at the ship’s helmsman, giving him a cold, dead stare that only hinted at the anger he felt at that moment. He would deal with that blasted idiot later, right now he had more important matters to look after.
It seemed his efforts had been fruitful, for not long after he figured who would be next on his kill list, Damocles heard the medic tell him that the Thanasi royal would make it, despite the paler look on his face, more pallid and hollow than usual. “Bring the Lord Mihail unto one of the officer’s cabins! He is to have a proper room while he recovers from his ordeal. Meanwhile, soldiers are to guard and protect his person at all times from now on! Am I clear?” He commanded, looking on as the soldiers onboard carried the lordling back to one of the lower floors, safer and far more comfortable than the main deck of the wooden vessel. Relief was somewhat evident in the Colchian militant as others looked upon him with surprise, impressed by the decisiveness shown by their superior officer as he dried his hair and chest before continuing to tend to his duties onboard, knowing that it would be a bit of time before the Thanasi lord would be back to the fullness of his physical faculties.
-------
About two hours passed since the whole incident had transpired, and nighttime had fast approached by that moment right then. Treating the other man as he would any other that would have suffered such an event, Damocles had ordered that the other man’s supper be brought to his chambers instead of having him eat around the rest of the army, knowing that it would be a day or two before the Thanasi youth would be back in shape as a prospective soldier. Garbed in an expensive black chiton decorated with gold trimmings. Even if he knew it would be a couple of days before the royal would be alright, Damocles still wanted to check-up on the other’s present state of affairs. It was only natural to behave in such a way, especially given the lengths that the silver-eyed militant had quietly gone through to gain a deeper connection with the ancient bloodline that the archer belonged to.
Far from looking like the ungraceful militant that had rescued him, Damocles looked almost lord-like, with his hair once more styled in proper fashion and his muscular figure restored to its proud, but justified appearance. As he approached the other’s new quarters, he jerked his neck to the side, telling his soldiers to let him through as he knocked on the door, waiting for a response before entering and possibly breaching the other’s privacy. Once consent was given, the devastatingly handsome Captain entered, noticing how color seemed to once more flow unto Mihail’s face.
“Forgive me Lord Mihail, but I wished to check-up on you. Are you alright? The medic told me that you should be back on your feet in about two days.” He asked, looking upon the other so as to quietly see whether or not the Thanasi lord was truly in enough shape to return to his role as a soldier in such a time frame. “If you wish I could extend your recovery time and give you a few more days before you return to your station?” Inquired the other man in an offer that most men that had faced such a dangerous situation would have been happy to receive.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
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For the most part, Damocles would not consider himself a particularly skilled or noteworthy swimmer for he was first and foremost a militant trained in the use of swords, shields and spears, not a seaman who had ventured to make true his mark upon that watery domain that Poseidon had long ruled over called the Aegean sea. Yet, what he lacked in expertise he more than made up in determination and grit, and there was certainly much of both when it came to that moment right there and then. Without thinking it twice, he threw away his heavier clothes and left himself in a lighter, easier to maneuver outfit consisting mostly of some makeshift trousers while opting to remain bare-chested and swift as he barked orders to the sailors and soldiers to stop everything as he lunged headfirst unto those deep waters with the grace and elegance of a rookie, but still efficient swimmer.
It had not been the case that he learned how to swim due to his career. Rather, he had learned to maneuver around the waves because of the very nature of the province he had been born into. Removed from the mainland of Colchis, Magnemean had been an island, cold, ruthless and remote yes, but an island nonetheless, and as such, it was less of a hobby and more of a prerequisite of his home to known at least how to tame the sea, a necessary life skill for one who had to occasionally, but not too frequently, go out to the waters of the Sea God as part of his job, even though he was no naval officer of sorts. Many slaves from that northern province had thought themselves clever and opted to swim towards Nethisa as a means to escape their condemnation, and while he sympathized somewhat with their endeavors, the Silver-eyed Captain of the Damned could not relate too much for there had been far more thoughtful and subtle ways to escape that harsh barony than to dip oneself against the Aegean.
