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This was a workout well beyond the intensity of any training or practice session Alehandros had ever had before in his life. Yes, he had to draw his sword against foes before, but never in such a disarray of bodies smashing into bodies type battle scene. The thrill it gave him being in combat was greater than any training he had ever experienced, even the instances of besting his cousins or Perikles in sparring matches. Speaking of which, even being twelve years his master’s senior, Perikles was kicking ass and taking names very efficiently. Alehandros felt very lucky to be surrounded by well-skilled and practiced men of warrior material at that moment in time.
Even if he was a natural in wielding the sword and he so believed the spirit of his father was guiding his hand this night, he felt he was pathetic compared to Stelios’s vicious brutality and blurring speed. One could hardly track the younger commander from one spot to the next aside from the trail of blood bubbling corpses he left behind.
A few elite soldiers from The Rangers of Pholis were with their small group that had punctured a small hole through the raiders guarding the entrance. After letting Stelios and his men lead the charge through until they were finally within the palace itself, Alehandros had slain a good handful and helped protect fellow fighters from oncoming raiders attacking. When glancing back to see how the battle was faring, his heart soared with delight to see Marikas colors joining the scramble. That should turn the tides enough, he thought, to crush the remanding forces of traitors trying to stop them from rescuing the rest of the palati.
Once they were established inside, Ale couldn’t help from chuckling at Stelios’s broken vase comment and nodded, “Indeed, let's go.” Alehandros was not about to stop and give a verbal description of the palace layout. Instead, armed and ready, he lead the way carefully through the front sections of the palace. It was a vast place, he cursed how much space the bigger social rooms they had to go through, yet he knew the ways to visit the king's sleeping chambers and, thus, the daughters’ too.
Alehandros had spent countless visits to the palace these last few weeks whenever he was home in the capitol, praying and hoping that a miracle would bless the king’s health. Actually, hardly two days previous had he seen his uncle Minas, breathing ever so shallowly for the last time. Ale wasn’t even sure if Minas had heard his last words of compassionate love to him. At such a weak state, it’d been hard to tell if he had been conscience or just shifting in his sleep.
Alehandros sucked in a sharp breath as he narrowly missed a spear that jabbed at him from beyond a corner he’d been about to take. Perikles had him covered and the offending raider was sprawled, choking on blood, before Ale could do much else than blink. He was at least able to take out the raider’s friend before Perikles got skewered by him next. “Traitors this way, Stelios.” Already a handful of traitors at the end of this hall, close to the library, were heading towards them from the ruckus of the two already being killed. “Not too much further past the library before we reach the personal areas of the palati!” Alehandros roared over the din of clashing metal weapons ringing off the stone walls of the place.
Just before his own sword blocked a blow and slashed at the side of his new opponent, Alehandros sent repetitive mental prayers to all and any gods he could think of in the moment. Mainly Zeus, the ruler of all immortals and mortals alike, and to his daughter born clad in full armor from his brow, Athena. One to bless him with protecting strength to reach Persephone and Emilia in time. The other to help him remember the swiftest and wisest path to the personal sleeping chambers of the Kingdom's monarch. And of course to Ares, for his continued blessing to allow him to defeat his enemies that evening, in a new bloody galore than what he was use to with political, civil wins in the senate.
JD
Staff Team
JD
Staff Team
This post was created by our staff team.
Please contact us with your queries and questions.
This was a workout well beyond the intensity of any training or practice session Alehandros had ever had before in his life. Yes, he had to draw his sword against foes before, but never in such a disarray of bodies smashing into bodies type battle scene. The thrill it gave him being in combat was greater than any training he had ever experienced, even the instances of besting his cousins or Perikles in sparring matches. Speaking of which, even being twelve years his master’s senior, Perikles was kicking ass and taking names very efficiently. Alehandros felt very lucky to be surrounded by well-skilled and practiced men of warrior material at that moment in time.
Even if he was a natural in wielding the sword and he so believed the spirit of his father was guiding his hand this night, he felt he was pathetic compared to Stelios’s vicious brutality and blurring speed. One could hardly track the younger commander from one spot to the next aside from the trail of blood bubbling corpses he left behind.
A few elite soldiers from The Rangers of Pholis were with their small group that had punctured a small hole through the raiders guarding the entrance. After letting Stelios and his men lead the charge through until they were finally within the palace itself, Alehandros had slain a good handful and helped protect fellow fighters from oncoming raiders attacking. When glancing back to see how the battle was faring, his heart soared with delight to see Marikas colors joining the scramble. That should turn the tides enough, he thought, to crush the remanding forces of traitors trying to stop them from rescuing the rest of the palati.
Once they were established inside, Ale couldn’t help from chuckling at Stelios’s broken vase comment and nodded, “Indeed, let's go.” Alehandros was not about to stop and give a verbal description of the palace layout. Instead, armed and ready, he lead the way carefully through the front sections of the palace. It was a vast place, he cursed how much space the bigger social rooms they had to go through, yet he knew the ways to visit the king's sleeping chambers and, thus, the daughters’ too.
Alehandros had spent countless visits to the palace these last few weeks whenever he was home in the capitol, praying and hoping that a miracle would bless the king’s health. Actually, hardly two days previous had he seen his uncle Minas, breathing ever so shallowly for the last time. Ale wasn’t even sure if Minas had heard his last words of compassionate love to him. At such a weak state, it’d been hard to tell if he had been conscience or just shifting in his sleep.
Alehandros sucked in a sharp breath as he narrowly missed a spear that jabbed at him from beyond a corner he’d been about to take. Perikles had him covered and the offending raider was sprawled, choking on blood, before Ale could do much else than blink. He was at least able to take out the raider’s friend before Perikles got skewered by him next. “Traitors this way, Stelios.” Already a handful of traitors at the end of this hall, close to the library, were heading towards them from the ruckus of the two already being killed. “Not too much further past the library before we reach the personal areas of the palati!” Alehandros roared over the din of clashing metal weapons ringing off the stone walls of the place.
