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After a long, hard-fought series of battles up in the northern lands, those dark and mysteriously backwatered places that had often eluded him in times of rationality and sensitivity, Damocles was relieved to return to the comforts of Colchis. As profitable and opportunity-laden as the northern wars had been, even he had to confess to missing the plain simplicity of the land he called home. Of course, though he begrudgingly appreciated the false stability of the kingdom, he had to be honest with himself and admit to not being particularly excited to return to his own provincial residency.
For as long as he could remember, Magnemea had felt like a prison to him, a vast, unending network of snares and entrapments that held down the spirit and bound him to the barren, but minerally wealthy land he had been born to. True, over the years he had made that desolate wasteland his seat of unquestionable power, what with his own nominal superior being nothing more than a lonely puppet guided by the strings his invisible hands pulled, and what with the great riches that lain unearthed still, but he was still not overwhelmingly pleased with the place.
Franky, there was simply no real objective to accomplish anymore in that dark dominion. He had already integrated himself as its own shadow baron, and he had garnered national prestige and eminence through his own laurels and glories. There was little to be excited about in that depressingly morose island, despite the vast level of influence and control he exercised over it. The soldiers of his province had all affixed their spirits and ambitions to his own, becoming the source of his burrowing grip. The merchants all knew him and understood their place of obedience in accordance to himself. The baron and his family all doted and swooned over the victories and medals he brought back home.
He had not much more to attain on it as of late, and what he truly longed for still remained so far from his reach. A barony, a place to call his own, where he could govern and rule as he wished, under the nominal eyes of whichever lord he bent the knee that is. And there were some he had kept his eyes close to, but for now he had to bid his time, to assuage and appease the ones that felt comfortable in their false superiority. He would have his due, and finally have a place that truly was fit for him.
One of such fitting places had become the capital of Midas, the vast, sprawling metropolitan core of the kingdom and the center of politics, economics and martial affairs in Colchis. In contrast to the miserably sullen atmosphere of Magnemea, the core was a thriving, active place, full of vim and vigor, whilst lacking all of the deplorability of that mining city he had secretly claimed as his own. There was life and greater opportunity in the capital, grand and wealthy prospects that he could convince to fall in according order to the never-ending machinations that dwelled in his imaginative head. Of course, he knew that nobody truly ever held absolute control over the crown jewel of the kingdom, with those accursed bears of Kotas unjustly holding the lion’s share of its governance, but that did not mean that, even in the blinding lights of Midas, sneaking shadows vanished from the grounds.
Indeed, that had been exactly what he had done upon his return to Colchis, debasing himself to the lower levels of the capital away from the politicians and courtiers who might be inclined to offer deceitful lies captivated under the guise of helpful eyes and winced smiles. Granted, he still thought himself above the filth and lowness of the burrowed houses of the lower levels, but, if one ever wished to maintain a relatively quiet presence in the outskirts of the capital, it was common knowledge that the basest sectors of the metropole were where one ought to go.
Though he quite liked outwitting those mud-minded courtiers up in the upper levels through subtlety and honeyed words, there were matters that could not be brought out to light amongst the golden steps of the aristocracy’s royal demesne. It was business, as it all was, but unflattering and questionable business, the sort that high and honorable men would never resort to for the sake of their own selfish magnanimity. Yet, Damocles had never really pretend to truly be such honor-bound fool. He was a pragmatist, a man of ruthless efficiency and meticulous resourcefulness. He cared little for the controversies surrounding the slums of the city, and he would not pay attention to the forked, serpent-tongued fables that lesser folk often bought as truths. What he wanted to do he would do regardless, even it it was through…less-than-honorable means.
Naturally however, once his business down by the slums was concluded, the cloaked, silver-eyed man found it right to entertain himself a little, to enjoy the hospitality of the lowest class and savor some of the wares of the peasantry districts. After little wandering about, he came upon a tavern, people-filled and lively. Judging it as a place where few, if any, would know who exactly he was, the Captain of the Damned fancied himself a drink or two, stepping into the establishment with the swagger of a victorious savior.
Unexpectedly for him, but probably surprising to any who did not know him or his unusual charisma, once he had fasten his fingers around a cheap bottle of poorly-aged beer, the colossal man began to make merry and thrive, quickly exchanging jokes and jests with some of the local patrons that laughed and guffawed at his humorous words. The atmosphere, once lively enough, then erupted into uproarious festiveness, with Damocles, in the usually crass tone he assumed whence amongst the peasantry, conducting the cacophonous symphonies of drinking songs that transformed the place from a shoddy Colchian cavern to a scene not too dissimilar to the ones found in any rowdy Taengean party. Instruments were played, alcohol flowed and both men and women sung along the saucy songs and tales the Herculean Captain sung with a half drunk mug of beer slushing on his hand. Immediately, new patrons came and joined, curious to see what exactly had been the occasion for the sudden party that seemed to have randomly generated in that random tavern. Evidently for any who entered however, the whole thing had been incited the towering, bearded man that jovially laughed and teased those around him with the attractive warmth and spurring energy of a centered sun, maintaining all around his orbit like Helios did the world.
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After a long, hard-fought series of battles up in the northern lands, those dark and mysteriously backwatered places that had often eluded him in times of rationality and sensitivity, Damocles was relieved to return to the comforts of Colchis. As profitable and opportunity-laden as the northern wars had been, even he had to confess to missing the plain simplicity of the land he called home. Of course, though he begrudgingly appreciated the false stability of the kingdom, he had to be honest with himself and admit to not being particularly excited to return to his own provincial residency.
For as long as he could remember, Magnemea had felt like a prison to him, a vast, unending network of snares and entrapments that held down the spirit and bound him to the barren, but minerally wealthy land he had been born to. True, over the years he had made that desolate wasteland his seat of unquestionable power, what with his own nominal superior being nothing more than a lonely puppet guided by the strings his invisible hands pulled, and what with the great riches that lain unearthed still, but he was still not overwhelmingly pleased with the place.
Franky, there was simply no real objective to accomplish anymore in that dark dominion. He had already integrated himself as its own shadow baron, and he had garnered national prestige and eminence through his own laurels and glories. There was little to be excited about in that depressingly morose island, despite the vast level of influence and control he exercised over it. The soldiers of his province had all affixed their spirits and ambitions to his own, becoming the source of his burrowing grip. The merchants all knew him and understood their place of obedience in accordance to himself. The baron and his family all doted and swooned over the victories and medals he brought back home.
He had not much more to attain on it as of late, and what he truly longed for still remained so far from his reach. A barony, a place to call his own, where he could govern and rule as he wished, under the nominal eyes of whichever lord he bent the knee that is. And there were some he had kept his eyes close to, but for now he had to bid his time, to assuage and appease the ones that felt comfortable in their false superiority. He would have his due, and finally have a place that truly was fit for him.
One of such fitting places had become the capital of Midas, the vast, sprawling metropolitan core of the kingdom and the center of politics, economics and martial affairs in Colchis. In contrast to the miserably sullen atmosphere of Magnemea, the core was a thriving, active place, full of vim and vigor, whilst lacking all of the deplorability of that mining city he had secretly claimed as his own. There was life and greater opportunity in the capital, grand and wealthy prospects that he could convince to fall in according order to the never-ending machinations that dwelled in his imaginative head. Of course, he knew that nobody truly ever held absolute control over the crown jewel of the kingdom, with those accursed bears of Kotas unjustly holding the lion’s share of its governance, but that did not mean that, even in the blinding lights of Midas, sneaking shadows vanished from the grounds.
Indeed, that had been exactly what he had done upon his return to Colchis, debasing himself to the lower levels of the capital away from the politicians and courtiers who might be inclined to offer deceitful lies captivated under the guise of helpful eyes and winced smiles. Granted, he still thought himself above the filth and lowness of the burrowed houses of the lower levels, but, if one ever wished to maintain a relatively quiet presence in the outskirts of the capital, it was common knowledge that the basest sectors of the metropole were where one ought to go.
Though he quite liked outwitting those mud-minded courtiers up in the upper levels through subtlety and honeyed words, there were matters that could not be brought out to light amongst the golden steps of the aristocracy’s royal demesne. It was business, as it all was, but unflattering and questionable business, the sort that high and honorable men would never resort to for the sake of their own selfish magnanimity. Yet, Damocles had never really pretend to truly be such honor-bound fool. He was a pragmatist, a man of ruthless efficiency and meticulous resourcefulness. He cared little for the controversies surrounding the slums of the city, and he would not pay attention to the forked, serpent-tongued fables that lesser folk often bought as truths. What he wanted to do he would do regardless, even it it was through…less-than-honorable means.
Naturally however, once his business down by the slums was concluded, the cloaked, silver-eyed man found it right to entertain himself a little, to enjoy the hospitality of the lowest class and savor some of the wares of the peasantry districts. After little wandering about, he came upon a tavern, people-filled and lively. Judging it as a place where few, if any, would know who exactly he was, the Captain of the Damned fancied himself a drink or two, stepping into the establishment with the swagger of a victorious savior.
Unexpectedly for him, but probably surprising to any who did not know him or his unusual charisma, once he had fasten his fingers around a cheap bottle of poorly-aged beer, the colossal man began to make merry and thrive, quickly exchanging jokes and jests with some of the local patrons that laughed and guffawed at his humorous words. The atmosphere, once lively enough, then erupted into uproarious festiveness, with Damocles, in the usually crass tone he assumed whence amongst the peasantry, conducting the cacophonous symphonies of drinking songs that transformed the place from a shoddy Colchian cavern to a scene not too dissimilar to the ones found in any rowdy Taengean party. Instruments were played, alcohol flowed and both men and women sung along the saucy songs and tales the Herculean Captain sung with a half drunk mug of beer slushing on his hand. Immediately, new patrons came and joined, curious to see what exactly had been the occasion for the sudden party that seemed to have randomly generated in that random tavern. Evidently for any who entered however, the whole thing had been incited the towering, bearded man that jovially laughed and teased those around him with the attractive warmth and spurring energy of a centered sun, maintaining all around his orbit like Helios did the world.
After a long, hard-fought series of battles up in the northern lands, those dark and mysteriously backwatered places that had often eluded him in times of rationality and sensitivity, Damocles was relieved to return to the comforts of Colchis. As profitable and opportunity-laden as the northern wars had been, even he had to confess to missing the plain simplicity of the land he called home. Of course, though he begrudgingly appreciated the false stability of the kingdom, he had to be honest with himself and admit to not being particularly excited to return to his own provincial residency.
For as long as he could remember, Magnemea had felt like a prison to him, a vast, unending network of snares and entrapments that held down the spirit and bound him to the barren, but minerally wealthy land he had been born to. True, over the years he had made that desolate wasteland his seat of unquestionable power, what with his own nominal superior being nothing more than a lonely puppet guided by the strings his invisible hands pulled, and what with the great riches that lain unearthed still, but he was still not overwhelmingly pleased with the place.
Franky, there was simply no real objective to accomplish anymore in that dark dominion. He had already integrated himself as its own shadow baron, and he had garnered national prestige and eminence through his own laurels and glories. There was little to be excited about in that depressingly morose island, despite the vast level of influence and control he exercised over it. The soldiers of his province had all affixed their spirits and ambitions to his own, becoming the source of his burrowing grip. The merchants all knew him and understood their place of obedience in accordance to himself. The baron and his family all doted and swooned over the victories and medals he brought back home.
He had not much more to attain on it as of late, and what he truly longed for still remained so far from his reach. A barony, a place to call his own, where he could govern and rule as he wished, under the nominal eyes of whichever lord he bent the knee that is. And there were some he had kept his eyes close to, but for now he had to bid his time, to assuage and appease the ones that felt comfortable in their false superiority. He would have his due, and finally have a place that truly was fit for him.
One of such fitting places had become the capital of Midas, the vast, sprawling metropolitan core of the kingdom and the center of politics, economics and martial affairs in Colchis. In contrast to the miserably sullen atmosphere of Magnemea, the core was a thriving, active place, full of vim and vigor, whilst lacking all of the deplorability of that mining city he had secretly claimed as his own. There was life and greater opportunity in the capital, grand and wealthy prospects that he could convince to fall in according order to the never-ending machinations that dwelled in his imaginative head. Of course, he knew that nobody truly ever held absolute control over the crown jewel of the kingdom, with those accursed bears of Kotas unjustly holding the lion’s share of its governance, but that did not mean that, even in the blinding lights of Midas, sneaking shadows vanished from the grounds.
Indeed, that had been exactly what he had done upon his return to Colchis, debasing himself to the lower levels of the capital away from the politicians and courtiers who might be inclined to offer deceitful lies captivated under the guise of helpful eyes and winced smiles. Granted, he still thought himself above the filth and lowness of the burrowed houses of the lower levels, but, if one ever wished to maintain a relatively quiet presence in the outskirts of the capital, it was common knowledge that the basest sectors of the metropole were where one ought to go.
Though he quite liked outwitting those mud-minded courtiers up in the upper levels through subtlety and honeyed words, there were matters that could not be brought out to light amongst the golden steps of the aristocracy’s royal demesne. It was business, as it all was, but unflattering and questionable business, the sort that high and honorable men would never resort to for the sake of their own selfish magnanimity. Yet, Damocles had never really pretend to truly be such honor-bound fool. He was a pragmatist, a man of ruthless efficiency and meticulous resourcefulness. He cared little for the controversies surrounding the slums of the city, and he would not pay attention to the forked, serpent-tongued fables that lesser folk often bought as truths. What he wanted to do he would do regardless, even it it was through…less-than-honorable means.
Naturally however, once his business down by the slums was concluded, the cloaked, silver-eyed man found it right to entertain himself a little, to enjoy the hospitality of the lowest class and savor some of the wares of the peasantry districts. After little wandering about, he came upon a tavern, people-filled and lively. Judging it as a place where few, if any, would know who exactly he was, the Captain of the Damned fancied himself a drink or two, stepping into the establishment with the swagger of a victorious savior.
Unexpectedly for him, but probably surprising to any who did not know him or his unusual charisma, once he had fasten his fingers around a cheap bottle of poorly-aged beer, the colossal man began to make merry and thrive, quickly exchanging jokes and jests with some of the local patrons that laughed and guffawed at his humorous words. The atmosphere, once lively enough, then erupted into uproarious festiveness, with Damocles, in the usually crass tone he assumed whence amongst the peasantry, conducting the cacophonous symphonies of drinking songs that transformed the place from a shoddy Colchian cavern to a scene not too dissimilar to the ones found in any rowdy Taengean party. Instruments were played, alcohol flowed and both men and women sung along the saucy songs and tales the Herculean Captain sung with a half drunk mug of beer slushing on his hand. Immediately, new patrons came and joined, curious to see what exactly had been the occasion for the sudden party that seemed to have randomly generated in that random tavern. Evidently for any who entered however, the whole thing had been incited the towering, bearded man that jovially laughed and teased those around him with the attractive warmth and spurring energy of a centered sun, maintaining all around his orbit like Helios did the world.
It was the happy voices raised in song that drew her to the tavern.
Athanasia had made the long trek from the upper levels to the lower several hours ago and had performed her acrobatic act at a few of her favorite paces, the ones where she usually made the most money. Some taverns were frequented by more generous patrons than others and while the princess didn’t need funds, the street urchins she was supporting did.
She could, of course, use her more than generous allowance to take care of them, but there was something appealing about earning coins by posing as a performer. The children wouldn’t trust her if they knew she was a princess. They were smart little things. If she didn’t have convincing stories to tell about her performances, they might find out that she wasn’t who she pretended to be and disappear so that she could never find them. There were countless areas in which to hid4 on the streets of Midas.
Recently, she had started teaching them to read, hoping that they would be able to make something of themselves when they grew up. Most street boys became thieves and the girls sold their bodies. Athanasia wanted these children to have other options so that they could rise above their humble beginnings.
Since she had been helping them, their numbers had grown. Some had recently been orphaned or thrown out of their homes, while others had lived on the street for several years. By joining the group she provided for, they knew that they would have a roof over their heads, clothes on their backs, and food in their bellies.