Hold on to a piece of rope that he had thought useful to hoist the Thanasi lord from the sea and raised him back unto the wooden decks of the ship, Damocles pushed against the salty waters that had swallowed Mihail and kicked back as he quickly recognized the other man and attempted to reach out for him. His first attempt had almost resulted in a proper rescue, as the black-haired youth had seemed to noticed the broad-shouldered Captain, frantically thrashing about as he seemed to try and help out in his own saving. Yet, it was not entirely successful. Mihail seemed to have given up mid-stroke, falling deeper unto the sea as Damocles mentally cursed at the outcome before delving further even still. This time, he thrust his arm towards the barely concious man and jerked him up to his shoulder, positioning him on his back as the Magnemean turned around and began to swim upwards, content that he had saved the other from what could have been a certain death.
Yet, not all went as smoothly as he wished, with Mihail clawing at his back as he seemed to recover himself once the reached the surface. Deep down he could not hold it against the other man if he reacted in such a frightened and ungraceful state, for it had almost looked as if Poseidon would have escorted the Thanasi lord down to the domain of Hades for the rest of eternity. Yet, the Captain of the Damned was not about to let the royal-born man leave life yet. He had been too important to his future plans in trying to court favor with the snake lords of Colchis, and he refused to let this opportunity slip through his fingers. Feeling the urge to snarl at the other to find some semblance of self-control, but not actually responding in such a manner, Damocles instead was able to tie the other safely unto the rope he had brought over, wrapping it around the other’s waist as he looked on to his subordinates so they could pull and bring the lord to the relative safety of the ship once more.
Once Mihal was brought to the top of the ship, the rope that had been used to bring him to the surface was thrown to Damocles, who was brought back in a similar fashion. He was panting hard, catching his breath as his broad shoulders huffed up and down while he looked on at the Thanasi lord. “Medic! Bring a medic right now!” He shouted, resulting in the immediate appearance of an expert in health who would look after the condition of the Colchian royal. Meanwhile, the hulking militant turned his anger at the ship’s helmsman, giving him a cold, dead stare that only hinted at the anger he felt at that moment. He would deal with that blasted idiot later, right now he had more important matters to look after.
It seemed his efforts had been fruitful, for not long after he figured who would be next on his kill list, Damocles heard the medic tell him that the Thanasi royal would make it, despite the paler look on his face, more pallid and hollow than usual. “Bring the Lord Mihail unto one of the officer’s cabins! He is to have a proper room while he recovers from his ordeal. Meanwhile, soldiers are to guard and protect his person at all times from now on! Am I clear?” He commanded, looking on as the soldiers onboard carried the lordling back to one of the lower floors, safer and far more comfortable than the main deck of the wooden vessel. Relief was somewhat evident in the Colchian militant as others looked upon him with surprise, impressed by the decisiveness shown by their superior officer as he dried his hair and chest before continuing to tend to his duties onboard, knowing that it would be a bit of time before the Thanasi lord would be back to the fullness of his physical faculties.
-------
About two hours passed since the whole incident had transpired, and nighttime had fast approached by that moment right then. Treating the other man as he would any other that would have suffered such an event, Damocles had ordered that the other man’s supper be brought to his chambers instead of having him eat around the rest of the army, knowing that it would be a day or two before the Thanasi youth would be back in shape as a prospective soldier. Garbed in an expensive black chiton decorated with gold trimmings. Even if he knew it would be a couple of days before the royal would be alright, Damocles still wanted to check-up on the other’s present state of affairs. It was only natural to behave in such a way, especially given the lengths that the silver-eyed militant had quietly gone through to gain a deeper connection with the ancient bloodline that the archer belonged to.