Just before his own sword blocked a blow and slashed at the side of his new opponent, Alehandros sent repetitive mental prayers to all and any gods he could think of in the moment. Mainly Zeus, the ruler of all immortals and mortals alike, and to his daughter born clad in full armor from his brow, Athena. One to bless him with protecting strength to reach Persephone and Emilia in time. The other to help him remember the swiftest and wisest path to the personal sleeping chambers of the Kingdom's monarch. And of course to Ares, for his continued blessing to allow him to defeat his enemies that evening, in a new bloody galore than what he was use to with political, civil wins in the senate.
This was a workout well beyond the intensity of any training or practice session Alehandros had ever had before in his life. Yes, he had to draw his sword against foes before, but never in such a disarray of bodies smashing into bodies type battle scene. The thrill it gave him being in combat was greater than any training he had ever experienced, even the instances of besting his cousins or Perikles in sparring matches. Speaking of which, even being twelve years his master’s senior, Perikles was kicking ass and taking names very efficiently. Alehandros felt very lucky to be surrounded by well-skilled and practiced men of warrior material at that moment in time.
Even if he was a natural in wielding the sword and he so believed the spirit of his father was guiding his hand this night, he felt he was pathetic compared to Stelios’s vicious brutality and blurring speed. One could hardly track the younger commander from one spot to the next aside from the trail of blood bubbling corpses he left behind.
A few elite soldiers from The Rangers of Pholis were with their small group that had punctured a small hole through the raiders guarding the entrance. After letting Stelios and his men lead the charge through until they were finally within the palace itself, Alehandros had slain a good handful and helped protect fellow fighters from oncoming raiders attacking. When glancing back to see how the battle was faring, his heart soared with delight to see Marikas colors joining the scramble. That should turn the tides enough, he thought, to crush the remanding forces of traitors trying to stop them from rescuing the rest of the palati.
Once they were established inside, Ale couldn’t help from chuckling at Stelios’s broken vase comment and nodded, “Indeed, let's go.” Alehandros was not about to stop and give a verbal description of the palace layout. Instead, armed and ready, he lead the way carefully through the front sections of the palace. It was a vast place, he cursed how much space the bigger social rooms they had to go through, yet he knew the ways to visit the king's sleeping chambers and, thus, the daughters’ too.
Alehandros had spent countless visits to the palace these last few weeks whenever he was home in the capitol, praying and hoping that a miracle would bless the king’s health. Actually, hardly two days previous had he seen his uncle Minas, breathing ever so shallowly for the last time. Ale wasn’t even sure if Minas had heard his last words of compassionate love to him. At such a weak state, it’d been hard to tell if he had been conscience or just shifting in his sleep.
Alehandros sucked in a sharp breath as he narrowly missed a spear that jabbed at him from beyond a corner he’d been about to take. Perikles had him covered and the offending raider was sprawled, choking on blood, before Ale could do much else than blink. He was at least able to take out the raider’s friend before Perikles got skewered by him next. “Traitors this way, Stelios.” Already a handful of traitors at the end of this hall, close to the library, were heading towards them from the ruckus of the two already being killed. “Not too much further past the library before we reach the personal areas of the palati!” Alehandros roared over the din of clashing metal weapons ringing off the stone walls of the place.
Just before his own sword blocked a blow and slashed at the side of his new opponent, Alehandros sent repetitive mental prayers to all and any gods he could think of in the moment. Mainly Zeus, the ruler of all immortals and mortals alike, and to his daughter born clad in full armor from his brow, Athena. One to bless him with protecting strength to reach Persephone and Emilia in time. The other to help him remember the swiftest and wisest path to the personal sleeping chambers of the Kingdom's monarch. And of course to Ares, for his continued blessing to allow him to defeat his enemies that evening, in a new bloody galore than what he was use to with political, civil wins in the senate.
The sound of clashing metal filled the space and a foul odor filled the air. More and more raiders kept swarming out from all corners and it became very clear that whoever was behind this insurgence had vast knowledge of the interior of the palace and access to great amounts of resources. So it wasn't just anyone. This was planned well ahead, and he would not be surprised if they had people aiding them from the inside.
Of course it all remained speculation at that point and focusing on the blades being swung his way was his main concern. His duty right now was to find and secure Persephone’s safety, and he could only do that if his heart remained beating. Alehandros immediately jumped into action and started to lead the way down the hall and through various rooms. Stelios did not hesitate for a second and shared a quick look with the men under his command and instantly followed suit. Right now Alehandros’ word was as good as any military Commander’s they have ever followed. And follow him they did.
Stelios’ knowledge of the palati was not sufficient, he had been within its walls before, but never on regular intervals such as his cousin. Right now he counted on Alehandros’ sense of direction more so than his own. Still, he kept his eyes open and sliced through whatever foe he had to. Ducking a blade and leaning away so another skimmed by an inch away from his throat, he quickly retaliated with stabbing his swords into their stomachs, and dragging the blades through their flesh as he moved causing some of their intestines to spill. They grabbed at their insides, desperately trying to keep them within their bodies, but failing as their energy drained and their eyes rolled over.
Such a gruesome display did not hinder their comrades and more were on their way. Stelios dropped his blades, switching them out for proper dual swords used by an intruder before his death, finding it much easier to choose which weapon will attack and which will defend. This gave him more options in terms of attack angles without losing the power of having separate defensive and offensive arms of full-length.
He would often spar against multiple opponents and found dual swords to be far more efficient in such a situation, they made it harder for his opponents to surround him because he could attack and defend equally to both sides. Though on a battlefield he was quick to disregard such weapons and rather preferred a shield and only one sword and spear. This was different than a war though. There were little to no archers, and those who were present were outside the palati where he imagined Mateos and his father to be dealing with.