With a full bag of coins clinking in the pouch at her belt, the disguised princess paused before the door, wondering whether or not she should go in. She was too tired to perform again, but she wasn’t ready to go home either. It would be good to rest for a bit before making the winding upward trip back to the manor. Maybe she could join a game of cards or dice. Athanasia was quite adept at gambling after three years masquerading as a commoner, and she found it fun to match wits with others in games of skill and chance.
The door opened and three men emerged, obviously drunk. They grinned at her as they stumbled down the street, still singing a bawdy song. The open door made her decision and she strolled inside. The atmosphere was lively and jovial.
In the center of it all was a huge muscular man with a drink in his hand. Most likely the instigator of the merriment. He was quite handsome, Athanasia thought, as she slid into a chair at an empty table and ordered a mug of the best beer in the house from the buxom barmaid who approached her. As she waited for her drink to arrive, she listened to the songs but did not join in, unaware that she might draw attention by not participating in the sing-a long.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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It was the happy voices raised in song that drew her to the tavern.
Athanasia had made the long trek from the upper levels to the lower several hours ago and had performed her acrobatic act at a few of her favorite paces, the ones where she usually made the most money. Some taverns were frequented by more generous patrons than others and while the princess didn’t need funds, the street urchins she was supporting did.
She could, of course, use her more than generous allowance to take care of them, but there was something appealing about earning coins by posing as a performer. The children wouldn’t trust her if they knew she was a princess. They were smart little things. If she didn’t have convincing stories to tell about her performances, they might find out that she wasn’t who she pretended to be and disappear so that she could never find them. There were countless areas in which to hid4 on the streets of Midas.
Recently, she had started teaching them to read, hoping that they would be able to make something of themselves when they grew up. Most street boys became thieves and the girls sold their bodies. Athanasia wanted these children to have other options so that they could rise above their humble beginnings.
Since she had been helping them, their numbers had grown. Some had recently been orphaned or thrown out of their homes, while others had lived on the street for several years. By joining the group she provided for, they knew that they would have a roof over their heads, clothes on their backs, and food in their bellies.
With a full bag of coins clinking in the pouch at her belt, the disguised princess paused before the door, wondering whether or not she should go in. She was too tired to perform again, but she wasn’t ready to go home either. It would be good to rest for a bit before making the winding upward trip back to the manor. Maybe she could join a game of cards or dice. Athanasia was quite adept at gambling after three years masquerading as a commoner, and she found it fun to match wits with others in games of skill and chance.
The door opened and three men emerged, obviously drunk. They grinned at her as they stumbled down the street, still singing a bawdy song. The open door made her decision and she strolled inside. The atmosphere was lively and jovial.
In the center of it all was a huge muscular man with a drink in his hand. Most likely the instigator of the merriment. He was quite handsome, Athanasia thought, as she slid into a chair at an empty table and ordered a mug of the best beer in the house from the buxom barmaid who approached her. As she waited for her drink to arrive, she listened to the songs but did not join in, unaware that she might draw attention by not participating in the sing-a long.
It was the happy voices raised in song that drew her to the tavern.
Athanasia had made the long trek from the upper levels to the lower several hours ago and had performed her acrobatic act at a few of her favorite paces, the ones where she usually made the most money. Some taverns were frequented by more generous patrons than others and while the princess didn’t need funds, the street urchins she was supporting did.
She could, of course, use her more than generous allowance to take care of them, but there was something appealing about earning coins by posing as a performer. The children wouldn’t trust her if they knew she was a princess. They were smart little things. If she didn’t have convincing stories to tell about her performances, they might find out that she wasn’t who she pretended to be and disappear so that she could never find them. There were countless areas in which to hid4 on the streets of Midas.
Recently, she had started teaching them to read, hoping that they would be able to make something of themselves when they grew up. Most street boys became thieves and the girls sold their bodies. Athanasia wanted these children to have other options so that they could rise above their humble beginnings.
Since she had been helping them, their numbers had grown. Some had recently been orphaned or thrown out of their homes, while others had lived on the street for several years. By joining the group she provided for, they knew that they would have a roof over their heads, clothes on their backs, and food in their bellies.
With a full bag of coins clinking in the pouch at her belt, the disguised princess paused before the door, wondering whether or not she should go in. She was too tired to perform again, but she wasn’t ready to go home either. It would be good to rest for a bit before making the winding upward trip back to the manor. Maybe she could join a game of cards or dice. Athanasia was quite adept at gambling after three years masquerading as a commoner, and she found it fun to match wits with others in games of skill and chance.
The door opened and three men emerged, obviously drunk. They grinned at her as they stumbled down the street, still singing a bawdy song. The open door made her decision and she strolled inside. The atmosphere was lively and jovial.
In the center of it all was a huge muscular man with a drink in his hand. Most likely the instigator of the merriment. He was quite handsome, Athanasia thought, as she slid into a chair at an empty table and ordered a mug of the best beer in the house from the buxom barmaid who approached her. As she waited for her drink to arrive, she listened to the songs but did not join in, unaware that she might draw attention by not participating in the sing-a long.
Contrary to the cold, rough-speaking image that was the traditional stereotype of Colchians, Damocles had a natural knack for coating himself with the warmth and energy of a fire, and had seldom met a person whom he couldn’t eventually captivate with his contagious, infectious gregariousness. Right here and now, amidst the crowded passages of people and patrons, he laughed uproariously, with little regard for the stoicism that was often attributed to his countrymen. It was obvious to trace the festive mood of the tavern to him, for he made very little efforts to hide his charisma, and instead of doing so, attracted those who wished to join in with an intense, mesmerizing gravitational pull that made him stick out like a sore thumb, despite the rows of now-cheerful heads and voices that weltered and joined in the man’s magnetic tug.
A stiff drink was clenched in one of his hands, and another powerful palm had wrapped itself behind the back of another man that joined in the irreverent ribaldry that spewed from his loosened tongue. It was expected that his humor was roused however, an accompaniment of indecent company and renegade rouges often did awake a spirit of daring boldness that the veteran militant was known to harbor deep within him. Yet, after a few moments of raised merriment, the silver-eyed man toned down his own amusement and relished in the product of his spellbinding energy, taking a moment to contemplate the brief joy he had brought to the people of the prior, relatively quiet establishment.
There was a certain sense of accomplishment that sat comfortably with the large man. He was no stranger to this sort of scene, the ones that had been so typical of Taengea, that festive kingdom he had once visited for an extended period of time in his past. Perhaps, the company in the Kingdom of Song and Money was better fit for his outgoing side, but then again, in that land he was just another person in a place that was accustomed to raucous reverie and mad amusement. In contrast, amongst the grim-faced citizens of Colchis, Damocles reflected himself in a light that was not too familiar to the stiff-upper lip of his compatriots. It was, in a way, easier then to cause a scene in the Land of War and Fire, for it was something that was not that common. Deep down he thought the reputations of the three kingdoms, of erudite Athenia, of outgoing Taengea and of stoic Colchis, to be rather irrelevant when it came down to the most fundamental levels. They were all Greeks, cut from the same cloth and forged in the same image and semblance of the Gods of Olympus. Those divisions were petty and, above all, minute in the most. Alas, now was not the time to entertain matters of philosophy.
Instead, the devastatingly good-looking, senior militant turned his attention to the crowd and scanned the contents of the tavern’s clients. He could notice a change in the atmosphere, a more joyful outlook in the wind and a lighter-hearted demeanor in the general make-up of the men and women gathered around. It would have been easier to spot someone who was not having fun than one who was. And as the Magnemean turned his enthrallingly charming steely eyes to his side, he noticed one such person, of a smaller size and thinner build, with an odd silence to him that was not aligned with the air of the place. Wishing not to exclude anyone from the warmth of the shoddy enterprise, Damocles rose from his chair and casually walked towards this seemingly reserved individual. In his hand was a once-more refilled mug of beer that could hardly come to reflect that flavor of Egyptian alcohol, but it would od for now.
“I was wondering, do you have a spare heart, because I think you stole mine.” he casually flirted in an overtly jovial tone that was clearly accompanied by a warm smile formed across his handsome, strong features. It was meant to be a lighthearted joke, nothing serious or particularly intriguing, but at least that way he could break the ice a bit. Despite the garbs worn, he could tell the person in front of him was a woman, given her softer features and the size of her hands, which he noticed immediately after he saw her lonely presence. He didn’t really know what to think of the girl in terms of looks, given that she was mostly covered, but he could at least try to get her to laugh a bit, if only at his expense. “Apart from being gorgeous, what else can you tell me about yourself, love?"
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Contrary to the cold, rough-speaking image that was the traditional stereotype of Colchians, Damocles had a natural knack for coating himself with the warmth and energy of a fire, and had seldom met a person whom he couldn’t eventually captivate with his contagious, infectious gregariousness. Right here and now, amidst the crowded passages of people and patrons, he laughed uproariously, with little regard for the stoicism that was often attributed to his countrymen. It was obvious to trace the festive mood of the tavern to him, for he made very little efforts to hide his charisma, and instead of doing so, attracted those who wished to join in with an intense, mesmerizing gravitational pull that made him stick out like a sore thumb, despite the rows of now-cheerful heads and voices that weltered and joined in the man’s magnetic tug.
A stiff drink was clenched in one of his hands, and another powerful palm had wrapped itself behind the back of another man that joined in the irreverent ribaldry that spewed from his loosened tongue. It was expected that his humor was roused however, an accompaniment of indecent company and renegade rouges often did awake a spirit of daring boldness that the veteran militant was known to harbor deep within him. Yet, after a few moments of raised merriment, the silver-eyed man toned down his own amusement and relished in the product of his spellbinding energy, taking a moment to contemplate the brief joy he had brought to the people of the prior, relatively quiet establishment.
There was a certain sense of accomplishment that sat comfortably with the large man. He was no stranger to this sort of scene, the ones that had been so typical of Taengea, that festive kingdom he had once visited for an extended period of time in his past. Perhaps, the company in the Kingdom of Song and Money was better fit for his outgoing side, but then again, in that land he was just another person in a place that was accustomed to raucous reverie and mad amusement. In contrast, amongst the grim-faced citizens of Colchis, Damocles reflected himself in a light that was not too familiar to the stiff-upper lip of his compatriots. It was, in a way, easier then to cause a scene in the Land of War and Fire, for it was something that was not that common. Deep down he thought the reputations of the three kingdoms, of erudite Athenia, of outgoing Taengea and of stoic Colchis, to be rather irrelevant when it came down to the most fundamental levels. They were all Greeks, cut from the same cloth and forged in the same image and semblance of the Gods of Olympus. Those divisions were petty and, above all, minute in the most. Alas, now was not the time to entertain matters of philosophy.
Instead, the devastatingly good-looking, senior militant turned his attention to the crowd and scanned the contents of the tavern’s clients. He could notice a change in the atmosphere, a more joyful outlook in the wind and a lighter-hearted demeanor in the general make-up of the men and women gathered around. It would have been easier to spot someone who was not having fun than one who was. And as the Magnemean turned his enthrallingly charming steely eyes to his side, he noticed one such person, of a smaller size and thinner build, with an odd silence to him that was not aligned with the air of the place. Wishing not to exclude anyone from the warmth of the shoddy enterprise, Damocles rose from his chair and casually walked towards this seemingly reserved individual. In his hand was a once-more refilled mug of beer that could hardly come to reflect that flavor of Egyptian alcohol, but it would od for now.
“I was wondering, do you have a spare heart, because I think you stole mine.” he casually flirted in an overtly jovial tone that was clearly accompanied by a warm smile formed across his handsome, strong features. It was meant to be a lighthearted joke, nothing serious or particularly intriguing, but at least that way he could break the ice a bit. Despite the garbs worn, he could tell the person in front of him was a woman, given her softer features and the size of her hands, which he noticed immediately after he saw her lonely presence. He didn’t really know what to think of the girl in terms of looks, given that she was mostly covered, but he could at least try to get her to laugh a bit, if only at his expense. “Apart from being gorgeous, what else can you tell me about yourself, love?"
Contrary to the cold, rough-speaking image that was the traditional stereotype of Colchians, Damocles had a natural knack for coating himself with the warmth and energy of a fire, and had seldom met a person whom he couldn’t eventually captivate with his contagious, infectious gregariousness. Right here and now, amidst the crowded passages of people and patrons, he laughed uproariously, with little regard for the stoicism that was often attributed to his countrymen. It was obvious to trace the festive mood of the tavern to him, for he made very little efforts to hide his charisma, and instead of doing so, attracted those who wished to join in with an intense, mesmerizing gravitational pull that made him stick out like a sore thumb, despite the rows of now-cheerful heads and voices that weltered and joined in the man’s magnetic tug.
A stiff drink was clenched in one of his hands, and another powerful palm had wrapped itself behind the back of another man that joined in the irreverent ribaldry that spewed from his loosened tongue. It was expected that his humor was roused however, an accompaniment of indecent company and renegade rouges often did awake a spirit of daring boldness that the veteran militant was known to harbor deep within him. Yet, after a few moments of raised merriment, the silver-eyed man toned down his own amusement and relished in the product of his spellbinding energy, taking a moment to contemplate the brief joy he had brought to the people of the prior, relatively quiet establishment.
There was a certain sense of accomplishment that sat comfortably with the large man. He was no stranger to this sort of scene, the ones that had been so typical of Taengea, that festive kingdom he had once visited for an extended period of time in his past. Perhaps, the company in the Kingdom of Song and Money was better fit for his outgoing side, but then again, in that land he was just another person in a place that was accustomed to raucous reverie and mad amusement. In contrast, amongst the grim-faced citizens of Colchis, Damocles reflected himself in a light that was not too familiar to the stiff-upper lip of his compatriots. It was, in a way, easier then to cause a scene in the Land of War and Fire, for it was something that was not that common. Deep down he thought the reputations of the three kingdoms, of erudite Athenia, of outgoing Taengea and of stoic Colchis, to be rather irrelevant when it came down to the most fundamental levels. They were all Greeks, cut from the same cloth and forged in the same image and semblance of the Gods of Olympus. Those divisions were petty and, above all, minute in the most. Alas, now was not the time to entertain matters of philosophy.
Instead, the devastatingly good-looking, senior militant turned his attention to the crowd and scanned the contents of the tavern’s clients. He could notice a change in the atmosphere, a more joyful outlook in the wind and a lighter-hearted demeanor in the general make-up of the men and women gathered around. It would have been easier to spot someone who was not having fun than one who was. And as the Magnemean turned his enthrallingly charming steely eyes to his side, he noticed one such person, of a smaller size and thinner build, with an odd silence to him that was not aligned with the air of the place. Wishing not to exclude anyone from the warmth of the shoddy enterprise, Damocles rose from his chair and casually walked towards this seemingly reserved individual. In his hand was a once-more refilled mug of beer that could hardly come to reflect that flavor of Egyptian alcohol, but it would od for now.
“I was wondering, do you have a spare heart, because I think you stole mine.” he casually flirted in an overtly jovial tone that was clearly accompanied by a warm smile formed across his handsome, strong features. It was meant to be a lighthearted joke, nothing serious or particularly intriguing, but at least that way he could break the ice a bit. Despite the garbs worn, he could tell the person in front of him was a woman, given her softer features and the size of her hands, which he noticed immediately after he saw her lonely presence. He didn’t really know what to think of the girl in terms of looks, given that she was mostly covered, but he could at least try to get her to laugh a bit, if only at his expense. “Apart from being gorgeous, what else can you tell me about yourself, love?"
Not all Colchians were sticks in the mud, Athanasia knew. They tended to be serious and single-minded when going about their daily business, but in the evenings, the lower classes knew how to have fun. Court events were much less boisterous than tavern revelry, but nobles knew how to laugh and enjoy themselves, even if they didn’t spontaneously burst into song. Or at least nobody had at any party she had attended.
As a Kotas, the young princess was less-inclined to this kind of gaiety, though she enjoyed watching others partake in it. She wasn’t exactly sure why she had stepped through the door. Gambling no longer appealed to her. If someone drew her into a game, she wouldn’t refuse. People who were deep into their cups often lost and the street children could use all the money she could make for them. There were quieter places to rest, but for some reason, she wanted to be surrounded by merriment and to be entertained.