Far from looking like the ungraceful militant that had rescued him, Damocles looked almost lord-like, with his hair once more styled in proper fashion and his muscular figure restored to its proud, but justified appearance. As he approached the other’s new quarters, he jerked his neck to the side, telling his soldiers to let him through as he knocked on the door, waiting for a response before entering and possibly breaching the other’s privacy. Once consent was given, the devastatingly handsome Captain entered, noticing how color seemed to once more flow unto Mihail’s face.
“Forgive me Lord Mihail, but I wished to check-up on you. Are you alright? The medic told me that you should be back on your feet in about two days.” He asked, looking upon the other so as to quietly see whether or not the Thanasi lord was truly in enough shape to return to his role as a soldier in such a time frame. “If you wish I could extend your recovery time and give you a few more days before you return to your station?” Inquired the other man in an offer that most men that had faced such a dangerous situation would have been happy to receive.
For the most part, Damocles would not consider himself a particularly skilled or noteworthy swimmer for he was first and foremost a militant trained in the use of swords, shields and spears, not a seaman who had ventured to make true his mark upon that watery domain that Poseidon had long ruled over called the Aegean sea. Yet, what he lacked in expertise he more than made up in determination and grit, and there was certainly much of both when it came to that moment right there and then. Without thinking it twice, he threw away his heavier clothes and left himself in a lighter, easier to maneuver outfit consisting mostly of some makeshift trousers while opting to remain bare-chested and swift as he barked orders to the sailors and soldiers to stop everything as he lunged headfirst unto those deep waters with the grace and elegance of a rookie, but still efficient swimmer.
It had not been the case that he learned how to swim due to his career. Rather, he had learned to maneuver around the waves because of the very nature of the province he had been born into. Removed from the mainland of Colchis, Magnemean had been an island, cold, ruthless and remote yes, but an island nonetheless, and as such, it was less of a hobby and more of a prerequisite of his home to known at least how to tame the sea, a necessary life skill for one who had to occasionally, but not too frequently, go out to the waters of the Sea God as part of his job, even though he was no naval officer of sorts. Many slaves from that northern province had thought themselves clever and opted to swim towards Nethisa as a means to escape their condemnation, and while he sympathized somewhat with their endeavors, the Silver-eyed Captain of the Damned could not relate too much for there had been far more thoughtful and subtle ways to escape that harsh barony than to dip oneself against the Aegean.
Hold on to a piece of rope that he had thought useful to hoist the Thanasi lord from the sea and raised him back unto the wooden decks of the ship, Damocles pushed against the salty waters that had swallowed Mihail and kicked back as he quickly recognized the other man and attempted to reach out for him. His first attempt had almost resulted in a proper rescue, as the black-haired youth had seemed to noticed the broad-shouldered Captain, frantically thrashing about as he seemed to try and help out in his own saving. Yet, it was not entirely successful. Mihail seemed to have given up mid-stroke, falling deeper unto the sea as Damocles mentally cursed at the outcome before delving further even still. This time, he thrust his arm towards the barely concious man and jerked him up to his shoulder, positioning him on his back as the Magnemean turned around and began to swim upwards, content that he had saved the other from what could have been a certain death.
Yet, not all went as smoothly as he wished, with Mihail clawing at his back as he seemed to recover himself once the reached the surface. Deep down he could not hold it against the other man if he reacted in such a frightened and ungraceful state, for it had almost looked as if Poseidon would have escorted the Thanasi lord down to the domain of Hades for the rest of eternity. Yet, the Captain of the Damned was not about to let the royal-born man leave life yet. He had been too important to his future plans in trying to court favor with the snake lords of Colchis, and he refused to let this opportunity slip through his fingers. Feeling the urge to snarl at the other to find some semblance of self-control, but not actually responding in such a manner, Damocles instead was able to tie the other safely unto the rope he had brought over, wrapping it around the other’s waist as he looked on to his subordinates so they could pull and bring the lord to the relative safety of the ship once more.