His grip tightened around the hilts of the swords and a smirkish grin pulled at the corner of his lips. He rather enjoyed this. He rarely got to pick up dual-wielding weapons other than in sparring sessions and even then it was no real fight. Not like this. It felt freeing to not worry about a giant shield in one arm, and it wasn't exactly hard to pierce through what little armour the imposing force had on.
Stelios glanced up from where he was kneeling over a body, twisting the blade to it's right before forcing it free and noticing how Alehandros took out one that was close to taking out Perikles. He was impressed, and proud, and rather stunned that his cousin could still hold his own like this after so many years. As a child he often would spar against Alehandros who then would easily best him at times. It was humbling moments, moments he remembered frustrated him and pushed him. Of course eventually Stelios’ skill surpassed that of his cousin, but he never forgot, no matter how hazy the memory now seemed.
”We must hurry then!” he commented and gripped his weapons tight as the enemy neared before he stroke. He swung with his right, but sliced with his left, jabbing the sword into the man's chest once he fell to the ground. Reaching up to his cheek he pulled his hand away only to reveal fresh blood on his fingers and palm. His blood. Not aware of exactly which blade cut underneath his eye on his cheek, but not exactly caring either, he simply chose to ignore it for now and pulled his sword free from the carcass and cut down another before he could strike at Alehandros.
”Alehandros,” Stelios shouted as he now stood fighting at his cousin's side ”The guards are all down.” And so they were. Palati guards were laying dead on the floors with spears and swords pinned within their flesh, blood pooling around their now lifeless bodies. The traitors were in far deeper than expected, and they must have had a thorough idea of where the guards would be stationed if they were to have this outcome. He shared a look with Alehandros, hoping he would get what Stelios was insinuating and gestured for him to continue before looking back towards the men. ”Stay alert.”
This was all a bit... suspicious.
JD
Staff Team
JD
Staff Team
This post was created by our staff team.
Please contact us with your queries and questions.
The sound of clashing metal filled the space and a foul odor filled the air. More and more raiders kept swarming out from all corners and it became very clear that whoever was behind this insurgence had vast knowledge of the interior of the palace and access to great amounts of resources. So it wasn't just anyone. This was planned well ahead, and he would not be surprised if they had people aiding them from the inside.
Of course it all remained speculation at that point and focusing on the blades being swung his way was his main concern. His duty right now was to find and secure Persephone’s safety, and he could only do that if his heart remained beating. Alehandros immediately jumped into action and started to lead the way down the hall and through various rooms. Stelios did not hesitate for a second and shared a quick look with the men under his command and instantly followed suit. Right now Alehandros’ word was as good as any military Commander’s they have ever followed. And follow him they did.
Stelios’ knowledge of the palati was not sufficient, he had been within its walls before, but never on regular intervals such as his cousin. Right now he counted on Alehandros’ sense of direction more so than his own. Still, he kept his eyes open and sliced through whatever foe he had to. Ducking a blade and leaning away so another skimmed by an inch away from his throat, he quickly retaliated with stabbing his swords into their stomachs, and dragging the blades through their flesh as he moved causing some of their intestines to spill. They grabbed at their insides, desperately trying to keep them within their bodies, but failing as their energy drained and their eyes rolled over.
Such a gruesome display did not hinder their comrades and more were on their way. Stelios dropped his blades, switching them out for proper dual swords used by an intruder before his death, finding it much easier to choose which weapon will attack and which will defend. This gave him more options in terms of attack angles without losing the power of having separate defensive and offensive arms of full-length.
He would often spar against multiple opponents and found dual swords to be far more efficient in such a situation, they made it harder for his opponents to surround him because he could attack and defend equally to both sides. Though on a battlefield he was quick to disregard such weapons and rather preferred a shield and only one sword and spear. This was different than a war though. There were little to no archers, and those who were present were outside the palati where he imagined Mateos and his father to be dealing with.
His grip tightened around the hilts of the swords and a smirkish grin pulled at the corner of his lips. He rather enjoyed this. He rarely got to pick up dual-wielding weapons other than in sparring sessions and even then it was no real fight. Not like this. It felt freeing to not worry about a giant shield in one arm, and it wasn't exactly hard to pierce through what little armour the imposing force had on.
Stelios glanced up from where he was kneeling over a body, twisting the blade to it's right before forcing it free and noticing how Alehandros took out one that was close to taking out Perikles. He was impressed, and proud, and rather stunned that his cousin could still hold his own like this after so many years. As a child he often would spar against Alehandros who then would easily best him at times. It was humbling moments, moments he remembered frustrated him and pushed him. Of course eventually Stelios’ skill surpassed that of his cousin, but he never forgot, no matter how hazy the memory now seemed.
”We must hurry then!” he commented and gripped his weapons tight as the enemy neared before he stroke. He swung with his right, but sliced with his left, jabbing the sword into the man's chest once he fell to the ground. Reaching up to his cheek he pulled his hand away only to reveal fresh blood on his fingers and palm. His blood. Not aware of exactly which blade cut underneath his eye on his cheek, but not exactly caring either, he simply chose to ignore it for now and pulled his sword free from the carcass and cut down another before he could strike at Alehandros.
”Alehandros,” Stelios shouted as he now stood fighting at his cousin's side ”The guards are all down.” And so they were. Palati guards were laying dead on the floors with spears and swords pinned within their flesh, blood pooling around their now lifeless bodies. The traitors were in far deeper than expected, and they must have had a thorough idea of where the guards would be stationed if they were to have this outcome. He shared a look with Alehandros, hoping he would get what Stelios was insinuating and gestured for him to continue before looking back towards the men. ”Stay alert.”
This was all a bit... suspicious.
The sound of clashing metal filled the space and a foul odor filled the air. More and more raiders kept swarming out from all corners and it became very clear that whoever was behind this insurgence had vast knowledge of the interior of the palace and access to great amounts of resources. So it wasn't just anyone. This was planned well ahead, and he would not be surprised if they had people aiding them from the inside.