Her eyes kept returning to the huge man in the center of it all. He was certainly like no Colchian she had ever met. Athanasia doubted he worked in the mines, though that could explain his joyfulness if he had been given some time off. Maybe he was in the military. The army was full of brawny men like him and perhaps he had just returned from battle. Colchis was always at odds with the Northern tribes. Soldiers were sent there often, under the command of her father or one of her brothers. The royal family would never require anyone to do anything that they weren’t willing to do themselves, including risking their lives for their kingdom.
Her drink arrived and she took a sip. It wasn’t bad for tavern beer, not the best she’d had but definitely not the worse. When she had first started sneaking into the city at night, she had found the brews unpalatable, but she was accustomed to them now. One had to drink in a tavern if one wanted to blend in, and after an energetic acrobatic performance, she was usually quite thirsty. There was wine available too, some of quite good quality. To fit in, though, it was best to drink what everyone else did. Athanasia had made public appearances with her family. Her face was not unknown. One thing she had learned was that people saw what they expected to see, and what they didn’t expect to see in a tavern was a princess.
Her gaze sought the tall man again. Again she noticed how attractive he was, as well as how the muscles on his arms rippled whenever he moved them. He was quite mesmerizing, but it wouldn’t do to keep staring at him so she turned her attention to the others in the tavern. Some of the barmaids were singing too. A merry fellow grabbed one’s hand and began dancing around the room with her. Athanasia chuckled and then looked down at her beer. She had been twirled around a tavern before by men who’d had a bit too much to drink. One time she had been dressed as a boy and the poor guy had been embarrassed when he saw that he was dancing with another man.
A deep unfamiliar voice brought her out of her thoughts. Startled, she looked up into the face of the very man whom she had been observing only a few moments earlier. He flashed a genuine smile as he delivered an old pick-up line that must have been meant as a joke. As charming as he was, she didn’t think he was trying to get up her chiton. As she was not participating in the gaiety, maybe he was trying to cheer her up. Hmmm. What would he do if I …?
She smiled sweetly up at him. “I know how to throw a punch,” she said, amusement dancing in her hazel eyes. Drawing back her arm in a melodramatic fashion, she swung it forward, aiming at his cheek. He would be able to stop her if he wished. Athanasia was simply curious as to how he would react. It was not done in malice, but in fun.
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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Not all Colchians were sticks in the mud, Athanasia knew. They tended to be serious and single-minded when going about their daily business, but in the evenings, the lower classes knew how to have fun. Court events were much less boisterous than tavern revelry, but nobles knew how to laugh and enjoy themselves, even if they didn’t spontaneously burst into song. Or at least nobody had at any party she had attended.
As a Kotas, the young princess was less-inclined to this kind of gaiety, though she enjoyed watching others partake in it. She wasn’t exactly sure why she had stepped through the door. Gambling no longer appealed to her. If someone drew her into a game, she wouldn’t refuse. People who were deep into their cups often lost and the street children could use all the money she could make for them. There were quieter places to rest, but for some reason, she wanted to be surrounded by merriment and to be entertained.
Her eyes kept returning to the huge man in the center of it all. He was certainly like no Colchian she had ever met. Athanasia doubted he worked in the mines, though that could explain his joyfulness if he had been given some time off. Maybe he was in the military. The army was full of brawny men like him and perhaps he had just returned from battle. Colchis was always at odds with the Northern tribes. Soldiers were sent there often, under the command of her father or one of her brothers. The royal family would never require anyone to do anything that they weren’t willing to do themselves, including risking their lives for their kingdom.
Her drink arrived and she took a sip. It wasn’t bad for tavern beer, not the best she’d had but definitely not the worse. When she had first started sneaking into the city at night, she had found the brews unpalatable, but she was accustomed to them now. One had to drink in a tavern if one wanted to blend in, and after an energetic acrobatic performance, she was usually quite thirsty. There was wine available too, some of quite good quality. To fit in, though, it was best to drink what everyone else did. Athanasia had made public appearances with her family. Her face was not unknown. One thing she had learned was that people saw what they expected to see, and what they didn’t expect to see in a tavern was a princess.
Her gaze sought the tall man again. Again she noticed how attractive he was, as well as how the muscles on his arms rippled whenever he moved them. He was quite mesmerizing, but it wouldn’t do to keep staring at him so she turned her attention to the others in the tavern. Some of the barmaids were singing too. A merry fellow grabbed one’s hand and began dancing around the room with her. Athanasia chuckled and then looked down at her beer. She had been twirled around a tavern before by men who’d had a bit too much to drink. One time she had been dressed as a boy and the poor guy had been embarrassed when he saw that he was dancing with another man.
A deep unfamiliar voice brought her out of her thoughts. Startled, she looked up into the face of the very man whom she had been observing only a few moments earlier. He flashed a genuine smile as he delivered an old pick-up line that must have been meant as a joke. As charming as he was, she didn’t think he was trying to get up her chiton. As she was not participating in the gaiety, maybe he was trying to cheer her up. Hmmm. What would he do if I …?
She smiled sweetly up at him. “I know how to throw a punch,” she said, amusement dancing in her hazel eyes. Drawing back her arm in a melodramatic fashion, she swung it forward, aiming at his cheek. He would be able to stop her if he wished. Athanasia was simply curious as to how he would react. It was not done in malice, but in fun.
Not all Colchians were sticks in the mud, Athanasia knew. They tended to be serious and single-minded when going about their daily business, but in the evenings, the lower classes knew how to have fun. Court events were much less boisterous than tavern revelry, but nobles knew how to laugh and enjoy themselves, even if they didn’t spontaneously burst into song. Or at least nobody had at any party she had attended.
As a Kotas, the young princess was less-inclined to this kind of gaiety, though she enjoyed watching others partake in it. She wasn’t exactly sure why she had stepped through the door. Gambling no longer appealed to her. If someone drew her into a game, she wouldn’t refuse. People who were deep into their cups often lost and the street children could use all the money she could make for them. There were quieter places to rest, but for some reason, she wanted to be surrounded by merriment and to be entertained.
Her eyes kept returning to the huge man in the center of it all. He was certainly like no Colchian she had ever met. Athanasia doubted he worked in the mines, though that could explain his joyfulness if he had been given some time off. Maybe he was in the military. The army was full of brawny men like him and perhaps he had just returned from battle. Colchis was always at odds with the Northern tribes. Soldiers were sent there often, under the command of her father or one of her brothers. The royal family would never require anyone to do anything that they weren’t willing to do themselves, including risking their lives for their kingdom.
Her drink arrived and she took a sip. It wasn’t bad for tavern beer, not the best she’d had but definitely not the worse. When she had first started sneaking into the city at night, she had found the brews unpalatable, but she was accustomed to them now. One had to drink in a tavern if one wanted to blend in, and after an energetic acrobatic performance, she was usually quite thirsty. There was wine available too, some of quite good quality. To fit in, though, it was best to drink what everyone else did. Athanasia had made public appearances with her family. Her face was not unknown. One thing she had learned was that people saw what they expected to see, and what they didn’t expect to see in a tavern was a princess.
Her gaze sought the tall man again. Again she noticed how attractive he was, as well as how the muscles on his arms rippled whenever he moved them. He was quite mesmerizing, but it wouldn’t do to keep staring at him so she turned her attention to the others in the tavern. Some of the barmaids were singing too. A merry fellow grabbed one’s hand and began dancing around the room with her. Athanasia chuckled and then looked down at her beer. She had been twirled around a tavern before by men who’d had a bit too much to drink. One time she had been dressed as a boy and the poor guy had been embarrassed when he saw that he was dancing with another man.
A deep unfamiliar voice brought her out of her thoughts. Startled, she looked up into the face of the very man whom she had been observing only a few moments earlier. He flashed a genuine smile as he delivered an old pick-up line that must have been meant as a joke. As charming as he was, she didn’t think he was trying to get up her chiton. As she was not participating in the gaiety, maybe he was trying to cheer her up. Hmmm. What would he do if I …?
She smiled sweetly up at him. “I know how to throw a punch,” she said, amusement dancing in her hazel eyes. Drawing back her arm in a melodramatic fashion, she swung it forward, aiming at his cheek. He would be able to stop her if he wished. Athanasia was simply curious as to how he would react. It was not done in malice, but in fun.
At his most honest level, Damocles really had no intentions of laying with the disguised woman before him. He had figured out her gender already. Decades of working as a decorated militant had sharpened his already cunning mind into a deadly weapon that could perceive multiple, subtle details on other people. Granted, he hadn’t the faintest idea who this person was at all, for his powers of deduction and reasoning did not reach that far, but as far as his eyes could tell, there was little denying that this person was a woman, beholden to all the virtues and flaws of that sex.
Yet, he was truthful in his own personal judgement. He was not interested in pursuing a salacious conversation with this woman. Frankly, Damocles was more fascinated by the very fact that she seemed to have been denying her gender in favor of another. How amusing! Usually, people had to have a damned good reason for hiding the identity of their sex, and though he kept his dashing good-looks affixed to the concealed woman, his inquisitive sense of curiosity had already claimed the better part of his thoughts, compelling the towering man to decide to pursue his own mini-investigation concerning this most amusing of oddities.
As he studied the few distinguishing features he could ascertain from the shrouded individual, Damocles kept his dauntlessly flirtatious smile across his devastatingly handsome, sneeringly confidently at the comparatively smaller woman’s claim that she could hurl a particularly good fist. “Oh can you?” he lightheartedly pocked fun of, clearly teasing her surprising boldness as evident by the brightness of his penetrating stare, the playfulness of his coquettish grin, and the enthralling languidness of his sonorously pleasant, baritone voice. “Well then, you better make bold on your claim then, otherwise I’ll be very disappointed.” Further joked the smirking giant of a man as he casually relaxed his impressive form against the bar stand, hunching his broad shoulders backwards as he thought it unrealistic that anything would come from such an audacious claim.
Nevertheless, though he thought it impossible for someone of the other’s size to measure up an impressive fist, Damocles was shocked to notice, perhaps a bit too late, that there was more to that assertion. With a whip of her arms, and a propulsion of her closed, tight fist, the shrouded girl with the noticeable hazel eyes did exacty that which she had bragged about. Naturally, he was aware that he could have turned his head sideways and dodged the manifested audacity of that enclosed fist, but as he saw the melodramatic fashion of the gesture, Damocles did the exact opposite. Instead of dodging, he moved his head to a far more central position than merely his cheek. He wanted to test the validity of this claim after all, and what better way to do so than by facing the experiment head-on. Where most would have gasped or yelped however, Damocles only grinned and braced for impact, taking the blunt of the fist intentionally and with a smile.
Immediately after the punch landed, the reverie and cheer of the otherwise festive tavern came to a grinding halt, with many of the patrons of the establishment gasping and looking on as the colossal man that had been responsible for such a merry mood was apparently attacked without provocation. Being the dramatic man that he was, Damocles pretended as if the fist had hurt him a lot more than it did, clenching his face while falling backwards a bit. “Damn…” he said nonchalantly…before reeling off the showmanship and revealed a jovial smile, one that soon turned into a loud, boisterous guffaw that only meant he took it all in good-strides. It was a hardy laugh, one that conveyed both a sense of excitement and unfounded amusement at the whole prospect. “That hurt!” he once more said, quickly regaining his composure as the gathered people of the establishment laughed at his obviously humorous demeanor. There was no anger in his voice, nor in his demeanor. It was all in good fun.
“You weren’t kidding! That is a damned good punch!” He once more said, making light of himself in a self-deprecating fashion so as to try and let the girl enjoy her small triumph. “In fact, how about this. For proving me wrong I’ll foot your bill for tonight.” He said in a casually friendly tone that did not betray his curiosity for the girl. Before he got a reply to his deal however, the Herculean man turned his attention to the ones pouring the beverages around and conveyed his promissory deal. “Barkeep, this one’s drinks are on me! Understood?” declared Damocles in a forceful tone that, somewhat, betrayed his commanding status as an officer of the military. “Now that we’re friends, I guess we should properly introduce ourselves. After all, I doubt you want me to call you O Shrouded One, right?” He posed, turning his attention at a pair of dice players at the corner of his eyes, before returning back to the mysterious girl’s response. “My name is Damocles." he clarified, enjoying his beer once more as he relaxed once more.
"Well then, before anything else, let's play a little game. How about you try and figure out what exactly it is I do as a career? Am I a noble? Am I a musician? Maybe I'm a prostitute. Humor me. What exactly do you think I am, and why?"
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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At his most honest level, Damocles really had no intentions of laying with the disguised woman before him. He had figured out her gender already. Decades of working as a decorated militant had sharpened his already cunning mind into a deadly weapon that could perceive multiple, subtle details on other people. Granted, he hadn’t the faintest idea who this person was at all, for his powers of deduction and reasoning did not reach that far, but as far as his eyes could tell, there was little denying that this person was a woman, beholden to all the virtues and flaws of that sex.
Yet, he was truthful in his own personal judgement. He was not interested in pursuing a salacious conversation with this woman. Frankly, Damocles was more fascinated by the very fact that she seemed to have been denying her gender in favor of another. How amusing! Usually, people had to have a damned good reason for hiding the identity of their sex, and though he kept his dashing good-looks affixed to the concealed woman, his inquisitive sense of curiosity had already claimed the better part of his thoughts, compelling the towering man to decide to pursue his own mini-investigation concerning this most amusing of oddities.
As he studied the few distinguishing features he could ascertain from the shrouded individual, Damocles kept his dauntlessly flirtatious smile across his devastatingly handsome, sneeringly confidently at the comparatively smaller woman’s claim that she could hurl a particularly good fist. “Oh can you?” he lightheartedly pocked fun of, clearly teasing her surprising boldness as evident by the brightness of his penetrating stare, the playfulness of his coquettish grin, and the enthralling languidness of his sonorously pleasant, baritone voice. “Well then, you better make bold on your claim then, otherwise I’ll be very disappointed.” Further joked the smirking giant of a man as he casually relaxed his impressive form against the bar stand, hunching his broad shoulders backwards as he thought it unrealistic that anything would come from such an audacious claim.
Nevertheless, though he thought it impossible for someone of the other’s size to measure up an impressive fist, Damocles was shocked to notice, perhaps a bit too late, that there was more to that assertion. With a whip of her arms, and a propulsion of her closed, tight fist, the shrouded girl with the noticeable hazel eyes did exacty that which she had bragged about. Naturally, he was aware that he could have turned his head sideways and dodged the manifested audacity of that enclosed fist, but as he saw the melodramatic fashion of the gesture, Damocles did the exact opposite. Instead of dodging, he moved his head to a far more central position than merely his cheek. He wanted to test the validity of this claim after all, and what better way to do so than by facing the experiment head-on. Where most would have gasped or yelped however, Damocles only grinned and braced for impact, taking the blunt of the fist intentionally and with a smile.
Immediately after the punch landed, the reverie and cheer of the otherwise festive tavern came to a grinding halt, with many of the patrons of the establishment gasping and looking on as the colossal man that had been responsible for such a merry mood was apparently attacked without provocation. Being the dramatic man that he was, Damocles pretended as if the fist had hurt him a lot more than it did, clenching his face while falling backwards a bit. “Damn…” he said nonchalantly…before reeling off the showmanship and revealed a jovial smile, one that soon turned into a loud, boisterous guffaw that only meant he took it all in good-strides. It was a hardy laugh, one that conveyed both a sense of excitement and unfounded amusement at the whole prospect. “That hurt!” he once more said, quickly regaining his composure as the gathered people of the establishment laughed at his obviously humorous demeanor. There was no anger in his voice, nor in his demeanor. It was all in good fun.