Once Mihal was brought to the top of the ship, the rope that had been used to bring him to the surface was thrown to Damocles, who was brought back in a similar fashion. He was panting hard, catching his breath as his broad shoulders huffed up and down while he looked on at the Thanasi lord. “Medic! Bring a medic right now!” He shouted, resulting in the immediate appearance of an expert in health who would look after the condition of the Colchian royal. Meanwhile, the hulking militant turned his anger at the ship’s helmsman, giving him a cold, dead stare that only hinted at the anger he felt at that moment. He would deal with that blasted idiot later, right now he had more important matters to look after.
It seemed his efforts had been fruitful, for not long after he figured who would be next on his kill list, Damocles heard the medic tell him that the Thanasi royal would make it, despite the paler look on his face, more pallid and hollow than usual. “Bring the Lord Mihail unto one of the officer’s cabins! He is to have a proper room while he recovers from his ordeal. Meanwhile, soldiers are to guard and protect his person at all times from now on! Am I clear?” He commanded, looking on as the soldiers onboard carried the lordling back to one of the lower floors, safer and far more comfortable than the main deck of the wooden vessel. Relief was somewhat evident in the Colchian militant as others looked upon him with surprise, impressed by the decisiveness shown by their superior officer as he dried his hair and chest before continuing to tend to his duties onboard, knowing that it would be a bit of time before the Thanasi lord would be back to the fullness of his physical faculties.
-------
About two hours passed since the whole incident had transpired, and nighttime had fast approached by that moment right then. Treating the other man as he would any other that would have suffered such an event, Damocles had ordered that the other man’s supper be brought to his chambers instead of having him eat around the rest of the army, knowing that it would be a day or two before the Thanasi youth would be back in shape as a prospective soldier. Garbed in an expensive black chiton decorated with gold trimmings. Even if he knew it would be a couple of days before the royal would be alright, Damocles still wanted to check-up on the other’s present state of affairs. It was only natural to behave in such a way, especially given the lengths that the silver-eyed militant had quietly gone through to gain a deeper connection with the ancient bloodline that the archer belonged to.
Far from looking like the ungraceful militant that had rescued him, Damocles looked almost lord-like, with his hair once more styled in proper fashion and his muscular figure restored to its proud, but justified appearance. As he approached the other’s new quarters, he jerked his neck to the side, telling his soldiers to let him through as he knocked on the door, waiting for a response before entering and possibly breaching the other’s privacy. Once consent was given, the devastatingly handsome Captain entered, noticing how color seemed to once more flow unto Mihail’s face.
“Forgive me Lord Mihail, but I wished to check-up on you. Are you alright? The medic told me that you should be back on your feet in about two days.” He asked, looking upon the other so as to quietly see whether or not the Thanasi lord was truly in enough shape to return to his role as a soldier in such a time frame. “If you wish I could extend your recovery time and give you a few more days before you return to your station?” Inquired the other man in an offer that most men that had faced such a dangerous situation would have been happy to receive.
The world seemed miles away.
Mihail had allowed his eyes to shut, drifting away into the warm abyss of semi-consciousness as though the act were not the height of danger for his current, unhappy situation. He passed through the next few minutes in a strange daze, uncertain of the events around him as he allowed his body to be heaved up and into the air. That was a peculiar sensation, and one that was sure to be irreplicable.
When he was thrown onto the main deck of the ship, it was a though he had suddenly been tossed back into reality, and momentarily forced back into sentience. Mihail could hardly keep his eyes from closing, lids feeling infinitely heavier than the usual, dipping so low that he half-watched the scene unfolding around him through thick eyelashes. He could hear some shouting — Damocles shouting? — and he half-saw the physician rush to his side, the man such a blur that the Thanasi wondered if he was, in fact, some messenger from the Underworld sent to lead him to his death, and if his imagination was playing tricks on him.