Of course it all remained speculation at that point and focusing on the blades being swung his way was his main concern. His duty right now was to find and secure Persephone’s safety, and he could only do that if his heart remained beating. Alehandros immediately jumped into action and started to lead the way down the hall and through various rooms. Stelios did not hesitate for a second and shared a quick look with the men under his command and instantly followed suit. Right now Alehandros’ word was as good as any military Commander’s they have ever followed. And follow him they did.
Stelios’ knowledge of the palati was not sufficient, he had been within its walls before, but never on regular intervals such as his cousin. Right now he counted on Alehandros’ sense of direction more so than his own. Still, he kept his eyes open and sliced through whatever foe he had to. Ducking a blade and leaning away so another skimmed by an inch away from his throat, he quickly retaliated with stabbing his swords into their stomachs, and dragging the blades through their flesh as he moved causing some of their intestines to spill. They grabbed at their insides, desperately trying to keep them within their bodies, but failing as their energy drained and their eyes rolled over.
Such a gruesome display did not hinder their comrades and more were on their way. Stelios dropped his blades, switching them out for proper dual swords used by an intruder before his death, finding it much easier to choose which weapon will attack and which will defend. This gave him more options in terms of attack angles without losing the power of having separate defensive and offensive arms of full-length.
He would often spar against multiple opponents and found dual swords to be far more efficient in such a situation, they made it harder for his opponents to surround him because he could attack and defend equally to both sides. Though on a battlefield he was quick to disregard such weapons and rather preferred a shield and only one sword and spear. This was different than a war though. There were little to no archers, and those who were present were outside the palati where he imagined Mateos and his father to be dealing with.
His grip tightened around the hilts of the swords and a smirkish grin pulled at the corner of his lips. He rather enjoyed this. He rarely got to pick up dual-wielding weapons other than in sparring sessions and even then it was no real fight. Not like this. It felt freeing to not worry about a giant shield in one arm, and it wasn't exactly hard to pierce through what little armour the imposing force had on.
Stelios glanced up from where he was kneeling over a body, twisting the blade to it's right before forcing it free and noticing how Alehandros took out one that was close to taking out Perikles. He was impressed, and proud, and rather stunned that his cousin could still hold his own like this after so many years. As a child he often would spar against Alehandros who then would easily best him at times. It was humbling moments, moments he remembered frustrated him and pushed him. Of course eventually Stelios’ skill surpassed that of his cousin, but he never forgot, no matter how hazy the memory now seemed.
”We must hurry then!” he commented and gripped his weapons tight as the enemy neared before he stroke. He swung with his right, but sliced with his left, jabbing the sword into the man's chest once he fell to the ground. Reaching up to his cheek he pulled his hand away only to reveal fresh blood on his fingers and palm. His blood. Not aware of exactly which blade cut underneath his eye on his cheek, but not exactly caring either, he simply chose to ignore it for now and pulled his sword free from the carcass and cut down another before he could strike at Alehandros.
”Alehandros,” Stelios shouted as he now stood fighting at his cousin's side ”The guards are all down.” And so they were. Palati guards were laying dead on the floors with spears and swords pinned within their flesh, blood pooling around their now lifeless bodies. The traitors were in far deeper than expected, and they must have had a thorough idea of where the guards would be stationed if they were to have this outcome. He shared a look with Alehandros, hoping he would get what Stelios was insinuating and gestured for him to continue before looking back towards the men. ”Stay alert.”
This was all a bit... suspicious.
It was a relief when she finally ran with him, and he kept a close grip on her, every sense alert to potential danger and trying to remember a side door that could lead them down to safety. Getting her out was his priority, from there they could figure out everything else. She wasn't heavy but when she skidded to a halt his arm twisted and his cloak fell away from her as he turned to face her and argue. He barely had a chance but he was sure the look on his face gave her the answer she was afraid of. It had been too risky for him to turn back to Emilia's room, the sounds of fighting already so close it was all he could have done to flee where he was stationed to get Persephone herself out.
"No, Persephone!" It was a hissed whisper, an attempt to impart the severity of their situation without alerting every insurgent around them to their location. As his fiancee took off down the hall Iason knew he would have no choice but to behave the brute if they were to both survive.
Launching after her, strong arms wrapped around her waist and instead of a more dignified flight on her own power, the Taengean lord put the Queen of Athenia over his shoulder. Her protests could draw more attention, but he would also move swifter this way, even with her slight weight as a burden. Iason turned to flee, slipping through corridors he'd been familiarizing himself with over the past few weeks until he found the small door he'd pictured in his minds eye that would let them out through the garden, and from there out towards the city.
"I'm sorry, we need to get you to the ship and then we'll find her. They won't harm her, she's but a child."
It was what he needed to think as much as what he assumed she needed to hear, and though he kept a tight hold of her he adjusted his hold so that she could be more comfortably situated in his arms. Bridal style, the way he had been thinking he might attempt to woo her once their vows had been spoken and they were set to their own devices. It was far more intimate and from here he could see every individual eyelash that framed her dark eyes. But now was not the time to be distracted, their lives were at risk if freedom was not attained.
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It was a relief when she finally ran with him, and he kept a close grip on her, every sense alert to potential danger and trying to remember a side door that could lead them down to safety. Getting her out was his priority, from there they could figure out everything else. She wasn't heavy but when she skidded to a halt his arm twisted and his cloak fell away from her as he turned to face her and argue. He barely had a chance but he was sure the look on his face gave her the answer she was afraid of. It had been too risky for him to turn back to Emilia's room, the sounds of fighting already so close it was all he could have done to flee where he was stationed to get Persephone herself out.
"No, Persephone!" It was a hissed whisper, an attempt to impart the severity of their situation without alerting every insurgent around them to their location. As his fiancee took off down the hall Iason knew he would have no choice but to behave the brute if they were to both survive.