“You weren’t kidding! That is a damned good punch!” He once more said, making light of himself in a self-deprecating fashion so as to try and let the girl enjoy her small triumph. “In fact, how about this. For proving me wrong I’ll foot your bill for tonight.” He said in a casually friendly tone that did not betray his curiosity for the girl. Before he got a reply to his deal however, the Herculean man turned his attention to the ones pouring the beverages around and conveyed his promissory deal. “Barkeep, this one’s drinks are on me! Understood?” declared Damocles in a forceful tone that, somewhat, betrayed his commanding status as an officer of the military. “Now that we’re friends, I guess we should properly introduce ourselves. After all, I doubt you want me to call you O Shrouded One, right?” He posed, turning his attention at a pair of dice players at the corner of his eyes, before returning back to the mysterious girl’s response. “My name is Damocles." he clarified, enjoying his beer once more as he relaxed once more.
"Well then, before anything else, let's play a little game. How about you try and figure out what exactly it is I do as a career? Am I a noble? Am I a musician? Maybe I'm a prostitute. Humor me. What exactly do you think I am, and why?"
At his most honest level, Damocles really had no intentions of laying with the disguised woman before him. He had figured out her gender already. Decades of working as a decorated militant had sharpened his already cunning mind into a deadly weapon that could perceive multiple, subtle details on other people. Granted, he hadn’t the faintest idea who this person was at all, for his powers of deduction and reasoning did not reach that far, but as far as his eyes could tell, there was little denying that this person was a woman, beholden to all the virtues and flaws of that sex.
Yet, he was truthful in his own personal judgement. He was not interested in pursuing a salacious conversation with this woman. Frankly, Damocles was more fascinated by the very fact that she seemed to have been denying her gender in favor of another. How amusing! Usually, people had to have a damned good reason for hiding the identity of their sex, and though he kept his dashing good-looks affixed to the concealed woman, his inquisitive sense of curiosity had already claimed the better part of his thoughts, compelling the towering man to decide to pursue his own mini-investigation concerning this most amusing of oddities.
As he studied the few distinguishing features he could ascertain from the shrouded individual, Damocles kept his dauntlessly flirtatious smile across his devastatingly handsome, sneeringly confidently at the comparatively smaller woman’s claim that she could hurl a particularly good fist. “Oh can you?” he lightheartedly pocked fun of, clearly teasing her surprising boldness as evident by the brightness of his penetrating stare, the playfulness of his coquettish grin, and the enthralling languidness of his sonorously pleasant, baritone voice. “Well then, you better make bold on your claim then, otherwise I’ll be very disappointed.” Further joked the smirking giant of a man as he casually relaxed his impressive form against the bar stand, hunching his broad shoulders backwards as he thought it unrealistic that anything would come from such an audacious claim.
Nevertheless, though he thought it impossible for someone of the other’s size to measure up an impressive fist, Damocles was shocked to notice, perhaps a bit too late, that there was more to that assertion. With a whip of her arms, and a propulsion of her closed, tight fist, the shrouded girl with the noticeable hazel eyes did exacty that which she had bragged about. Naturally, he was aware that he could have turned his head sideways and dodged the manifested audacity of that enclosed fist, but as he saw the melodramatic fashion of the gesture, Damocles did the exact opposite. Instead of dodging, he moved his head to a far more central position than merely his cheek. He wanted to test the validity of this claim after all, and what better way to do so than by facing the experiment head-on. Where most would have gasped or yelped however, Damocles only grinned and braced for impact, taking the blunt of the fist intentionally and with a smile.
Immediately after the punch landed, the reverie and cheer of the otherwise festive tavern came to a grinding halt, with many of the patrons of the establishment gasping and looking on as the colossal man that had been responsible for such a merry mood was apparently attacked without provocation. Being the dramatic man that he was, Damocles pretended as if the fist had hurt him a lot more than it did, clenching his face while falling backwards a bit. “Damn…” he said nonchalantly…before reeling off the showmanship and revealed a jovial smile, one that soon turned into a loud, boisterous guffaw that only meant he took it all in good-strides. It was a hardy laugh, one that conveyed both a sense of excitement and unfounded amusement at the whole prospect. “That hurt!” he once more said, quickly regaining his composure as the gathered people of the establishment laughed at his obviously humorous demeanor. There was no anger in his voice, nor in his demeanor. It was all in good fun.
“You weren’t kidding! That is a damned good punch!” He once more said, making light of himself in a self-deprecating fashion so as to try and let the girl enjoy her small triumph. “In fact, how about this. For proving me wrong I’ll foot your bill for tonight.” He said in a casually friendly tone that did not betray his curiosity for the girl. Before he got a reply to his deal however, the Herculean man turned his attention to the ones pouring the beverages around and conveyed his promissory deal. “Barkeep, this one’s drinks are on me! Understood?” declared Damocles in a forceful tone that, somewhat, betrayed his commanding status as an officer of the military. “Now that we’re friends, I guess we should properly introduce ourselves. After all, I doubt you want me to call you O Shrouded One, right?” He posed, turning his attention at a pair of dice players at the corner of his eyes, before returning back to the mysterious girl’s response. “My name is Damocles." he clarified, enjoying his beer once more as he relaxed once more.
"Well then, before anything else, let's play a little game. How about you try and figure out what exactly it is I do as a career? Am I a noble? Am I a musician? Maybe I'm a prostitute. Humor me. What exactly do you think I am, and why?"
Athanasia wasn’t disguised as a boy tonight, but it would be easy to mistake her for one. She was wearing a plain linen chiton in the shade of cobalt blue tied at her waist with an ordinary rope belt which couldn’t be seen because it was covered by the kolpos blousing below it in order to raise the hemline to knee-length. Underneath it she wore a strophion and perizoma so nobody could see her private parts while she was tumbling.
Her long hair was braided and wrapped with strips of cloth. In the flickering light of the tavern, it looked darker than it was. Her face was uncovered and she wasn’t wearing makeup. She was always surprised how makeup could completely change one’s appearance. No longer did she look like a princess. A young peasant girl had stared back at her when she gazed in the mirror before sneaking out of the manor. She had no doubt that the man looming over her would not recognize her, even if he had viewed her at a distance with her family. No commoner had seen her up close, as she was always heavily guarded and kept well away from the rabble.
Athanasia only planned to punch him gently, but when he goaded her, she changed her mind. She knew he was only teasing her, but he had just given her a challenge and she felt compelled to show him that a small young woman was capable of packing a good punch. It was unlikely that she would hurt him. He was enormous and seemed to be composed mostly of muscle. She didn’t want to mar that handsome face anyway.
He didn’t even brace himself for the blow, still mocking her in good humor. In all likelihood, he would step just out of reach, hoping that she would lose her balance and fall to the floor on her bum. Athanasia made sure she was grounded firmly on the chair before she drew back her fist and propelled it forward, using all the force she possessed. Surprisingly, he didn’t do as expected but turned his face toward her, allowing her to strike him. His smile never wavered as her fist smashed against his flesh.
In the silence that followed, one could have heard a fibula drop. The tavern’s patrons appeared shocked that she had slugged the man who had instigated such merriment. Had he charmed them so thoroughly that they could not imagine him propositioning a woman who wanted nothing to do with him? Of course, that wasn’t what had happened, but how did they know? Maybe they thought she was a prostitute because she was alone. Not many women who didn’t turn tricks went to taverns by themselves and whores didn't smack men unless they asked them to. Then again, how would they know she was alone? Maybe her husband had stepped outside to take a leak.
The attractive giant pretended that she had knocked him backwards and his face contorted in feigned pain. I hope he doesn’t expect me to apologize. Taking his cue, she wrapped her fist in her other hand and winced, faking an injury. When he exclaimed jokingly that she had hurt him, the revelry resumed around them as if it had never stopped.
“You weren’t kidding! That is a damned good punch! In fact, how about this. For proving me wrong I’ll foot your bill for tonight.”
“Thank you,” she replied with a genuine smile. Maybe he was only humoring her, but she didn’t really care. The fact that he had taken the punch and joked about it earned her respect. She said nothing else until he had told the bartender that he would be paying for her drinks tonight. “You might regret that." Her eyes sparkled playfully. “I could order a few rounds for everyone here. After all, your skin is tough and I hurt my hand.” Athanasia flexed her hand and flinched.
The man introduced himself as Damocles. “I’m Kassandra,” she said. “I make my living as an acrobat. My twin brother Kassandros does the same. Sometimes we perform together.” She thought it was important to explain this in case he ever ran into her masquerading as a boy. He would, of course, never see her alter egos performing at the same time.
Instead of telling her what he did for a living, Damocles wanted her to guess. “Hmmmm.” she mused, studying him thoughtfully. “You’re a miner. You’re so jovial because you just received some time off.” Anyone would be overjoyed to get away from the mines.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Athanasia wasn’t disguised as a boy tonight, but it would be easy to mistake her for one. She was wearing a plain linen chiton in the shade of cobalt blue tied at her waist with an ordinary rope belt which couldn’t be seen because it was covered by the kolpos blousing below it in order to raise the hemline to knee-length. Underneath it she wore a strophion and perizoma so nobody could see her private parts while she was tumbling.
Her long hair was braided and wrapped with strips of cloth. In the flickering light of the tavern, it looked darker than it was. Her face was uncovered and she wasn’t wearing makeup. She was always surprised how makeup could completely change one’s appearance. No longer did she look like a princess. A young peasant girl had stared back at her when she gazed in the mirror before sneaking out of the manor. She had no doubt that the man looming over her would not recognize her, even if he had viewed her at a distance with her family. No commoner had seen her up close, as she was always heavily guarded and kept well away from the rabble.
Athanasia only planned to punch him gently, but when he goaded her, she changed her mind. She knew he was only teasing her, but he had just given her a challenge and she felt compelled to show him that a small young woman was capable of packing a good punch. It was unlikely that she would hurt him. He was enormous and seemed to be composed mostly of muscle. She didn’t want to mar that handsome face anyway.
He didn’t even brace himself for the blow, still mocking her in good humor. In all likelihood, he would step just out of reach, hoping that she would lose her balance and fall to the floor on her bum. Athanasia made sure she was grounded firmly on the chair before she drew back her fist and propelled it forward, using all the force she possessed. Surprisingly, he didn’t do as expected but turned his face toward her, allowing her to strike him. His smile never wavered as her fist smashed against his flesh.
In the silence that followed, one could have heard a fibula drop. The tavern’s patrons appeared shocked that she had slugged the man who had instigated such merriment. Had he charmed them so thoroughly that they could not imagine him propositioning a woman who wanted nothing to do with him? Of course, that wasn’t what had happened, but how did they know? Maybe they thought she was a prostitute because she was alone. Not many women who didn’t turn tricks went to taverns by themselves and whores didn't smack men unless they asked them to. Then again, how would they know she was alone? Maybe her husband had stepped outside to take a leak.
The attractive giant pretended that she had knocked him backwards and his face contorted in feigned pain. I hope he doesn’t expect me to apologize. Taking his cue, she wrapped her fist in her other hand and winced, faking an injury. When he exclaimed jokingly that she had hurt him, the revelry resumed around them as if it had never stopped.
“You weren’t kidding! That is a damned good punch! In fact, how about this. For proving me wrong I’ll foot your bill for tonight.”
“Thank you,” she replied with a genuine smile. Maybe he was only humoring her, but she didn’t really care. The fact that he had taken the punch and joked about it earned her respect. She said nothing else until he had told the bartender that he would be paying for her drinks tonight. “You might regret that." Her eyes sparkled playfully. “I could order a few rounds for everyone here. After all, your skin is tough and I hurt my hand.” Athanasia flexed her hand and flinched.
The man introduced himself as Damocles. “I’m Kassandra,” she said. “I make my living as an acrobat. My twin brother Kassandros does the same. Sometimes we perform together.” She thought it was important to explain this in case he ever ran into her masquerading as a boy. He would, of course, never see her alter egos performing at the same time.
Instead of telling her what he did for a living, Damocles wanted her to guess. “Hmmmm.” she mused, studying him thoughtfully. “You’re a miner. You’re so jovial because you just received some time off.” Anyone would be overjoyed to get away from the mines.
Athanasia wasn’t disguised as a boy tonight, but it would be easy to mistake her for one. She was wearing a plain linen chiton in the shade of cobalt blue tied at her waist with an ordinary rope belt which couldn’t be seen because it was covered by the kolpos blousing below it in order to raise the hemline to knee-length. Underneath it she wore a strophion and perizoma so nobody could see her private parts while she was tumbling.
Her long hair was braided and wrapped with strips of cloth. In the flickering light of the tavern, it looked darker than it was. Her face was uncovered and she wasn’t wearing makeup. She was always surprised how makeup could completely change one’s appearance. No longer did she look like a princess. A young peasant girl had stared back at her when she gazed in the mirror before sneaking out of the manor. She had no doubt that the man looming over her would not recognize her, even if he had viewed her at a distance with her family. No commoner had seen her up close, as she was always heavily guarded and kept well away from the rabble.
Athanasia only planned to punch him gently, but when he goaded her, she changed her mind. She knew he was only teasing her, but he had just given her a challenge and she felt compelled to show him that a small young woman was capable of packing a good punch. It was unlikely that she would hurt him. He was enormous and seemed to be composed mostly of muscle. She didn’t want to mar that handsome face anyway.
He didn’t even brace himself for the blow, still mocking her in good humor. In all likelihood, he would step just out of reach, hoping that she would lose her balance and fall to the floor on her bum. Athanasia made sure she was grounded firmly on the chair before she drew back her fist and propelled it forward, using all the force she possessed. Surprisingly, he didn’t do as expected but turned his face toward her, allowing her to strike him. His smile never wavered as her fist smashed against his flesh.
In the silence that followed, one could have heard a fibula drop. The tavern’s patrons appeared shocked that she had slugged the man who had instigated such merriment. Had he charmed them so thoroughly that they could not imagine him propositioning a woman who wanted nothing to do with him? Of course, that wasn’t what had happened, but how did they know? Maybe they thought she was a prostitute because she was alone. Not many women who didn’t turn tricks went to taverns by themselves and whores didn't smack men unless they asked them to. Then again, how would they know she was alone? Maybe her husband had stepped outside to take a leak.
The attractive giant pretended that she had knocked him backwards and his face contorted in feigned pain. I hope he doesn’t expect me to apologize. Taking his cue, she wrapped her fist in her other hand and winced, faking an injury. When he exclaimed jokingly that she had hurt him, the revelry resumed around them as if it had never stopped.
“You weren’t kidding! That is a damned good punch! In fact, how about this. For proving me wrong I’ll foot your bill for tonight.”
“Thank you,” she replied with a genuine smile. Maybe he was only humoring her, but she didn’t really care. The fact that he had taken the punch and joked about it earned her respect. She said nothing else until he had told the bartender that he would be paying for her drinks tonight. “You might regret that." Her eyes sparkled playfully. “I could order a few rounds for everyone here. After all, your skin is tough and I hurt my hand.” Athanasia flexed her hand and flinched.
The man introduced himself as Damocles. “I’m Kassandra,” she said. “I make my living as an acrobat. My twin brother Kassandros does the same. Sometimes we perform together.” She thought it was important to explain this in case he ever ran into her masquerading as a boy. He would, of course, never see her alter egos performing at the same time.
Instead of telling her what he did for a living, Damocles wanted her to guess. “Hmmmm.” she mused, studying him thoughtfully. “You’re a miner. You’re so jovial because you just received some time off.” Anyone would be overjoyed to get away from the mines.
It was true that at first glance, the girl besides him could easily pass off as an unassuming, if not androgynous girl, but Damocles’s silver eyes were far more perceptive than he often let on, and he enjoyed studying the features, outlines, gestures and general shape of those around him, especially if they intrigued him and made him curious. He could tell that she had gone through great lengths to hide the truth of her gender, and for that he might possibly commend her, but then again, he did not dole out compliments freely and would still reserve that right for the time being. Besides, there were far more interesting things to talk about than her hidden sex. And yet, he could not help the feeling that perhaps, he had seen this girl before…
Regardless of his intuition, Damocles felt it wasn’t here or there to question the origins of the girl. It wasn’t as if she was under one of the myriad investigations he had conducted as a militant whenever his career called for a tough approach for law and order. Nor was he out to make her life a series of bothersome questions that would surely push her away and therefore spoil whatever fondness he seemed to have collected from her right now. Instead, he continued to analyse the girl in silent contemplating, enjoying the odd, strange puzzle that was not but two feet away from him.