"Tired," he informed the man, or at least tried to, but the words would not come and, instead, he let out a stream of sickly seawater, punctuated by his choking coughs. The physician had tilted him to one side, attempting to drain the excess liquid, and it expelled itself from his insides in a series of heavy hacks, sour and painful in his lungs. There was no energy left to pull himself up as he would have preferred, so he rolled oddly to his side, reminded of those few times his sisters had hurried into his chambers to find him blue-faced and close to lost. The thought of them helped, for he had promised before that he would not leave them to the dangers of war, and it strengthened his hacking coughs until his throat felt sore and there was nothing left to expel.
Then Mihail let himself fall somewhat pathetically onto his stomach, not bothered by the splintered wood of the ship's deck, and let himself slip into the sleep he so craved.
* * *
Mihail wasn't sure how much time had passed when the knock woke him. He had fallen into a deep sleep, only sometimes disturbed by the few sounds of men moving around the vessel, which eased their way into the blackness of his dreams. At one point, he had heard someone close, and his eyes had flickered open for a moment, certain for a happy second that this was all a horrid fantasy, and he was back at home, and one of his sisters had come to wake him before Father realised that he had slept through half the day. He would practise his archery, and maybe take a long, hot bath, and chuckle at the idea that he should ever be forced to fight in a war.
But it was not a fantasy, and he had fallen back into his slumber in a second, and forgotten all that hope.
Now, it took him a moment to remember what had happened, his typical alertness damaged by the temporary trauma of the incident. He pushed himself up to rest on his elbows, glad to feel some strength returning to him though his insides continued to burn as though the heavily-salted water had yet to leave him. The room was not one he recognised, but it was better than his previous accommodation, and he had been given the privilege of a proper bed to recover. It was enough to twitch his lips into what could almost be considered a smile, before he recalled again that there was somebody at the door.
"Enter," he answered, although his voice was an awkward croak, and he did not like the sound of it. Mihail knew it would be Damocles before the man had even entered, wondering if he had come to gloat about his help in preventing the Thanasi's death. He supposed the lifesaving was perceived as an opportunity for prestige, but it could not be if the captain did not confirm his charge was alive. "Damocles."
The guttural was a struggle, tickling at the back of his throat, leading him into another round of coughing. "I am well. Somewhat chilly." In reality, he was more like freezing, though he had not noticed until now. "I would appreciate the additional few days." It definitely felt that it would help, if solely because Mihail wanted a few additional days of relaxation over his other duties as a soldier. He was not particularly keen on missing archery practice, but confident enough in his skill that he supposed a few days off were insignificant, and he had time to return to his favoured hobby in Taengea or Egypt, he assumed.
He pulled himself up further, finding a seated position leaning against the wall, trying to look more robust than he felt. He was used to a strict harshness in his features, and now narrowed his dark brows in an attempt to maintain that, his semi-confused gaze drifting around the small room. It was simple, but it served its purpose, so he saw no reason to complain, especially when they looked to have gone to the effort to bring him the few belongings he had been allowed to bring, including the new, shiny bronze armour that did nothing but remind him of what was to come, and his beloved bow. Perhaps he might make a comment about that decision, given how reluctant he typically was to let others touch his precious weapon.
It appeared too that someone had brought Mihail food — a sombre plate of bread and fish of some sort — and a jug of pale-coloured wine which barely appealed. Mihail jutted his lip out in a well-practised pout, raising a pleading expression to Damocles. "I cannot eat this. I do not like heavy foods. Do you have quince?" He glanced at the wine again, then added: "And that wine you promised, if you could. And...and..." Mihail paused for a moment, as though he was considering how much was too much to request, not exactly wishing to put Damocles out but also unused to the discomfort of the situation in which he found himself. He supposed that if the man was so eager to curry favour with the Thanasi family, and Mihail had been through such trauma, then he could likely milk the situation at least a bit. Nethis had always said he was overdramatic when ill, and that was coming from the sister who most babied him. "Send me that man of yours? I would adore a little companionship, if it is not too much."