Launching after her, strong arms wrapped around her waist and instead of a more dignified flight on her own power, the Taengean lord put the Queen of Athenia over his shoulder. Her protests could draw more attention, but he would also move swifter this way, even with her slight weight as a burden. Iason turned to flee, slipping through corridors he'd been familiarizing himself with over the past few weeks until he found the small door he'd pictured in his minds eye that would let them out through the garden, and from there out towards the city.
"I'm sorry, we need to get you to the ship and then we'll find her. They won't harm her, she's but a child."
It was what he needed to think as much as what he assumed she needed to hear, and though he kept a tight hold of her he adjusted his hold so that she could be more comfortably situated in his arms. Bridal style, the way he had been thinking he might attempt to woo her once their vows had been spoken and they were set to their own devices. It was far more intimate and from here he could see every individual eyelash that framed her dark eyes. But now was not the time to be distracted, their lives were at risk if freedom was not attained.
It was a relief when she finally ran with him, and he kept a close grip on her, every sense alert to potential danger and trying to remember a side door that could lead them down to safety. Getting her out was his priority, from there they could figure out everything else. She wasn't heavy but when she skidded to a halt his arm twisted and his cloak fell away from her as he turned to face her and argue. He barely had a chance but he was sure the look on his face gave her the answer she was afraid of. It had been too risky for him to turn back to Emilia's room, the sounds of fighting already so close it was all he could have done to flee where he was stationed to get Persephone herself out.
"No, Persephone!" It was a hissed whisper, an attempt to impart the severity of their situation without alerting every insurgent around them to their location. As his fiancee took off down the hall Iason knew he would have no choice but to behave the brute if they were to both survive.
Launching after her, strong arms wrapped around her waist and instead of a more dignified flight on her own power, the Taengean lord put the Queen of Athenia over his shoulder. Her protests could draw more attention, but he would also move swifter this way, even with her slight weight as a burden. Iason turned to flee, slipping through corridors he'd been familiarizing himself with over the past few weeks until he found the small door he'd pictured in his minds eye that would let them out through the garden, and from there out towards the city.
"I'm sorry, we need to get you to the ship and then we'll find her. They won't harm her, she's but a child."
It was what he needed to think as much as what he assumed she needed to hear, and though he kept a tight hold of her he adjusted his hold so that she could be more comfortably situated in his arms. Bridal style, the way he had been thinking he might attempt to woo her once their vows had been spoken and they were set to their own devices. It was far more intimate and from here he could see every individual eyelash that framed her dark eyes. But now was not the time to be distracted, their lives were at risk if freedom was not attained.
It was late, even for the burly bodyguard, and he slept, curled around the small form of his wife, Dawn who in turn, cuddled the small puppy he’d given her on the anniversary the day of the princess Emilia’s birth. But even in the embrace of Morpheus, Nicholai’s senses were keen so when the faint sounds of a pitched battle within the palace compound, he woke as the first echo reverberated through the marble halls.
Rousing Dawn, and cautioning her to silence, Nic dressed hurriedly, donning his armor and weapons while Dawn dressed, then gathered the puppy into her arms. “We must get to Emilia’s rooms.” He told her, then kissed her deeply before easing open his door, taking her hand in his once they were through.
The body that was run through just as Emilia stuck her head out her door was one of her bodyguards, one of the newer recruits, who honored to have been selected to guard the princess, even though he was on guard during the night. Though now he would never get to advance to to any of the day shifts, since he died in the service of the House of Xanthos. Like his fellow guardsman Hermon, he’d laid down his life to keep the heir apparent safe from harm.
Nic was already headed from his private quarters to Emilia’s, Dawn’s small hand gripped in the off hand, his flanks protected by Castor, Deon and Teucer when they heard the sound of Emilia screaming. At the sound, Nic quickened his pace, trusting that his men would guard their flanks, help him keep Dawn safe. Reluctantly, Nic released her hand, putting both hands on the hilt of his sword.
With both hands free, Dawn cuddled the puppy closer, staying on Nic’s heels, as they closed the last distance to the princess' quarters at a trot. Nic paused briefly over Demeas' body, then rushed ahead, his heart in his throat that he was too late and Emilia was dead as well. Bursting into her room, he spotted her immediately, and went towards her, relief shining from his eyes as his men ushered Dawn into the room and closed the doors, taking up guard just to either side. "Are you hurt?" He asked, reaching a hand towards her.
JD
Staff Team
JD
Staff Team
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It was late, even for the burly bodyguard, and he slept, curled around the small form of his wife, Dawn who in turn, cuddled the small puppy he’d given her on the anniversary the day of the princess Emilia’s birth. But even in the embrace of Morpheus, Nicholai’s senses were keen so when the faint sounds of a pitched battle within the palace compound, he woke as the first echo reverberated through the marble halls.
Rousing Dawn, and cautioning her to silence, Nic dressed hurriedly, donning his armor and weapons while Dawn dressed, then gathered the puppy into her arms. “We must get to Emilia’s rooms.” He told her, then kissed her deeply before easing open his door, taking her hand in his once they were through.
The body that was run through just as Emilia stuck her head out her door was one of her bodyguards, one of the newer recruits, who honored to have been selected to guard the princess, even though he was on guard during the night. Though now he would never get to advance to to any of the day shifts, since he died in the service of the House of Xanthos. Like his fellow guardsman Hermon, he’d laid down his life to keep the heir apparent safe from harm.
Nic was already headed from his private quarters to Emilia’s, Dawn’s small hand gripped in the off hand, his flanks protected by Castor, Deon and Teucer when they heard the sound of Emilia screaming. At the sound, Nic quickened his pace, trusting that his men would guard their flanks, help him keep Dawn safe. Reluctantly, Nic released her hand, putting both hands on the hilt of his sword.