It seemed she was far more cleaver than he had anticipated, seeing as she played along with the little theater he had orchestrated before. Frankly, it amused him even more that she followed suit and continued with the act that they had played just now. He would have been unbearably bored if she had apologized or surprised to actually hit him. Granted, he had endured far greater hits in his life, but he wasn’t above recognizing a good fist when it was mostly deserved. It was then however that he noticed her smile, and for that instance, Damocles let out a hearty laugh, perhaps releasing some of the stress that he had absorbed earlier in the day when he had finished his business with the unscrupulous people of Midas. “Careful now, I like a woman who can drink and throw a punch.” He teased, swirling his drink around as he noticed the way that her smile parted and creased along the edges, providing a surprisingly pleasant look to what was otherwise a woman in disguise.
"And why would I object to you ordering drinks for the rest of this lot? In fact, why don’t we do that just now hmm? Bartender!” smiled Damocles, relaxing his shoulders as he turned his attention to a man and took out a single golden drachma he had on his pocket as if it was worth nothing. “I want you to pay for everyone’s drinks here for the night and tomorrow. We’re celebrating and I wouldn’t have anyone be inclined to feel anything but joy!” he ordered, firmly and authoritatively, but with a certain level of magnetic appeal that was difficult to ignore. Of course he was aware that he had given the man more than half what he made in an month in what amounted to what most would consider to be an off-handed and casual instance. He further knew how odd it was for a man to even have a single drachma in the lower levels of Midas, and yet here he was, giving away the golden coin as it were nothing. “Also, buy your wife a nice dress and make sure that your kids stay off the street, alright my good man?” he said, smiling to the man who looked like he had been on the verge of crying for being given enough money to be considered rich for a night. With a cordial pat on the shoulder, Damocles returned to his seat, grinned happily and returned his attention on the girl.
An acrobat huh? Well, that little charade might have fooled anyone else, but as far as he was aware Damocles had never met a woman who had gone forward to give out a free punch in such a bold and genuine manner. Even the most proud and aggressive courtesan would rather result to poison than to actually punching someone. Sure, she seemed to have feigned pain, and perhaps, if he were to give her the benefit of her doubt, she had hurt her hand, but he wasn’t sold on that idea at all. Still, if she wanted to be an acrobat and maintain that then so be it. It only added to the mystery of who she was and that intrigued the bright-eyed man even more.
Furthermore, her name brought in a special touch that made him further believe that he was being told a lie. For a moment, he thought about Vangelis, that accused man who Damocles hated with every fiber of his being, and remembered who so many years ago he had first heard his name when he had undergone time amongst the lower classes. It was the same flaw in both of the two’s demeanor. Aside those who aspired to greatness and positions of worth, most Greeks had short, brief names, with few syllables and little tonality. Now, if she had told him that she was a militant, maybe he would have trusted her words more, but at that precise moment, Damocles believed that he was being deceived. Of course, the reasons for such act he could not say, but it was a question he was more and more curious to find an answer to.
“Are you now?” he humorously asked with a tone of subtle doubt, but no ill-will. It was the same tone he had used before when she said she could give a good punch, and for the second time in the night, Damocles raised his eyebrow in interest. “My, my, you are quite the girl then. An acrobat and a puncher, will the surprises never end?” he once more teased, after taking a swig of his wine. His grey eyes took notice of her more, and for a moment, he noticed how her eyes were hazel, and seemed to change tone. That was a rare thing indeed. Damocles could count with the fingers of one hand the number of hazel eyed people he had met in his life and there would be digits to spare when he finished the count. Then he saw how they went from blue to green, and Damocles could not resist keeping his thoughts to himself.
“So, is this part of your cunning, little strategy? To show off your gorgeous, color-changing eyes and then beat me up once I abandon all defenses? I'm sorry to tell you, but it takes a little more than what amounts to some breathtakingly pretty eyes to make me swoon!" He unabashedly flirted with an amazing amount of confidence coming off him, but none of the usual attitude that would push people away, or at least he thought that was how he tried to come off. His words also conveyed a humor tothem that he thought would get 'Kassandra' to laugh loudly, seeing as he had just subverted their roles and made it out as if she had been the one trying to seduce,when oftentimes it was the man who did that. “Then again, you’re what, twenty? Aren’t most girls your age interested in gossiping over the handsomest boy, or whatever the fuck comes off as fashion these Godsdamned days.” he casually asked, coming off not as an inquirer but as someone genuinely interested in trying to understand this fascinating girl, which, well, he was.
For a moment however, Damocles relaxed his features and became comfortable around the girl, causing him to look less and less of the intense man that had raised a crowd’s attention before, and letting his more quiet approach make his own crushing good-looks look even better than before. He might’ve flirted with her before, but that was more of one of his own attempts to gauge her better. In that moment however, she retorted to his own puzzle of sorts, snickering to himself as that guess had not been entirely wrong some twenty odd years ago. “There again you show me how clever you are, girl. Tell me, have I made a mistake in talking to arguably the most dangerous person in this room? I don’t think my face could take another punch.” he teased, figuring that would get ‘Kassandra’ to lighten up as well, seeing as his assessments had been mostly jocular in nature. “Well, that was a good guess, but I’m afraid you’re incorrect. Don’t worry, I’ll give you one more chance before I take back what I said about you being smart.” He humorously threatened, smiling cordially at her as he lounged around and held his drink in his hand.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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It was true that at first glance, the girl besides him could easily pass off as an unassuming, if not androgynous girl, but Damocles’s silver eyes were far more perceptive than he often let on, and he enjoyed studying the features, outlines, gestures and general shape of those around him, especially if they intrigued him and made him curious. He could tell that she had gone through great lengths to hide the truth of her gender, and for that he might possibly commend her, but then again, he did not dole out compliments freely and would still reserve that right for the time being. Besides, there were far more interesting things to talk about than her hidden sex. And yet, he could not help the feeling that perhaps, he had seen this girl before…
Regardless of his intuition, Damocles felt it wasn’t here or there to question the origins of the girl. It wasn’t as if she was under one of the myriad investigations he had conducted as a militant whenever his career called for a tough approach for law and order. Nor was he out to make her life a series of bothersome questions that would surely push her away and therefore spoil whatever fondness he seemed to have collected from her right now. Instead, he continued to analyse the girl in silent contemplating, enjoying the odd, strange puzzle that was not but two feet away from him.
It seemed she was far more cleaver than he had anticipated, seeing as she played along with the little theater he had orchestrated before. Frankly, it amused him even more that she followed suit and continued with the act that they had played just now. He would have been unbearably bored if she had apologized or surprised to actually hit him. Granted, he had endured far greater hits in his life, but he wasn’t above recognizing a good fist when it was mostly deserved. It was then however that he noticed her smile, and for that instance, Damocles let out a hearty laugh, perhaps releasing some of the stress that he had absorbed earlier in the day when he had finished his business with the unscrupulous people of Midas. “Careful now, I like a woman who can drink and throw a punch.” He teased, swirling his drink around as he noticed the way that her smile parted and creased along the edges, providing a surprisingly pleasant look to what was otherwise a woman in disguise.
"And why would I object to you ordering drinks for the rest of this lot? In fact, why don’t we do that just now hmm? Bartender!” smiled Damocles, relaxing his shoulders as he turned his attention to a man and took out a single golden drachma he had on his pocket as if it was worth nothing. “I want you to pay for everyone’s drinks here for the night and tomorrow. We’re celebrating and I wouldn’t have anyone be inclined to feel anything but joy!” he ordered, firmly and authoritatively, but with a certain level of magnetic appeal that was difficult to ignore. Of course he was aware that he had given the man more than half what he made in an month in what amounted to what most would consider to be an off-handed and casual instance. He further knew how odd it was for a man to even have a single drachma in the lower levels of Midas, and yet here he was, giving away the golden coin as it were nothing. “Also, buy your wife a nice dress and make sure that your kids stay off the street, alright my good man?” he said, smiling to the man who looked like he had been on the verge of crying for being given enough money to be considered rich for a night. With a cordial pat on the shoulder, Damocles returned to his seat, grinned happily and returned his attention on the girl.
An acrobat huh? Well, that little charade might have fooled anyone else, but as far as he was aware Damocles had never met a woman who had gone forward to give out a free punch in such a bold and genuine manner. Even the most proud and aggressive courtesan would rather result to poison than to actually punching someone. Sure, she seemed to have feigned pain, and perhaps, if he were to give her the benefit of her doubt, she had hurt her hand, but he wasn’t sold on that idea at all. Still, if she wanted to be an acrobat and maintain that then so be it. It only added to the mystery of who she was and that intrigued the bright-eyed man even more.
Furthermore, her name brought in a special touch that made him further believe that he was being told a lie. For a moment, he thought about Vangelis, that accused man who Damocles hated with every fiber of his being, and remembered who so many years ago he had first heard his name when he had undergone time amongst the lower classes. It was the same flaw in both of the two’s demeanor. Aside those who aspired to greatness and positions of worth, most Greeks had short, brief names, with few syllables and little tonality. Now, if she had told him that she was a militant, maybe he would have trusted her words more, but at that precise moment, Damocles believed that he was being deceived. Of course, the reasons for such act he could not say, but it was a question he was more and more curious to find an answer to.
“Are you now?” he humorously asked with a tone of subtle doubt, but no ill-will. It was the same tone he had used before when she said she could give a good punch, and for the second time in the night, Damocles raised his eyebrow in interest. “My, my, you are quite the girl then. An acrobat and a puncher, will the surprises never end?” he once more teased, after taking a swig of his wine. His grey eyes took notice of her more, and for a moment, he noticed how her eyes were hazel, and seemed to change tone. That was a rare thing indeed. Damocles could count with the fingers of one hand the number of hazel eyed people he had met in his life and there would be digits to spare when he finished the count. Then he saw how they went from blue to green, and Damocles could not resist keeping his thoughts to himself.
“So, is this part of your cunning, little strategy? To show off your gorgeous, color-changing eyes and then beat me up once I abandon all defenses? I'm sorry to tell you, but it takes a little more than what amounts to some breathtakingly pretty eyes to make me swoon!" He unabashedly flirted with an amazing amount of confidence coming off him, but none of the usual attitude that would push people away, or at least he thought that was how he tried to come off. His words also conveyed a humor tothem that he thought would get 'Kassandra' to laugh loudly, seeing as he had just subverted their roles and made it out as if she had been the one trying to seduce,when oftentimes it was the man who did that. “Then again, you’re what, twenty? Aren’t most girls your age interested in gossiping over the handsomest boy, or whatever the fuck comes off as fashion these Godsdamned days.” he casually asked, coming off not as an inquirer but as someone genuinely interested in trying to understand this fascinating girl, which, well, he was.
For a moment however, Damocles relaxed his features and became comfortable around the girl, causing him to look less and less of the intense man that had raised a crowd’s attention before, and letting his more quiet approach make his own crushing good-looks look even better than before. He might’ve flirted with her before, but that was more of one of his own attempts to gauge her better. In that moment however, she retorted to his own puzzle of sorts, snickering to himself as that guess had not been entirely wrong some twenty odd years ago. “There again you show me how clever you are, girl. Tell me, have I made a mistake in talking to arguably the most dangerous person in this room? I don’t think my face could take another punch.” he teased, figuring that would get ‘Kassandra’ to lighten up as well, seeing as his assessments had been mostly jocular in nature. “Well, that was a good guess, but I’m afraid you’re incorrect. Don’t worry, I’ll give you one more chance before I take back what I said about you being smart.” He humorously threatened, smiling cordially at her as he lounged around and held his drink in his hand.
It was true that at first glance, the girl besides him could easily pass off as an unassuming, if not androgynous girl, but Damocles’s silver eyes were far more perceptive than he often let on, and he enjoyed studying the features, outlines, gestures and general shape of those around him, especially if they intrigued him and made him curious. He could tell that she had gone through great lengths to hide the truth of her gender, and for that he might possibly commend her, but then again, he did not dole out compliments freely and would still reserve that right for the time being. Besides, there were far more interesting things to talk about than her hidden sex. And yet, he could not help the feeling that perhaps, he had seen this girl before…
Regardless of his intuition, Damocles felt it wasn’t here or there to question the origins of the girl. It wasn’t as if she was under one of the myriad investigations he had conducted as a militant whenever his career called for a tough approach for law and order. Nor was he out to make her life a series of bothersome questions that would surely push her away and therefore spoil whatever fondness he seemed to have collected from her right now. Instead, he continued to analyse the girl in silent contemplating, enjoying the odd, strange puzzle that was not but two feet away from him.
It seemed she was far more cleaver than he had anticipated, seeing as she played along with the little theater he had orchestrated before. Frankly, it amused him even more that she followed suit and continued with the act that they had played just now. He would have been unbearably bored if she had apologized or surprised to actually hit him. Granted, he had endured far greater hits in his life, but he wasn’t above recognizing a good fist when it was mostly deserved. It was then however that he noticed her smile, and for that instance, Damocles let out a hearty laugh, perhaps releasing some of the stress that he had absorbed earlier in the day when he had finished his business with the unscrupulous people of Midas. “Careful now, I like a woman who can drink and throw a punch.” He teased, swirling his drink around as he noticed the way that her smile parted and creased along the edges, providing a surprisingly pleasant look to what was otherwise a woman in disguise.
"And why would I object to you ordering drinks for the rest of this lot? In fact, why don’t we do that just now hmm? Bartender!” smiled Damocles, relaxing his shoulders as he turned his attention to a man and took out a single golden drachma he had on his pocket as if it was worth nothing. “I want you to pay for everyone’s drinks here for the night and tomorrow. We’re celebrating and I wouldn’t have anyone be inclined to feel anything but joy!” he ordered, firmly and authoritatively, but with a certain level of magnetic appeal that was difficult to ignore. Of course he was aware that he had given the man more than half what he made in an month in what amounted to what most would consider to be an off-handed and casual instance. He further knew how odd it was for a man to even have a single drachma in the lower levels of Midas, and yet here he was, giving away the golden coin as it were nothing. “Also, buy your wife a nice dress and make sure that your kids stay off the street, alright my good man?” he said, smiling to the man who looked like he had been on the verge of crying for being given enough money to be considered rich for a night. With a cordial pat on the shoulder, Damocles returned to his seat, grinned happily and returned his attention on the girl.
An acrobat huh? Well, that little charade might have fooled anyone else, but as far as he was aware Damocles had never met a woman who had gone forward to give out a free punch in such a bold and genuine manner. Even the most proud and aggressive courtesan would rather result to poison than to actually punching someone. Sure, she seemed to have feigned pain, and perhaps, if he were to give her the benefit of her doubt, she had hurt her hand, but he wasn’t sold on that idea at all. Still, if she wanted to be an acrobat and maintain that then so be it. It only added to the mystery of who she was and that intrigued the bright-eyed man even more.
Furthermore, her name brought in a special touch that made him further believe that he was being told a lie. For a moment, he thought about Vangelis, that accused man who Damocles hated with every fiber of his being, and remembered who so many years ago he had first heard his name when he had undergone time amongst the lower classes. It was the same flaw in both of the two’s demeanor. Aside those who aspired to greatness and positions of worth, most Greeks had short, brief names, with few syllables and little tonality. Now, if she had told him that she was a militant, maybe he would have trusted her words more, but at that precise moment, Damocles believed that he was being deceived. Of course, the reasons for such act he could not say, but it was a question he was more and more curious to find an answer to.
“Are you now?” he humorously asked with a tone of subtle doubt, but no ill-will. It was the same tone he had used before when she said she could give a good punch, and for the second time in the night, Damocles raised his eyebrow in interest. “My, my, you are quite the girl then. An acrobat and a puncher, will the surprises never end?” he once more teased, after taking a swig of his wine. His grey eyes took notice of her more, and for a moment, he noticed how her eyes were hazel, and seemed to change tone. That was a rare thing indeed. Damocles could count with the fingers of one hand the number of hazel eyed people he had met in his life and there would be digits to spare when he finished the count. Then he saw how they went from blue to green, and Damocles could not resist keeping his thoughts to himself.