Really, he wanted his beautiful silver pipe, but asking for the kindness of a little opium did not seem as though it was a possibility on this ship. He had already tried, to little avail. Frowning for a second, trying to work out what next to say, he settled for a polite: "Thank you, Captain Damocles, for saving me. And everything else." Mihail tilted his head slightly in a show of appreciation, the smile returning to his face. "I will let my sister know of your kindness. I am certain Nethis shall be most grateful that you saved the life of her favourite little brother."
Reaching up to fumble undone one of the silver fibulae holding up his chiton, he held the snake-shaped brooch out to the other. "Please take this small token of my appreciation, so that others might know that you have gained favour with my family."
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The world seemed miles away.
Mihail had allowed his eyes to shut, drifting away into the warm abyss of semi-consciousness as though the act were not the height of danger for his current, unhappy situation. He passed through the next few minutes in a strange daze, uncertain of the events around him as he allowed his body to be heaved up and into the air. That was a peculiar sensation, and one that was sure to be irreplicable.
When he was thrown onto the main deck of the ship, it was a though he had suddenly been tossed back into reality, and momentarily forced back into sentience. Mihail could hardly keep his eyes from closing, lids feeling infinitely heavier than the usual, dipping so low that he half-watched the scene unfolding around him through thick eyelashes. He could hear some shouting — Damocles shouting? — and he half-saw the physician rush to his side, the man such a blur that the Thanasi wondered if he was, in fact, some messenger from the Underworld sent to lead him to his death, and if his imagination was playing tricks on him.
"Tired," he informed the man, or at least tried to, but the words would not come and, instead, he let out a stream of sickly seawater, punctuated by his choking coughs. The physician had tilted him to one side, attempting to drain the excess liquid, and it expelled itself from his insides in a series of heavy hacks, sour and painful in his lungs. There was no energy left to pull himself up as he would have preferred, so he rolled oddly to his side, reminded of those few times his sisters had hurried into his chambers to find him blue-faced and close to lost. The thought of them helped, for he had promised before that he would not leave them to the dangers of war, and it strengthened his hacking coughs until his throat felt sore and there was nothing left to expel.
Then Mihail let himself fall somewhat pathetically onto his stomach, not bothered by the splintered wood of the ship's deck, and let himself slip into the sleep he so craved.
* * *
Mihail wasn't sure how much time had passed when the knock woke him. He had fallen into a deep sleep, only sometimes disturbed by the few sounds of men moving around the vessel, which eased their way into the blackness of his dreams. At one point, he had heard someone close, and his eyes had flickered open for a moment, certain for a happy second that this was all a horrid fantasy, and he was back at home, and one of his sisters had come to wake him before Father realised that he had slept through half the day. He would practise his archery, and maybe take a long, hot bath, and chuckle at the idea that he should ever be forced to fight in a war.
But it was not a fantasy, and he had fallen back into his slumber in a second, and forgotten all that hope.
Now, it took him a moment to remember what had happened, his typical alertness damaged by the temporary trauma of the incident. He pushed himself up to rest on his elbows, glad to feel some strength returning to him though his insides continued to burn as though the heavily-salted water had yet to leave him. The room was not one he recognised, but it was better than his previous accommodation, and he had been given the privilege of a proper bed to recover. It was enough to twitch his lips into what could almost be considered a smile, before he recalled again that there was somebody at the door.
"Enter," he answered, although his voice was an awkward croak, and he did not like the sound of it. Mihail knew it would be Damocles before the man had even entered, wondering if he had come to gloat about his help in preventing the Thanasi's death. He supposed the lifesaving was perceived as an opportunity for prestige, but it could not be if the captain did not confirm his charge was alive. "Damocles."