With both hands free, Dawn cuddled the puppy closer, staying on Nic’s heels, as they closed the last distance to the princess' quarters at a trot. Nic paused briefly over Demeas' body, then rushed ahead, his heart in his throat that he was too late and Emilia was dead as well. Bursting into her room, he spotted her immediately, and went towards her, relief shining from his eyes as his men ushered Dawn into the room and closed the doors, taking up guard just to either side. "Are you hurt?" He asked, reaching a hand towards her.
It was late, even for the burly bodyguard, and he slept, curled around the small form of his wife, Dawn who in turn, cuddled the small puppy he’d given her on the anniversary the day of the princess Emilia’s birth. But even in the embrace of Morpheus, Nicholai’s senses were keen so when the faint sounds of a pitched battle within the palace compound, he woke as the first echo reverberated through the marble halls.
Rousing Dawn, and cautioning her to silence, Nic dressed hurriedly, donning his armor and weapons while Dawn dressed, then gathered the puppy into her arms. “We must get to Emilia’s rooms.” He told her, then kissed her deeply before easing open his door, taking her hand in his once they were through.
The body that was run through just as Emilia stuck her head out her door was one of her bodyguards, one of the newer recruits, who honored to have been selected to guard the princess, even though he was on guard during the night. Though now he would never get to advance to to any of the day shifts, since he died in the service of the House of Xanthos. Like his fellow guardsman Hermon, he’d laid down his life to keep the heir apparent safe from harm.
Nic was already headed from his private quarters to Emilia’s, Dawn’s small hand gripped in the off hand, his flanks protected by Castor, Deon and Teucer when they heard the sound of Emilia screaming. At the sound, Nic quickened his pace, trusting that his men would guard their flanks, help him keep Dawn safe. Reluctantly, Nic released her hand, putting both hands on the hilt of his sword.
With both hands free, Dawn cuddled the puppy closer, staying on Nic’s heels, as they closed the last distance to the princess' quarters at a trot. Nic paused briefly over Demeas' body, then rushed ahead, his heart in his throat that he was too late and Emilia was dead as well. Bursting into her room, he spotted her immediately, and went towards her, relief shining from his eyes as his men ushered Dawn into the room and closed the doors, taking up guard just to either side. "Are you hurt?" He asked, reaching a hand towards her.
It had only happened in her most horrid of nightmares, stuff that she had hoped would never come to past. Phobetor had haunted her dreams in the days after she had arrived home from Taengea in the aftermath of the cultist attack during the Dionysus festival, a memory that Emilia had locked away whilst Persephone had rocked her to sleep, and Minas had hushed her whilst he was still strong.
But this was no nightmare.
The lifeless body at her feet was real, as real as the crimson blood that now pooled beneath the prone body, and Emilia felt as if her body was frozen in shock. As her eyes veered upwards, the scene only got worst. Bodies were littered across the hallway, and while in reality it was not as many as it seemed, to the young princess's mind, it was enough to make her blood run rice.
Her grip tightened on the wriggling body of Labros she held, the black puppy unsettled by the clash of steel and screams, the smell of fire in the air. Slowly, her feet backed away. To be away from the danger would be to head for the main entrance, but logic dictated she stayed where she was, as did protocol. She needed to stay. Drilled in her head was years of the words of her father and Persephone in the instance that this ever happened, and hurriedly, Emilia backed her way back into her room, only stopping when her back was pressed against her dresser, and her door swung shut.
Only to swing right open again.
The sudden movement startled the princess, and she yelped, her eyes immediately shutting when the flash of a sword was the very first one to meet her gaze. It wasn't till the voice asked after her wellbeing did she look up, and a flood of relief filled her as she saw the burly form of Nicholai. Protocol or not, she trusted the guard who had been by her side since she was but a child, and she didn't need any seal to know Nicholai was here to get her. Right behind, the remainder of her guards and her handmaiden ran in, before the doors were shut again, and Emilia turned grateful, tear-rimmed eyes to Nicholai, shaking her head.
"No-not yet." she stuttered, her voice shaking as she spoke. Her small body trembled, fear suffusing her whole frame. She was no military male, neither did she have a hardened spined as many Grecian ladies seemed to fancy she had. Emilia held no great dreams of being a strong woman - she was but a girl who had ensconced herself in a world of fabric and jewelry, and could not hold anything to protect herself.
When a sharp rap at the door shot her straight to alert again, her grip once again tightened on Labros as the puppy growled once more, until the voice made her cock her head.
It was a frantic voice, one that she almost didn't recognize until a name was given. With a few steps, Emilia neared the door, and then her eyes widened when it was cracked opened the slightest bit, and she saw the gash on her sister's handmaiden's arm. "Nicholai, let her in." she murmured, nudging at her guard to command his men to stand down just enough to let Kleio in. She knew of the handmaiden, for Kleio had served Persephone long enough to gain her sister's trust, and the young princess would trust whoever her sister had working by her side. "What do you mean sissy's gone?" she repeated with surprise. Persephone would never leave her, would she? It was a thought almost impossible in her head... yet Kleio had not been able to find her sister.
A sudden panic surged in her throat again, and Emilia turned to Nicholai, intent on asking her guard to find her sister. Yet before a single syllable could leave her, a loud crash against the door, followed by more shouts, made Emilia jump, and then turn to hide her face by the dresser once again, the very one she had backed into earlier. Caught between fear and uncertainty on her sister's location, Emilia was in no position to make any decision at the moment, but it was clear leaving was no option.
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It had only happened in her most horrid of nightmares, stuff that she had hoped would never come to past. Phobetor had haunted her dreams in the days after she had arrived home from Taengea in the aftermath of the cultist attack during the Dionysus festival, a memory that Emilia had locked away whilst Persephone had rocked her to sleep, and Minas had hushed her whilst he was still strong.
But this was no nightmare.
The lifeless body at her feet was real, as real as the crimson blood that now pooled beneath the prone body, and Emilia felt as if her body was frozen in shock. As her eyes veered upwards, the scene only got worst. Bodies were littered across the hallway, and while in reality it was not as many as it seemed, to the young princess's mind, it was enough to make her blood run rice.