“So, is this part of your cunning, little strategy? To show off your gorgeous, color-changing eyes and then beat me up once I abandon all defenses? I'm sorry to tell you, but it takes a little more than what amounts to some breathtakingly pretty eyes to make me swoon!" He unabashedly flirted with an amazing amount of confidence coming off him, but none of the usual attitude that would push people away, or at least he thought that was how he tried to come off. His words also conveyed a humor tothem that he thought would get 'Kassandra' to laugh loudly, seeing as he had just subverted their roles and made it out as if she had been the one trying to seduce,when oftentimes it was the man who did that. “Then again, you’re what, twenty? Aren’t most girls your age interested in gossiping over the handsomest boy, or whatever the fuck comes off as fashion these Godsdamned days.” he casually asked, coming off not as an inquirer but as someone genuinely interested in trying to understand this fascinating girl, which, well, he was.
For a moment however, Damocles relaxed his features and became comfortable around the girl, causing him to look less and less of the intense man that had raised a crowd’s attention before, and letting his more quiet approach make his own crushing good-looks look even better than before. He might’ve flirted with her before, but that was more of one of his own attempts to gauge her better. In that moment however, she retorted to his own puzzle of sorts, snickering to himself as that guess had not been entirely wrong some twenty odd years ago. “There again you show me how clever you are, girl. Tell me, have I made a mistake in talking to arguably the most dangerous person in this room? I don’t think my face could take another punch.” he teased, figuring that would get ‘Kassandra’ to lighten up as well, seeing as his assessments had been mostly jocular in nature. “Well, that was a good guess, but I’m afraid you’re incorrect. Don’t worry, I’ll give you one more chance before I take back what I said about you being smart.” He humorously threatened, smiling cordially at her as he lounged around and held his drink in his hand.
“Careful now, I like a woman who can drink and throw a punch.”
Athanasia smiled and shrugged. "I can punch and throw a drink too." He was being a bit flirtations, but he certainly wasn't the first. It happened all the time, even when she was disguised as a boy. She had become accustomed to it and had developed many ways of telling would-be lovers that she was off-limits. She didn't think it would come to that this evening.
She was astounded when Damocles ordered drinks for everyone, not just tonight but tomorrow as well. He pulled out a drachma and handed it to the bartender as if it was worth nothing at all. Athanasia doubted that most of the tavern’s patrons had ever seen one or would ever have that much money at one time in their entire lives. And Damocles was giving it away as if it meant nothing to him.
“Ooooh!” she breathed in realistically feigned awe. At home, she could bathe in gold if she was into that sort of thing, but now she was a poor street acrobat who was usually paid in obols and occasionally owls. She had to act suitably impressed. Maybe he’s a pirate and that drachma was stolen from some drunk nobleman who hasn’t even realized that it's missing.
Athanasia noticed the doubt in Damocles' voice after she introduced herself and explained what she did for a living. It was true that there were few female acrobats that performed in taverns, but they weren’t unheard of. “Why is that surprising?” she asked innocently. “Acrobats are strong, no matter how delicate they may look. We need arm strength to do things such as stand on our hands."
“So, is this part of your cunning, little strategy? To show off your gorgeous, color-changing eyes and then beat me up once I abandon all defenses? I'm sorry to tell you, but it takes a little more than what amounts to some breathtakingly pretty eyes to make me swoon!”
Her heart skipped a beat. Hazel eyes were not uncommon, but she had never met anyone else whose eyes changed color with their mood. She was, of course, not the only one, but if it every became known that Princess Athanasia had such unusual eyes, then her cover could be blown. Luckily commoners only saw her from a distance when she attended official events with her family. Perhaps it was time for her to start wearing a scarf over her head just in case some noble who knew her decided to go slumming in the lower levels and recognized her.
This time, she was pretty sure Damocles was just teasing her. “That’s good to know,” she shot back. “You’re so tall and muscular that you could cause an earthquake if you fall.” She favored him with a cheeky grin. “Or are you deliberately trying to shake me up?”
The princess grinned when he attempted to guess her age. “Wrong! I’m almost sixteen.” She was actually eighteen but had to pretend to be younger because it explained why her ‘twin brother’ had no facial hair. “I have no time to gossip about frivolous things. I have to work so that my family can put food on the table. You don’t see me throwing around drachmae, do you?”
As to professions, Athanasia held to the suspicion that her charming companion was a pirate, but that was something she couldn’t come right out and say. At first, she had thought he might be a miner, so that was a good place to start. Of course she was incorrect. “You were wrong about my age too, you know. If I’m not smart, than neither are you.” Making a fist, she drew her arm back playfully. “Call me stupid and I’ll punch you again.”
She took a sip of her drink. “You must be a soldier. That’s why you had a drachma. You probably just got paid.”
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“Careful now, I like a woman who can drink and throw a punch.”
Athanasia smiled and shrugged. "I can punch and throw a drink too." He was being a bit flirtations, but he certainly wasn't the first. It happened all the time, even when she was disguised as a boy. She had become accustomed to it and had developed many ways of telling would-be lovers that she was off-limits. She didn't think it would come to that this evening.
She was astounded when Damocles ordered drinks for everyone, not just tonight but tomorrow as well. He pulled out a drachma and handed it to the bartender as if it was worth nothing at all. Athanasia doubted that most of the tavern’s patrons had ever seen one or would ever have that much money at one time in their entire lives. And Damocles was giving it away as if it meant nothing to him.
“Ooooh!” she breathed in realistically feigned awe. At home, she could bathe in gold if she was into that sort of thing, but now she was a poor street acrobat who was usually paid in obols and occasionally owls. She had to act suitably impressed. Maybe he’s a pirate and that drachma was stolen from some drunk nobleman who hasn’t even realized that it's missing.
Athanasia noticed the doubt in Damocles' voice after she introduced herself and explained what she did for a living. It was true that there were few female acrobats that performed in taverns, but they weren’t unheard of. “Why is that surprising?” she asked innocently. “Acrobats are strong, no matter how delicate they may look. We need arm strength to do things such as stand on our hands."
“So, is this part of your cunning, little strategy? To show off your gorgeous, color-changing eyes and then beat me up once I abandon all defenses? I'm sorry to tell you, but it takes a little more than what amounts to some breathtakingly pretty eyes to make me swoon!”
Her heart skipped a beat. Hazel eyes were not uncommon, but she had never met anyone else whose eyes changed color with their mood. She was, of course, not the only one, but if it every became known that Princess Athanasia had such unusual eyes, then her cover could be blown. Luckily commoners only saw her from a distance when she attended official events with her family. Perhaps it was time for her to start wearing a scarf over her head just in case some noble who knew her decided to go slumming in the lower levels and recognized her.
This time, she was pretty sure Damocles was just teasing her. “That’s good to know,” she shot back. “You’re so tall and muscular that you could cause an earthquake if you fall.” She favored him with a cheeky grin. “Or are you deliberately trying to shake me up?”
The princess grinned when he attempted to guess her age. “Wrong! I’m almost sixteen.” She was actually eighteen but had to pretend to be younger because it explained why her ‘twin brother’ had no facial hair. “I have no time to gossip about frivolous things. I have to work so that my family can put food on the table. You don’t see me throwing around drachmae, do you?”
As to professions, Athanasia held to the suspicion that her charming companion was a pirate, but that was something she couldn’t come right out and say. At first, she had thought he might be a miner, so that was a good place to start. Of course she was incorrect. “You were wrong about my age too, you know. If I’m not smart, than neither are you.” Making a fist, she drew her arm back playfully. “Call me stupid and I’ll punch you again.”
She took a sip of her drink. “You must be a soldier. That’s why you had a drachma. You probably just got paid.”
“Careful now, I like a woman who can drink and throw a punch.”
Athanasia smiled and shrugged. "I can punch and throw a drink too." He was being a bit flirtations, but he certainly wasn't the first. It happened all the time, even when she was disguised as a boy. She had become accustomed to it and had developed many ways of telling would-be lovers that she was off-limits. She didn't think it would come to that this evening.
She was astounded when Damocles ordered drinks for everyone, not just tonight but tomorrow as well. He pulled out a drachma and handed it to the bartender as if it was worth nothing at all. Athanasia doubted that most of the tavern’s patrons had ever seen one or would ever have that much money at one time in their entire lives. And Damocles was giving it away as if it meant nothing to him.
“Ooooh!” she breathed in realistically feigned awe. At home, she could bathe in gold if she was into that sort of thing, but now she was a poor street acrobat who was usually paid in obols and occasionally owls. She had to act suitably impressed. Maybe he’s a pirate and that drachma was stolen from some drunk nobleman who hasn’t even realized that it's missing.
Athanasia noticed the doubt in Damocles' voice after she introduced herself and explained what she did for a living. It was true that there were few female acrobats that performed in taverns, but they weren’t unheard of. “Why is that surprising?” she asked innocently. “Acrobats are strong, no matter how delicate they may look. We need arm strength to do things such as stand on our hands."
“So, is this part of your cunning, little strategy? To show off your gorgeous, color-changing eyes and then beat me up once I abandon all defenses? I'm sorry to tell you, but it takes a little more than what amounts to some breathtakingly pretty eyes to make me swoon!”
Her heart skipped a beat. Hazel eyes were not uncommon, but she had never met anyone else whose eyes changed color with their mood. She was, of course, not the only one, but if it every became known that Princess Athanasia had such unusual eyes, then her cover could be blown. Luckily commoners only saw her from a distance when she attended official events with her family. Perhaps it was time for her to start wearing a scarf over her head just in case some noble who knew her decided to go slumming in the lower levels and recognized her.
This time, she was pretty sure Damocles was just teasing her. “That’s good to know,” she shot back. “You’re so tall and muscular that you could cause an earthquake if you fall.” She favored him with a cheeky grin. “Or are you deliberately trying to shake me up?”
The princess grinned when he attempted to guess her age. “Wrong! I’m almost sixteen.” She was actually eighteen but had to pretend to be younger because it explained why her ‘twin brother’ had no facial hair. “I have no time to gossip about frivolous things. I have to work so that my family can put food on the table. You don’t see me throwing around drachmae, do you?”
As to professions, Athanasia held to the suspicion that her charming companion was a pirate, but that was something she couldn’t come right out and say. At first, she had thought he might be a miner, so that was a good place to start. Of course she was incorrect. “You were wrong about my age too, you know. If I’m not smart, than neither are you.” Making a fist, she drew her arm back playfully. “Call me stupid and I’ll punch you again.”
She took a sip of her drink. “You must be a soldier. That’s why you had a drachma. You probably just got paid.”
Of course he had noticed her eyes. If there was one part of the body that he often fastened his attention towards it was the eyes. Partially, this was the result of his own unique, rare, almost confusingly light, greyish-silver eyes, which contrasted so presently with his tanned complexion, dark hair and overall impressive appearance. They had been his most distinguishing feature after all, and, he was never one to let any and all of his features go unspoken for. He had often heard how it was his own stare which had first and foremost attracted the attention of others around him. Naturally, it made sense why he would figure to study the orbs of those around him, seeing if what was often talked about himself resonated in those whom he spent time with.
Evidently, he noticed how his comment seemed to have caught the woman, dressed up as a boy, off-guard, judging by the way she seemed to quickly try to avert her gaze upon him with her hood, as if almost embarrassed by the way he had merely complimented the innate beauty that laid in those eyes as unique as his. “You seem flustered by what I said. I apologize if I overstepped my bounds. Please, forgive me, but I just could not help notice the beautiful way they changed from blue to green.” He said, in a convincingly apologetic and, sincerely soft-spoken way that appeared almost hurt by the insinuation that he may have caused discomfort in his nighttime companion.
“A person’s eyes is the first thing I notice in them. It’s an old habit of mine. Many often tell me how I have these rare, silver eyes. So, it only makes sense that I try to see if there’s another person out there that has a stare as apparently rare as mine, haha…” He tried to lighten up, offering a gentle joke of sorts so as to deviate attention from the possible uncomfortableness he may have roused on the woman sitting just next to him. “So, I’m tall and muscular huh? Well, I did say your eyes were gorgeous so we might as well complement each other!” he teased back, enjoying how they returned back to their humorous banter, a good sign that his words had not been taken in a negative or overly unwelcomed way. “Would that be the worst thing I did tonight, try to shake you up a bit?” He joked again, this time smiling at the alleged acrobat with a sexy smile that was only highlighted by his rough beard and rugged features.
“Ha!” He laughed jovially when he heard her dismiss dresses and gossip in such an unabashedly blunt and open way, causing the massive man to relax as he took a swig of his beer, drinking it jovially as he lounged around, enjoying the way the conversation with this mysterious stranger had turned, despite the momentary openness he had shown moments before. “Well, we can agree there. Gossip is for mud-witted fops and boring, demure damsels-in-distress who have as much personality as a flower vase.” He joked with the same blunt humor he had shown before, eliciting far more than a few hardy laughs from others who heard his obvious jest. It may have blunt, but, even if he appreciated access to Court, Damocles was far less interested in the subtleties concerning courtly affairs, thinking that such direct opinions were sometimes controversial amongst those of the upper classes, but quickly dismissing any problem with his stances given the lack of aristocrats around him at that moment.
“You’re an unusual one, aren’t you?” His lips curled into an analytical smile, one that hinted at his actual interest in the woman shrouded, both literally and metaphorically, just by his side. “Unusual people are, by and large, the most fascinating sort. Most of the world is covered by those too boring or unamusing enough to make life all that less cheerful. And yet, it is the unusual ones that make it all worth while. Don’t you think?” He asked, sounding somewhat philosophical as he held up his drink and raised it high. “Here! A toast to unusual people!” His bright, almost infectiously charismatic demeanor never faltering as he most patrons of the establishment joined-in, the majority of which did not even understand the words he was saying, let alone care for them. Afterwards, once his cheering was raised to fruition, he took his beer and finished it, slamming it down the table bench with an energy and joy of life that stood in opposition to every single stereotype about the famously stoic and cold-blooded Colchians, appearing to be even more magnetically lively than the typically gregarious Taengeans, willing the room with a boisterous laugh that even the most straight-laced militant could not help but join.
“Ha! Don’t worry. You proved your point. No need to punch me again.” His words one more of his jokes as he let out one of his signature laughs before narrowing his friendly eyes on the woman. “Well, you got me there. Yes, I’m a militant by profession. What gave it away haha?” He inquired, trying to see whether or not it was obvious he was a soldier or not. The mesmerizing luster in his eyes did not falter once, shining brightly across his silvery eyes as he paid close attention to what she would say. He looked entirely focused on what she would say, focused not just on her lovely hazel-green eyes, but on her mannerisms, the tone of her voice and the oddly welcomed strength behind her punches.
“Would you mind accompanying me? I’d like to show you a plaza in this city which I think you’d like.” He said, full of confidence and conviction as he smiled at her with a certain excitement on his deep, captivating voice that hinted at future merriment. “Come! You’d make my day, er, well, evening.”
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Of course he had noticed her eyes. If there was one part of the body that he often fastened his attention towards it was the eyes. Partially, this was the result of his own unique, rare, almost confusingly light, greyish-silver eyes, which contrasted so presently with his tanned complexion, dark hair and overall impressive appearance. They had been his most distinguishing feature after all, and, he was never one to let any and all of his features go unspoken for. He had often heard how it was his own stare which had first and foremost attracted the attention of others around him. Naturally, it made sense why he would figure to study the orbs of those around him, seeing if what was often talked about himself resonated in those whom he spent time with.
Evidently, he noticed how his comment seemed to have caught the woman, dressed up as a boy, off-guard, judging by the way she seemed to quickly try to avert her gaze upon him with her hood, as if almost embarrassed by the way he had merely complimented the innate beauty that laid in those eyes as unique as his. “You seem flustered by what I said. I apologize if I overstepped my bounds. Please, forgive me, but I just could not help notice the beautiful way they changed from blue to green.” He said, in a convincingly apologetic and, sincerely soft-spoken way that appeared almost hurt by the insinuation that he may have caused discomfort in his nighttime companion.