The guttural was a struggle, tickling at the back of his throat, leading him into another round of coughing. "I am well. Somewhat chilly." In reality, he was more like freezing, though he had not noticed until now. "I would appreciate the additional few days." It definitely felt that it would help, if solely because Mihail wanted a few additional days of relaxation over his other duties as a soldier. He was not particularly keen on missing archery practice, but confident enough in his skill that he supposed a few days off were insignificant, and he had time to return to his favoured hobby in Taengea or Egypt, he assumed.
He pulled himself up further, finding a seated position leaning against the wall, trying to look more robust than he felt. He was used to a strict harshness in his features, and now narrowed his dark brows in an attempt to maintain that, his semi-confused gaze drifting around the small room. It was simple, but it served its purpose, so he saw no reason to complain, especially when they looked to have gone to the effort to bring him the few belongings he had been allowed to bring, including the new, shiny bronze armour that did nothing but remind him of what was to come, and his beloved bow. Perhaps he might make a comment about that decision, given how reluctant he typically was to let others touch his precious weapon.
It appeared too that someone had brought Mihail food — a sombre plate of bread and fish of some sort — and a jug of pale-coloured wine which barely appealed. Mihail jutted his lip out in a well-practised pout, raising a pleading expression to Damocles. "I cannot eat this. I do not like heavy foods. Do you have quince?" He glanced at the wine again, then added: "And that wine you promised, if you could. And...and..." Mihail paused for a moment, as though he was considering how much was too much to request, not exactly wishing to put Damocles out but also unused to the discomfort of the situation in which he found himself. He supposed that if the man was so eager to curry favour with the Thanasi family, and Mihail had been through such trauma, then he could likely milk the situation at least a bit. Nethis had always said he was overdramatic when ill, and that was coming from the sister who most babied him. "Send me that man of yours? I would adore a little companionship, if it is not too much."
Really, he wanted his beautiful silver pipe, but asking for the kindness of a little opium did not seem as though it was a possibility on this ship. He had already tried, to little avail. Frowning for a second, trying to work out what next to say, he settled for a polite: "Thank you, Captain Damocles, for saving me. And everything else." Mihail tilted his head slightly in a show of appreciation, the smile returning to his face. "I will let my sister know of your kindness. I am certain Nethis shall be most grateful that you saved the life of her favourite little brother."
Reaching up to fumble undone one of the silver fibulae holding up his chiton, he held the snake-shaped brooch out to the other. "Please take this small token of my appreciation, so that others might know that you have gained favour with my family."
The world seemed miles away.
Mihail had allowed his eyes to shut, drifting away into the warm abyss of semi-consciousness as though the act were not the height of danger for his current, unhappy situation. He passed through the next few minutes in a strange daze, uncertain of the events around him as he allowed his body to be heaved up and into the air. That was a peculiar sensation, and one that was sure to be irreplicable.
When he was thrown onto the main deck of the ship, it was a though he had suddenly been tossed back into reality, and momentarily forced back into sentience. Mihail could hardly keep his eyes from closing, lids feeling infinitely heavier than the usual, dipping so low that he half-watched the scene unfolding around him through thick eyelashes. He could hear some shouting — Damocles shouting? — and he half-saw the physician rush to his side, the man such a blur that the Thanasi wondered if he was, in fact, some messenger from the Underworld sent to lead him to his death, and if his imagination was playing tricks on him.
"Tired," he informed the man, or at least tried to, but the words would not come and, instead, he let out a stream of sickly seawater, punctuated by his choking coughs. The physician had tilted him to one side, attempting to drain the excess liquid, and it expelled itself from his insides in a series of heavy hacks, sour and painful in his lungs. There was no energy left to pull himself up as he would have preferred, so he rolled oddly to his side, reminded of those few times his sisters had hurried into his chambers to find him blue-faced and close to lost. The thought of them helped, for he had promised before that he would not leave them to the dangers of war, and it strengthened his hacking coughs until his throat felt sore and there was nothing left to expel.
Then Mihail let himself fall somewhat pathetically onto his stomach, not bothered by the splintered wood of the ship's deck, and let himself slip into the sleep he so craved.