Her grip tightened on the wriggling body of Labros she held, the black puppy unsettled by the clash of steel and screams, the smell of fire in the air. Slowly, her feet backed away. To be away from the danger would be to head for the main entrance, but logic dictated she stayed where she was, as did protocol. She needed to stay. Drilled in her head was years of the words of her father and Persephone in the instance that this ever happened, and hurriedly, Emilia backed her way back into her room, only stopping when her back was pressed against her dresser, and her door swung shut.
Only to swing right open again.
The sudden movement startled the princess, and she yelped, her eyes immediately shutting when the flash of a sword was the very first one to meet her gaze. It wasn't till the voice asked after her wellbeing did she look up, and a flood of relief filled her as she saw the burly form of Nicholai. Protocol or not, she trusted the guard who had been by her side since she was but a child, and she didn't need any seal to know Nicholai was here to get her. Right behind, the remainder of her guards and her handmaiden ran in, before the doors were shut again, and Emilia turned grateful, tear-rimmed eyes to Nicholai, shaking her head.
"No-not yet." she stuttered, her voice shaking as she spoke. Her small body trembled, fear suffusing her whole frame. She was no military male, neither did she have a hardened spined as many Grecian ladies seemed to fancy she had. Emilia held no great dreams of being a strong woman - she was but a girl who had ensconced herself in a world of fabric and jewelry, and could not hold anything to protect herself.
When a sharp rap at the door shot her straight to alert again, her grip once again tightened on Labros as the puppy growled once more, until the voice made her cock her head.
It was a frantic voice, one that she almost didn't recognize until a name was given. With a few steps, Emilia neared the door, and then her eyes widened when it was cracked opened the slightest bit, and she saw the gash on her sister's handmaiden's arm. "Nicholai, let her in." she murmured, nudging at her guard to command his men to stand down just enough to let Kleio in. She knew of the handmaiden, for Kleio had served Persephone long enough to gain her sister's trust, and the young princess would trust whoever her sister had working by her side. "What do you mean sissy's gone?" she repeated with surprise. Persephone would never leave her, would she? It was a thought almost impossible in her head... yet Kleio had not been able to find her sister.
A sudden panic surged in her throat again, and Emilia turned to Nicholai, intent on asking her guard to find her sister. Yet before a single syllable could leave her, a loud crash against the door, followed by more shouts, made Emilia jump, and then turn to hide her face by the dresser once again, the very one she had backed into earlier. Caught between fear and uncertainty on her sister's location, Emilia was in no position to make any decision at the moment, but it was clear leaving was no option.
It had only happened in her most horrid of nightmares, stuff that she had hoped would never come to past. Phobetor had haunted her dreams in the days after she had arrived home from Taengea in the aftermath of the cultist attack during the Dionysus festival, a memory that Emilia had locked away whilst Persephone had rocked her to sleep, and Minas had hushed her whilst he was still strong.
But this was no nightmare.
The lifeless body at her feet was real, as real as the crimson blood that now pooled beneath the prone body, and Emilia felt as if her body was frozen in shock. As her eyes veered upwards, the scene only got worst. Bodies were littered across the hallway, and while in reality it was not as many as it seemed, to the young princess's mind, it was enough to make her blood run rice.
Her grip tightened on the wriggling body of Labros she held, the black puppy unsettled by the clash of steel and screams, the smell of fire in the air. Slowly, her feet backed away. To be away from the danger would be to head for the main entrance, but logic dictated she stayed where she was, as did protocol. She needed to stay. Drilled in her head was years of the words of her father and Persephone in the instance that this ever happened, and hurriedly, Emilia backed her way back into her room, only stopping when her back was pressed against her dresser, and her door swung shut.
Only to swing right open again.
The sudden movement startled the princess, and she yelped, her eyes immediately shutting when the flash of a sword was the very first one to meet her gaze. It wasn't till the voice asked after her wellbeing did she look up, and a flood of relief filled her as she saw the burly form of Nicholai. Protocol or not, she trusted the guard who had been by her side since she was but a child, and she didn't need any seal to know Nicholai was here to get her. Right behind, the remainder of her guards and her handmaiden ran in, before the doors were shut again, and Emilia turned grateful, tear-rimmed eyes to Nicholai, shaking her head.
"No-not yet." she stuttered, her voice shaking as she spoke. Her small body trembled, fear suffusing her whole frame. She was no military male, neither did she have a hardened spined as many Grecian ladies seemed to fancy she had. Emilia held no great dreams of being a strong woman - she was but a girl who had ensconced herself in a world of fabric and jewelry, and could not hold anything to protect herself.
When a sharp rap at the door shot her straight to alert again, her grip once again tightened on Labros as the puppy growled once more, until the voice made her cock her head.
It was a frantic voice, one that she almost didn't recognize until a name was given. With a few steps, Emilia neared the door, and then her eyes widened when it was cracked opened the slightest bit, and she saw the gash on her sister's handmaiden's arm. "Nicholai, let her in." she murmured, nudging at her guard to command his men to stand down just enough to let Kleio in. She knew of the handmaiden, for Kleio had served Persephone long enough to gain her sister's trust, and the young princess would trust whoever her sister had working by her side. "What do you mean sissy's gone?" she repeated with surprise. Persephone would never leave her, would she? It was a thought almost impossible in her head... yet Kleio had not been able to find her sister.
A sudden panic surged in her throat again, and Emilia turned to Nicholai, intent on asking her guard to find her sister. Yet before a single syllable could leave her, a loud crash against the door, followed by more shouts, made Emilia jump, and then turn to hide her face by the dresser once again, the very one she had backed into earlier. Caught between fear and uncertainty on her sister's location, Emilia was in no position to make any decision at the moment, but it was clear leaving was no option.