“A person’s eyes is the first thing I notice in them. It’s an old habit of mine. Many often tell me how I have these rare, silver eyes. So, it only makes sense that I try to see if there’s another person out there that has a stare as apparently rare as mine, haha…” He tried to lighten up, offering a gentle joke of sorts so as to deviate attention from the possible uncomfortableness he may have roused on the woman sitting just next to him. “So, I’m tall and muscular huh? Well, I did say your eyes were gorgeous so we might as well complement each other!” he teased back, enjoying how they returned back to their humorous banter, a good sign that his words had not been taken in a negative or overly unwelcomed way. “Would that be the worst thing I did tonight, try to shake you up a bit?” He joked again, this time smiling at the alleged acrobat with a sexy smile that was only highlighted by his rough beard and rugged features.
“Ha!” He laughed jovially when he heard her dismiss dresses and gossip in such an unabashedly blunt and open way, causing the massive man to relax as he took a swig of his beer, drinking it jovially as he lounged around, enjoying the way the conversation with this mysterious stranger had turned, despite the momentary openness he had shown moments before. “Well, we can agree there. Gossip is for mud-witted fops and boring, demure damsels-in-distress who have as much personality as a flower vase.” He joked with the same blunt humor he had shown before, eliciting far more than a few hardy laughs from others who heard his obvious jest. It may have blunt, but, even if he appreciated access to Court, Damocles was far less interested in the subtleties concerning courtly affairs, thinking that such direct opinions were sometimes controversial amongst those of the upper classes, but quickly dismissing any problem with his stances given the lack of aristocrats around him at that moment.
“You’re an unusual one, aren’t you?” His lips curled into an analytical smile, one that hinted at his actual interest in the woman shrouded, both literally and metaphorically, just by his side. “Unusual people are, by and large, the most fascinating sort. Most of the world is covered by those too boring or unamusing enough to make life all that less cheerful. And yet, it is the unusual ones that make it all worth while. Don’t you think?” He asked, sounding somewhat philosophical as he held up his drink and raised it high. “Here! A toast to unusual people!” His bright, almost infectiously charismatic demeanor never faltering as he most patrons of the establishment joined-in, the majority of which did not even understand the words he was saying, let alone care for them. Afterwards, once his cheering was raised to fruition, he took his beer and finished it, slamming it down the table bench with an energy and joy of life that stood in opposition to every single stereotype about the famously stoic and cold-blooded Colchians, appearing to be even more magnetically lively than the typically gregarious Taengeans, willing the room with a boisterous laugh that even the most straight-laced militant could not help but join.
“Ha! Don’t worry. You proved your point. No need to punch me again.” His words one more of his jokes as he let out one of his signature laughs before narrowing his friendly eyes on the woman. “Well, you got me there. Yes, I’m a militant by profession. What gave it away haha?” He inquired, trying to see whether or not it was obvious he was a soldier or not. The mesmerizing luster in his eyes did not falter once, shining brightly across his silvery eyes as he paid close attention to what she would say. He looked entirely focused on what she would say, focused not just on her lovely hazel-green eyes, but on her mannerisms, the tone of her voice and the oddly welcomed strength behind her punches.
“Would you mind accompanying me? I’d like to show you a plaza in this city which I think you’d like.” He said, full of confidence and conviction as he smiled at her with a certain excitement on his deep, captivating voice that hinted at future merriment. “Come! You’d make my day, er, well, evening.”
Of course he had noticed her eyes. If there was one part of the body that he often fastened his attention towards it was the eyes. Partially, this was the result of his own unique, rare, almost confusingly light, greyish-silver eyes, which contrasted so presently with his tanned complexion, dark hair and overall impressive appearance. They had been his most distinguishing feature after all, and, he was never one to let any and all of his features go unspoken for. He had often heard how it was his own stare which had first and foremost attracted the attention of others around him. Naturally, it made sense why he would figure to study the orbs of those around him, seeing if what was often talked about himself resonated in those whom he spent time with.
Evidently, he noticed how his comment seemed to have caught the woman, dressed up as a boy, off-guard, judging by the way she seemed to quickly try to avert her gaze upon him with her hood, as if almost embarrassed by the way he had merely complimented the innate beauty that laid in those eyes as unique as his. “You seem flustered by what I said. I apologize if I overstepped my bounds. Please, forgive me, but I just could not help notice the beautiful way they changed from blue to green.” He said, in a convincingly apologetic and, sincerely soft-spoken way that appeared almost hurt by the insinuation that he may have caused discomfort in his nighttime companion.
“A person’s eyes is the first thing I notice in them. It’s an old habit of mine. Many often tell me how I have these rare, silver eyes. So, it only makes sense that I try to see if there’s another person out there that has a stare as apparently rare as mine, haha…” He tried to lighten up, offering a gentle joke of sorts so as to deviate attention from the possible uncomfortableness he may have roused on the woman sitting just next to him. “So, I’m tall and muscular huh? Well, I did say your eyes were gorgeous so we might as well complement each other!” he teased back, enjoying how they returned back to their humorous banter, a good sign that his words had not been taken in a negative or overly unwelcomed way. “Would that be the worst thing I did tonight, try to shake you up a bit?” He joked again, this time smiling at the alleged acrobat with a sexy smile that was only highlighted by his rough beard and rugged features.
“Ha!” He laughed jovially when he heard her dismiss dresses and gossip in such an unabashedly blunt and open way, causing the massive man to relax as he took a swig of his beer, drinking it jovially as he lounged around, enjoying the way the conversation with this mysterious stranger had turned, despite the momentary openness he had shown moments before. “Well, we can agree there. Gossip is for mud-witted fops and boring, demure damsels-in-distress who have as much personality as a flower vase.” He joked with the same blunt humor he had shown before, eliciting far more than a few hardy laughs from others who heard his obvious jest. It may have blunt, but, even if he appreciated access to Court, Damocles was far less interested in the subtleties concerning courtly affairs, thinking that such direct opinions were sometimes controversial amongst those of the upper classes, but quickly dismissing any problem with his stances given the lack of aristocrats around him at that moment.
“You’re an unusual one, aren’t you?” His lips curled into an analytical smile, one that hinted at his actual interest in the woman shrouded, both literally and metaphorically, just by his side. “Unusual people are, by and large, the most fascinating sort. Most of the world is covered by those too boring or unamusing enough to make life all that less cheerful. And yet, it is the unusual ones that make it all worth while. Don’t you think?” He asked, sounding somewhat philosophical as he held up his drink and raised it high. “Here! A toast to unusual people!” His bright, almost infectiously charismatic demeanor never faltering as he most patrons of the establishment joined-in, the majority of which did not even understand the words he was saying, let alone care for them. Afterwards, once his cheering was raised to fruition, he took his beer and finished it, slamming it down the table bench with an energy and joy of life that stood in opposition to every single stereotype about the famously stoic and cold-blooded Colchians, appearing to be even more magnetically lively than the typically gregarious Taengeans, willing the room with a boisterous laugh that even the most straight-laced militant could not help but join.
“Ha! Don’t worry. You proved your point. No need to punch me again.” His words one more of his jokes as he let out one of his signature laughs before narrowing his friendly eyes on the woman. “Well, you got me there. Yes, I’m a militant by profession. What gave it away haha?” He inquired, trying to see whether or not it was obvious he was a soldier or not. The mesmerizing luster in his eyes did not falter once, shining brightly across his silvery eyes as he paid close attention to what she would say. He looked entirely focused on what she would say, focused not just on her lovely hazel-green eyes, but on her mannerisms, the tone of her voice and the oddly welcomed strength behind her punches.
“Would you mind accompanying me? I’d like to show you a plaza in this city which I think you’d like.” He said, full of confidence and conviction as he smiled at her with a certain excitement on his deep, captivating voice that hinted at future merriment. “Come! You’d make my day, er, well, evening.”
Despite her conviction not to meet his eyes now that Damocles had noticed the unusual color of hers. Athanasia did it anyway. His irises were, indeed, a silvery color and probably as uncommon as her own. “No, it’s all right,” she assured him, attempting to blush but failing miserably. A Kotas never blushed. “You just surprised me, that’s all.”
She grinned. “You’re right about your own eyes. I don’t think I’ve ever seen that color before. I’m probably not the first person you’ve met with rare eyes. Did you compliment them too?” The young princess often studied eyes as well, but not for their hue, which she rarely noticed. It was the emotion in them that interested her. No matter what one said or how convincingly one said it, one’s eyes never lied. They truly were the windows to one’s soul.
There was nothing in Damocles silver orbs but friendliness and amusement. Athanasia didn’t think that he was trying to get up her chiton. He was just an amiable guy who liked to bring happiness to others, including her. “No matter how I complimented you, I doubt I could come up with anything that other women haven’t already said. You must have them falling at your feet if you treat them the way you’re treating me.” If she had really been a street performer, she might have fallen under his spell, but flattery was a courtly game that everybody played and nobody took very seriously.
“Would that be the worst thing I did tonight, try to shake you up a bit?
“You can try,” she said with an impish smile. “But it takes a lot to shake me up. I’ve been on the streets for a long time. I’ve seen and heard it all.” Actually, she’d only been sneaking away incognito for two years, but she had definitely experienced more than those perfect noblewomen who cared for nothing but clothes and jewelry and being admired. Athanasia had never met another princess, but she assumed that most, if not all, of them were shallow creatures with fluff for brains.
Damocles didn’t seem to care any more for vapid courtiers than she did. And perhaps knowing that she had no interest in the things other girls believed so important, he would not recognize her in the rich accouterments of a princess. Sometimes one only saw what one expected to see, and she didn’t think that anyone would confuse Kassandra the spunky acrobat with the stoic Princess Athanasia. Still, it might be a good idea to keep her face in shadow from now on.
“I do admit that most people I encounter are insufferably boring. It is refreshing to meet someone who intrigues me.” Damocles would probably think she was saying that he intrigued her, and he wouldn’t be wrong. She had never met anyone quite like him before. Athanasia watched as he made a toast which the tavern patrons were happy to agree with. Their cheers filled the air. Drunk Colchians were easier to impress than their sober counterparts, but it was odd that they had accepted him so readily. Then again, his cheerful nature was quite infectious. So was his teasing.
“Ha! Don’t worry. You proved your point. No need to punch me again.”
The incognito princess winked. “Are you sure? “ Playfully, she balled her fist. “You seemed to like it.”
So he was a soldier. Athanasia gazed at Damocles triumphantly. “You have money,” she said quietly, so that none of the others in the tavern could hear. “Soldiers are paid well. Miners aren’t. And you’re built like a soldier. I imagine you intimidate your enemies with your height alone. I would certainly run if I saw you charging at me.”
His next remark put her on guard. He wanted to take her to particular part of the city, just the two of them alone? Her parents and brothers had made certain she knew to be wary of strangers, but was Damocles a stranger anymore? She doubted he planned to take her to some remote place to rape and kill her, but could she trust him fully? Probably not. However, though he was large enough to overpower her, Athanasia was small and fast and knew how to fight dirty. There was a good chance that she could get away from him.
And besides, the excitement in his deep voice made her curious. The princess had never been adept at resisting adventure, even of the dangerous kind. Tossing back the rest of her beer, she sat it on the table and stood up. “Very well,” she said. “Lead on."
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Despite her conviction not to meet his eyes now that Damocles had noticed the unusual color of hers. Athanasia did it anyway. His irises were, indeed, a silvery color and probably as uncommon as her own. “No, it’s all right,” she assured him, attempting to blush but failing miserably. A Kotas never blushed. “You just surprised me, that’s all.”
She grinned. “You’re right about your own eyes. I don’t think I’ve ever seen that color before. I’m probably not the first person you’ve met with rare eyes. Did you compliment them too?” The young princess often studied eyes as well, but not for their hue, which she rarely noticed. It was the emotion in them that interested her. No matter what one said or how convincingly one said it, one’s eyes never lied. They truly were the windows to one’s soul.
There was nothing in Damocles silver orbs but friendliness and amusement. Athanasia didn’t think that he was trying to get up her chiton. He was just an amiable guy who liked to bring happiness to others, including her. “No matter how I complimented you, I doubt I could come up with anything that other women haven’t already said. You must have them falling at your feet if you treat them the way you’re treating me.” If she had really been a street performer, she might have fallen under his spell, but flattery was a courtly game that everybody played and nobody took very seriously.
“Would that be the worst thing I did tonight, try to shake you up a bit?
“You can try,” she said with an impish smile. “But it takes a lot to shake me up. I’ve been on the streets for a long time. I’ve seen and heard it all.” Actually, she’d only been sneaking away incognito for two years, but she had definitely experienced more than those perfect noblewomen who cared for nothing but clothes and jewelry and being admired. Athanasia had never met another princess, but she assumed that most, if not all, of them were shallow creatures with fluff for brains.
Damocles didn’t seem to care any more for vapid courtiers than she did. And perhaps knowing that she had no interest in the things other girls believed so important, he would not recognize her in the rich accouterments of a princess. Sometimes one only saw what one expected to see, and she didn’t think that anyone would confuse Kassandra the spunky acrobat with the stoic Princess Athanasia. Still, it might be a good idea to keep her face in shadow from now on.
“I do admit that most people I encounter are insufferably boring. It is refreshing to meet someone who intrigues me.” Damocles would probably think she was saying that he intrigued her, and he wouldn’t be wrong. She had never met anyone quite like him before. Athanasia watched as he made a toast which the tavern patrons were happy to agree with. Their cheers filled the air. Drunk Colchians were easier to impress than their sober counterparts, but it was odd that they had accepted him so readily. Then again, his cheerful nature was quite infectious. So was his teasing.
“Ha! Don’t worry. You proved your point. No need to punch me again.”
The incognito princess winked. “Are you sure? “ Playfully, she balled her fist. “You seemed to like it.”
So he was a soldier. Athanasia gazed at Damocles triumphantly. “You have money,” she said quietly, so that none of the others in the tavern could hear. “Soldiers are paid well. Miners aren’t. And you’re built like a soldier. I imagine you intimidate your enemies with your height alone. I would certainly run if I saw you charging at me.”
His next remark put her on guard. He wanted to take her to particular part of the city, just the two of them alone? Her parents and brothers had made certain she knew to be wary of strangers, but was Damocles a stranger anymore? She doubted he planned to take her to some remote place to rape and kill her, but could she trust him fully? Probably not. However, though he was large enough to overpower her, Athanasia was small and fast and knew how to fight dirty. There was a good chance that she could get away from him.
And besides, the excitement in his deep voice made her curious. The princess had never been adept at resisting adventure, even of the dangerous kind. Tossing back the rest of her beer, she sat it on the table and stood up. “Very well,” she said. “Lead on."
Despite her conviction not to meet his eyes now that Damocles had noticed the unusual color of hers. Athanasia did it anyway. His irises were, indeed, a silvery color and probably as uncommon as her own. “No, it’s all right,” she assured him, attempting to blush but failing miserably. A Kotas never blushed. “You just surprised me, that’s all.”
She grinned. “You’re right about your own eyes. I don’t think I’ve ever seen that color before. I’m probably not the first person you’ve met with rare eyes. Did you compliment them too?” The young princess often studied eyes as well, but not for their hue, which she rarely noticed. It was the emotion in them that interested her. No matter what one said or how convincingly one said it, one’s eyes never lied. They truly were the windows to one’s soul.
There was nothing in Damocles silver orbs but friendliness and amusement. Athanasia didn’t think that he was trying to get up her chiton. He was just an amiable guy who liked to bring happiness to others, including her. “No matter how I complimented you, I doubt I could come up with anything that other women haven’t already said. You must have them falling at your feet if you treat them the way you’re treating me.” If she had really been a street performer, she might have fallen under his spell, but flattery was a courtly game that everybody played and nobody took very seriously.
“Would that be the worst thing I did tonight, try to shake you up a bit?
“You can try,” she said with an impish smile. “But it takes a lot to shake me up. I’ve been on the streets for a long time. I’ve seen and heard it all.” Actually, she’d only been sneaking away incognito for two years, but she had definitely experienced more than those perfect noblewomen who cared for nothing but clothes and jewelry and being admired. Athanasia had never met another princess, but she assumed that most, if not all, of them were shallow creatures with fluff for brains.