* * *
Mihail wasn't sure how much time had passed when the knock woke him. He had fallen into a deep sleep, only sometimes disturbed by the few sounds of men moving around the vessel, which eased their way into the blackness of his dreams. At one point, he had heard someone close, and his eyes had flickered open for a moment, certain for a happy second that this was all a horrid fantasy, and he was back at home, and one of his sisters had come to wake him before Father realised that he had slept through half the day. He would practise his archery, and maybe take a long, hot bath, and chuckle at the idea that he should ever be forced to fight in a war.
But it was not a fantasy, and he had fallen back into his slumber in a second, and forgotten all that hope.
Now, it took him a moment to remember what had happened, his typical alertness damaged by the temporary trauma of the incident. He pushed himself up to rest on his elbows, glad to feel some strength returning to him though his insides continued to burn as though the heavily-salted water had yet to leave him. The room was not one he recognised, but it was better than his previous accommodation, and he had been given the privilege of a proper bed to recover. It was enough to twitch his lips into what could almost be considered a smile, before he recalled again that there was somebody at the door.
"Enter," he answered, although his voice was an awkward croak, and he did not like the sound of it. Mihail knew it would be Damocles before the man had even entered, wondering if he had come to gloat about his help in preventing the Thanasi's death. He supposed the lifesaving was perceived as an opportunity for prestige, but it could not be if the captain did not confirm his charge was alive. "Damocles."
The guttural was a struggle, tickling at the back of his throat, leading him into another round of coughing. "I am well. Somewhat chilly." In reality, he was more like freezing, though he had not noticed until now. "I would appreciate the additional few days." It definitely felt that it would help, if solely because Mihail wanted a few additional days of relaxation over his other duties as a soldier. He was not particularly keen on missing archery practice, but confident enough in his skill that he supposed a few days off were insignificant, and he had time to return to his favoured hobby in Taengea or Egypt, he assumed.
He pulled himself up further, finding a seated position leaning against the wall, trying to look more robust than he felt. He was used to a strict harshness in his features, and now narrowed his dark brows in an attempt to maintain that, his semi-confused gaze drifting around the small room. It was simple, but it served its purpose, so he saw no reason to complain, especially when they looked to have gone to the effort to bring him the few belongings he had been allowed to bring, including the new, shiny bronze armour that did nothing but remind him of what was to come, and his beloved bow. Perhaps he might make a comment about that decision, given how reluctant he typically was to let others touch his precious weapon.
It appeared too that someone had brought Mihail food — a sombre plate of bread and fish of some sort — and a jug of pale-coloured wine which barely appealed. Mihail jutted his lip out in a well-practised pout, raising a pleading expression to Damocles. "I cannot eat this. I do not like heavy foods. Do you have quince?" He glanced at the wine again, then added: "And that wine you promised, if you could. And...and..." Mihail paused for a moment, as though he was considering how much was too much to request, not exactly wishing to put Damocles out but also unused to the discomfort of the situation in which he found himself. He supposed that if the man was so eager to curry favour with the Thanasi family, and Mihail had been through such trauma, then he could likely milk the situation at least a bit. Nethis had always said he was overdramatic when ill, and that was coming from the sister who most babied him. "Send me that man of yours? I would adore a little companionship, if it is not too much."
Really, he wanted his beautiful silver pipe, but asking for the kindness of a little opium did not seem as though it was a possibility on this ship. He had already tried, to little avail. Frowning for a second, trying to work out what next to say, he settled for a polite: "Thank you, Captain Damocles, for saving me. And everything else." Mihail tilted his head slightly in a show of appreciation, the smile returning to his face. "I will let my sister know of your kindness. I am certain Nethis shall be most grateful that you saved the life of her favourite little brother."
Reaching up to fumble undone one of the silver fibulae holding up his chiton, he held the snake-shaped brooch out to the other. "Please take this small token of my appreciation, so that others might know that you have gained favour with my family."