Damocles didn’t seem to care any more for vapid courtiers than she did. And perhaps knowing that she had no interest in the things other girls believed so important, he would not recognize her in the rich accouterments of a princess. Sometimes one only saw what one expected to see, and she didn’t think that anyone would confuse Kassandra the spunky acrobat with the stoic Princess Athanasia. Still, it might be a good idea to keep her face in shadow from now on.
“I do admit that most people I encounter are insufferably boring. It is refreshing to meet someone who intrigues me.” Damocles would probably think she was saying that he intrigued her, and he wouldn’t be wrong. She had never met anyone quite like him before. Athanasia watched as he made a toast which the tavern patrons were happy to agree with. Their cheers filled the air. Drunk Colchians were easier to impress than their sober counterparts, but it was odd that they had accepted him so readily. Then again, his cheerful nature was quite infectious. So was his teasing.
“Ha! Don’t worry. You proved your point. No need to punch me again.”
The incognito princess winked. “Are you sure? “ Playfully, she balled her fist. “You seemed to like it.”
So he was a soldier. Athanasia gazed at Damocles triumphantly. “You have money,” she said quietly, so that none of the others in the tavern could hear. “Soldiers are paid well. Miners aren’t. And you’re built like a soldier. I imagine you intimidate your enemies with your height alone. I would certainly run if I saw you charging at me.”
His next remark put her on guard. He wanted to take her to particular part of the city, just the two of them alone? Her parents and brothers had made certain she knew to be wary of strangers, but was Damocles a stranger anymore? She doubted he planned to take her to some remote place to rape and kill her, but could she trust him fully? Probably not. However, though he was large enough to overpower her, Athanasia was small and fast and knew how to fight dirty. There was a good chance that she could get away from him.
And besides, the excitement in his deep voice made her curious. The princess had never been adept at resisting adventure, even of the dangerous kind. Tossing back the rest of her beer, she sat it on the table and stood up. “Very well,” she said. “Lead on."
Some people might have thought that the eyes were the window to the soul, but Damocles was more of the exception than the norm when it came to that belief. Long decades of cleaver-wordplay and precise expressions had allowed him to make an enigma of his innermost thoughts, an ever-shifting disguise that changed its mummery depending on whomever he addressed. He could play the part of the war-weary veteran one moment and then switch to the role of the blackhearted commander and then the hawkish, aspiring politician with an ease of self and an impression of character that few could truly debate whether or not he was being all but genuine. Deception was not a game left just for court and battlefields, it was a game of the mind, one that both shield and sword, if done properly.
He had not reason to consider doing anything distasteful to Kassandra at that precise moment, but that didn’t mean he was going to allow her to learn everything about him in such a free and casual manner. Damocles was a tough nut to crack and an almost impossible man to understand, with the ruggedly handsome leader of the Damned mentally counting with the fingers of his hand the number of people who he knew were aware of just some of the depths of his innermost deceptions. Still, he kept the same warmth, the same, appealing, captivating and romantic stare behind his bright irises at her, keeping up the idea that he was but a gregarious man, a merry warrior who enjoyed life just way more than the typical Colchian, but still an unassuming and non-threatening fellow who could be anyone’s quickest friend with the way he smiled his cheerful smiles and laughed his infectious laughs.
“Well then, let’s finish up here before we best be off. Where we’re going you’re gonna need both hands.” He said, grinning widely as he drunk the last of his beer and smashed the empty content of his mug right smack in the middle of the top of the tavern’s table, unintentially showing the almost inhumane degree of strength that his hands beheld as he raised the content around him with the forcefulness of his slam. “Ahahaha! I apologize mates! Sometimes I lose track of my might!” he laughed, ruffling up a welter of thick guffaws that joined in on hus humor and charm. Once finished, he turned his attention at the woman ad his side and stood from his stool, revealing his towering height once more as his feet held him up by the heel of his sandals. “Ready? Then follow me. Oh, and when I saw so, close your eyes, it will spoil the fun!” he conditioned, stomping around with his usual gruffness as he grabbed his deeply-garbed partner of the night by the wrist and all but dragged her with the infectious excitement of a child wanting to show something to his parents, basically escorting a woman whom, unbeknown to him, was of direct royal blood.
His touch was rough, but warm at the same time, welcoming and energetic as the man that beheld it, and though he could have easily crushed Kassandra’s wrist with his enormous hands, he took great lengths to not even leave a single mark on then, showing the incredible degree of control that he truly had when it came to his brutal physical power. As he walked across the streets of Midas, he kept hurling jokes, with the air around him and his heavy-garbed partner becoming thick with deep laugher before the enormous man unleashed his grip, leaving it so he could turn to face the much smaller woman and smile at her. “Ok! now, do as I say and close your eyes, I want you to have one of the best nights of your night now!.” There was such an impassionate inflection to his otherwise deep voice that it was difficult to not to as he said, though that was still a possibility. Nevertheless, once Damocles felt that he had secured the place he left Kassandra by herself, strolling around as the sound of him moving around, almost as if he were arranging objects and…even people around. “Don’t look! It’ll ruin the surprise!” He would tease every time he felt that the curiosity became too much, but after a few moments of mysterious quietness, he sighed an air of relief and finally gave her the signal to continue on and see. “Ok, you can open your eyes now!”
What laid before Kassandra now was a beautifully arranged plaza filled with golden candles that illuminated the entire square and gave bright sight to a fountain that had been flowing with clear water that was decorated with the images of nymphs and Poseidon at the top. At the corner of the entire plaza, were a set of musicians, older-looking in age, but happy in their state as they seemed to begin to fill the plaza with music meant more for dancing than for simply hearing, and at the heart of it all was the man himself, smiling widely, quite pleased with himself. “This is the Plaza of Poseidon, its one of the more abandoned plazas in Midas, and very few people know about it, but every three days, those men over there play music, and at any time the fires can be lit so as to give it life. What do you think?” he asked, assuming that even a lifelong resident of Midas such as her would not have heard of such a rare and under spoken, but surprisingly breathtakingly beautiful place. Afterwards, he held out his hand and looked at the smaller woman deeply with his own penetrating stare, exchanging his silvery gaze with her now-green eyes.
“Do you want to dance with me?” It was blunt, direct and precise, unlike the strict, and stuffy formality that he often encountered at court whenever he had to engage with the noble ladies. He wasn’t the best dancer ever, sure, but away from the protocol and decorum of the dikasterio chamber he could come to regard the activity as a fun one, when done with the right partner that is. “It’d be a shame to leave those musicians without a crowd of two?” His charisma never failed him, and even if it was dark and late, there was not one bit of maliciousness emanating from the enormous man who seemed to be gifted with blessed good-looks. “What do you say?”
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Some people might have thought that the eyes were the window to the soul, but Damocles was more of the exception than the norm when it came to that belief. Long decades of cleaver-wordplay and precise expressions had allowed him to make an enigma of his innermost thoughts, an ever-shifting disguise that changed its mummery depending on whomever he addressed. He could play the part of the war-weary veteran one moment and then switch to the role of the blackhearted commander and then the hawkish, aspiring politician with an ease of self and an impression of character that few could truly debate whether or not he was being all but genuine. Deception was not a game left just for court and battlefields, it was a game of the mind, one that both shield and sword, if done properly.
He had not reason to consider doing anything distasteful to Kassandra at that precise moment, but that didn’t mean he was going to allow her to learn everything about him in such a free and casual manner. Damocles was a tough nut to crack and an almost impossible man to understand, with the ruggedly handsome leader of the Damned mentally counting with the fingers of his hand the number of people who he knew were aware of just some of the depths of his innermost deceptions. Still, he kept the same warmth, the same, appealing, captivating and romantic stare behind his bright irises at her, keeping up the idea that he was but a gregarious man, a merry warrior who enjoyed life just way more than the typical Colchian, but still an unassuming and non-threatening fellow who could be anyone’s quickest friend with the way he smiled his cheerful smiles and laughed his infectious laughs.
“Well then, let’s finish up here before we best be off. Where we’re going you’re gonna need both hands.” He said, grinning widely as he drunk the last of his beer and smashed the empty content of his mug right smack in the middle of the top of the tavern’s table, unintentially showing the almost inhumane degree of strength that his hands beheld as he raised the content around him with the forcefulness of his slam. “Ahahaha! I apologize mates! Sometimes I lose track of my might!” he laughed, ruffling up a welter of thick guffaws that joined in on hus humor and charm. Once finished, he turned his attention at the woman ad his side and stood from his stool, revealing his towering height once more as his feet held him up by the heel of his sandals. “Ready? Then follow me. Oh, and when I saw so, close your eyes, it will spoil the fun!” he conditioned, stomping around with his usual gruffness as he grabbed his deeply-garbed partner of the night by the wrist and all but dragged her with the infectious excitement of a child wanting to show something to his parents, basically escorting a woman whom, unbeknown to him, was of direct royal blood.
His touch was rough, but warm at the same time, welcoming and energetic as the man that beheld it, and though he could have easily crushed Kassandra’s wrist with his enormous hands, he took great lengths to not even leave a single mark on then, showing the incredible degree of control that he truly had when it came to his brutal physical power. As he walked across the streets of Midas, he kept hurling jokes, with the air around him and his heavy-garbed partner becoming thick with deep laugher before the enormous man unleashed his grip, leaving it so he could turn to face the much smaller woman and smile at her. “Ok! now, do as I say and close your eyes, I want you to have one of the best nights of your night now!.” There was such an impassionate inflection to his otherwise deep voice that it was difficult to not to as he said, though that was still a possibility. Nevertheless, once Damocles felt that he had secured the place he left Kassandra by herself, strolling around as the sound of him moving around, almost as if he were arranging objects and…even people around. “Don’t look! It’ll ruin the surprise!” He would tease every time he felt that the curiosity became too much, but after a few moments of mysterious quietness, he sighed an air of relief and finally gave her the signal to continue on and see. “Ok, you can open your eyes now!”
What laid before Kassandra now was a beautifully arranged plaza filled with golden candles that illuminated the entire square and gave bright sight to a fountain that had been flowing with clear water that was decorated with the images of nymphs and Poseidon at the top. At the corner of the entire plaza, were a set of musicians, older-looking in age, but happy in their state as they seemed to begin to fill the plaza with music meant more for dancing than for simply hearing, and at the heart of it all was the man himself, smiling widely, quite pleased with himself. “This is the Plaza of Poseidon, its one of the more abandoned plazas in Midas, and very few people know about it, but every three days, those men over there play music, and at any time the fires can be lit so as to give it life. What do you think?” he asked, assuming that even a lifelong resident of Midas such as her would not have heard of such a rare and under spoken, but surprisingly breathtakingly beautiful place. Afterwards, he held out his hand and looked at the smaller woman deeply with his own penetrating stare, exchanging his silvery gaze with her now-green eyes.
“Do you want to dance with me?” It was blunt, direct and precise, unlike the strict, and stuffy formality that he often encountered at court whenever he had to engage with the noble ladies. He wasn’t the best dancer ever, sure, but away from the protocol and decorum of the dikasterio chamber he could come to regard the activity as a fun one, when done with the right partner that is. “It’d be a shame to leave those musicians without a crowd of two?” His charisma never failed him, and even if it was dark and late, there was not one bit of maliciousness emanating from the enormous man who seemed to be gifted with blessed good-looks. “What do you say?”
Some people might have thought that the eyes were the window to the soul, but Damocles was more of the exception than the norm when it came to that belief. Long decades of cleaver-wordplay and precise expressions had allowed him to make an enigma of his innermost thoughts, an ever-shifting disguise that changed its mummery depending on whomever he addressed. He could play the part of the war-weary veteran one moment and then switch to the role of the blackhearted commander and then the hawkish, aspiring politician with an ease of self and an impression of character that few could truly debate whether or not he was being all but genuine. Deception was not a game left just for court and battlefields, it was a game of the mind, one that both shield and sword, if done properly.
He had not reason to consider doing anything distasteful to Kassandra at that precise moment, but that didn’t mean he was going to allow her to learn everything about him in such a free and casual manner. Damocles was a tough nut to crack and an almost impossible man to understand, with the ruggedly handsome leader of the Damned mentally counting with the fingers of his hand the number of people who he knew were aware of just some of the depths of his innermost deceptions. Still, he kept the same warmth, the same, appealing, captivating and romantic stare behind his bright irises at her, keeping up the idea that he was but a gregarious man, a merry warrior who enjoyed life just way more than the typical Colchian, but still an unassuming and non-threatening fellow who could be anyone’s quickest friend with the way he smiled his cheerful smiles and laughed his infectious laughs.
“Well then, let’s finish up here before we best be off. Where we’re going you’re gonna need both hands.” He said, grinning widely as he drunk the last of his beer and smashed the empty content of his mug right smack in the middle of the top of the tavern’s table, unintentially showing the almost inhumane degree of strength that his hands beheld as he raised the content around him with the forcefulness of his slam. “Ahahaha! I apologize mates! Sometimes I lose track of my might!” he laughed, ruffling up a welter of thick guffaws that joined in on hus humor and charm. Once finished, he turned his attention at the woman ad his side and stood from his stool, revealing his towering height once more as his feet held him up by the heel of his sandals. “Ready? Then follow me. Oh, and when I saw so, close your eyes, it will spoil the fun!” he conditioned, stomping around with his usual gruffness as he grabbed his deeply-garbed partner of the night by the wrist and all but dragged her with the infectious excitement of a child wanting to show something to his parents, basically escorting a woman whom, unbeknown to him, was of direct royal blood.
His touch was rough, but warm at the same time, welcoming and energetic as the man that beheld it, and though he could have easily crushed Kassandra’s wrist with his enormous hands, he took great lengths to not even leave a single mark on then, showing the incredible degree of control that he truly had when it came to his brutal physical power. As he walked across the streets of Midas, he kept hurling jokes, with the air around him and his heavy-garbed partner becoming thick with deep laugher before the enormous man unleashed his grip, leaving it so he could turn to face the much smaller woman and smile at her. “Ok! now, do as I say and close your eyes, I want you to have one of the best nights of your night now!.” There was such an impassionate inflection to his otherwise deep voice that it was difficult to not to as he said, though that was still a possibility. Nevertheless, once Damocles felt that he had secured the place he left Kassandra by herself, strolling around as the sound of him moving around, almost as if he were arranging objects and…even people around. “Don’t look! It’ll ruin the surprise!” He would tease every time he felt that the curiosity became too much, but after a few moments of mysterious quietness, he sighed an air of relief and finally gave her the signal to continue on and see. “Ok, you can open your eyes now!”
What laid before Kassandra now was a beautifully arranged plaza filled with golden candles that illuminated the entire square and gave bright sight to a fountain that had been flowing with clear water that was decorated with the images of nymphs and Poseidon at the top. At the corner of the entire plaza, were a set of musicians, older-looking in age, but happy in their state as they seemed to begin to fill the plaza with music meant more for dancing than for simply hearing, and at the heart of it all was the man himself, smiling widely, quite pleased with himself. “This is the Plaza of Poseidon, its one of the more abandoned plazas in Midas, and very few people know about it, but every three days, those men over there play music, and at any time the fires can be lit so as to give it life. What do you think?” he asked, assuming that even a lifelong resident of Midas such as her would not have heard of such a rare and under spoken, but surprisingly breathtakingly beautiful place. Afterwards, he held out his hand and looked at the smaller woman deeply with his own penetrating stare, exchanging his silvery gaze with her now-green eyes.
“Do you want to dance with me?” It was blunt, direct and precise, unlike the strict, and stuffy formality that he often encountered at court whenever he had to engage with the noble ladies. He wasn’t the best dancer ever, sure, but away from the protocol and decorum of the dikasterio chamber he could come to regard the activity as a fun one, when done with the right partner that is. “It’d be a shame to leave those musicians without a crowd of two?” His charisma never failed him, and even if it was dark and late, there was not one bit of maliciousness emanating from the enormous man who seemed to be gifted with blessed good-looks. “What do you say?”