Her mind had not been paying attention to the man that was acting as both her fiancé and rescuer. Persephone's thoughts had been down the corridor, around the corner and through three sets of doors, where her sister slept. Emilia was her only family. Her only relative. The only person with whom she shared blood on the whole of the known earth and she was down that corridor, just thirty seconds sprint away from her. Potentially in danger. Definitely in danger.
"No!" Persephone asserted when Iason insisted that they continue onwards. "No! I need to get to Emilia! She might be-" The rest of her words were cut off when Iason was clearly not listening and decided to take matters into his own hands. With a single motion, Persephone was bundled up inside his cloak and there was suddenly a powerful force digging into her middle, a sudden feeling of motion sickness and in seconds she was facing the floor, her fiancé having thrown her over his shoulder and started to run down the corridor.
A heavy exhale was squashed from her lungs as hair flew into her face and Persephone almost lost her grip on the bundle of papers she held. Her strong sense of duty and responsibility had her wrapping her fingers around them tighter and cuddling them to her chest where she bounced over Iason's shoulder.
"Put me down!" She insisted, all authority and insulted exclamation sucked from her voice to leave behind a breathless and winded tone to her words. Luckily, the lack of air in her lungs as she was knocked along his running pace meant that her instructions never reached a volume to attract the attention of others. "Iason, put me down! Emilia! I need my sister! Go back!"
Her words fell in entirely deaf ears and, unable to release her hands from around the important documents she held, she could only hit him with her elbows, her emotions starting to take control.
"I need my sister, Iason! I swear to the Gods, you put me down! I will not leave without her! I won't!" She insisted, hitting him again in the back with her elbow.
Her fight had nothing to do with Iason or his intentions - honourable as they were - and in a few hours when she recognised the logic - or lack thereof - in her behaviour she would have been ashamed of her behaviour. Right now, however, she had quickly morphed from Princess Persephone, into Persephone the older sister who needed to reach her younger.
Her legs kicked. Her body wriggled. She had limited movement from his cloak but she was able to make his run difficult if nothing else. His words assuring her of Emilia's safety fell on deaf ears as she didn't believe a word of it. Attacks on palaces had nothing to do with controlling kingdoms by force. They might appear as barbarous attacks by radical insurgents but no band of anarchists attacked royal residences. They would attack public places and created havoc and chaos that way - like the Creed did in Taengea just a few months past. Attacks on royal homes were for only one purpose - the assassination of royalty. And if Persephone was the target, Emilia was just as much in danger. The second Persephone was out of the picture, Emilia was next in line. If she was going to be killed, Emilia was immediately next before the new lineage of order was secured.
"Please, put me down!" Persephone insisted, her voice becoming less an order and more a pleading beg. Whilst no tears were falling from her eyes - perhaps she was still in shock from her sudden awakening, too surprised emotionally to physically react - her voice sounded desperate with emotion. "Please Iason, I can't lose my sister. Put me down!"
It was then that Iason moved Persephone from over his shoulder into his arms and, for a moment, Persephone thought he was yielding to her requests. Instead, however, she was now able to see the harsh flint of his eyes and the determination of his jawline and she knew that he was ignoring every plead she made. And he wasn't happy about it. Some semblance of logic entered Persephone's brain as she knew Iason wasn't a man of stone. That her begging would affect some part of him. But his expression stated clearly that he wasn't going to obey. And her words were simply hurtful at this point, making a decision he had already made still harder.
Instead, therefore, of fighting him on the point, Persephone simply hugged her paper bundle to her chest with one arm and wrapped the other around his neck to support herself against him. Keeping her body cuddled close to his chest to try and make herself easier to carry, Persephone pressed her face into the man's neck and tried to still her mind and stomach so that she would neither cry nor vomit.
The sounds of the palace attackers could be heard all around. The pounding of Iason's heart beneath her shoulder was strong. And the smell of burning had started to invade her senses. The insurgents had clearly lit something on fire - whether deliberately or accidentally. Whatever was happening around her, it was clear that Persephone was now in whatever version of hell the Gods had summoned for her; people wanting her dead, her home being destroyed and the man she was due to marry refusing to help her in the way she wanted. And yet, the greatest hell of all, was the acceptance that she could do nothing for her sister. Emilia was in danger. And there was nothing she could do about it...
Her grip on Iason tightened as she drew herself closer to his body, wanting to disappear.
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Her mind had not been paying attention to the man that was acting as both her fiancé and rescuer. Persephone's thoughts had been down the corridor, around the corner and through three sets of doors, where her sister slept. Emilia was her only family. Her only relative. The only person with whom she shared blood on the whole of the known earth and she was down that corridor, just thirty seconds sprint away from her. Potentially in danger. Definitely in danger.
"No!" Persephone asserted when Iason insisted that they continue onwards. "No! I need to get to Emilia! She might be-" The rest of her words were cut off when Iason was clearly not listening and decided to take matters into his own hands. With a single motion, Persephone was bundled up inside his cloak and there was suddenly a powerful force digging into her middle, a sudden feeling of motion sickness and in seconds she was facing the floor, her fiancé having thrown her over his shoulder and started to run down the corridor.
A heavy exhale was squashed from her lungs as hair flew into her face and Persephone almost lost her grip on the bundle of papers she held. Her strong sense of duty and responsibility had her wrapping her fingers around them tighter and cuddling them to her chest where she bounced over Iason's shoulder.
"Put me down!" She insisted, all authority and insulted exclamation sucked from her voice to leave behind a breathless and winded tone to her words. Luckily, the lack of air in her lungs as she was knocked along his running pace meant that her instructions never reached a volume to attract the attention of others. "Iason, put me down! Emilia! I need my sister! Go back!"
Her words fell in entirely deaf ears and, unable to release her hands from around the important documents she held, she could only hit him with her elbows, her emotions starting to take control.
"I need my sister, Iason! I swear to the Gods, you put me down! I will not leave without her! I won't!" She insisted, hitting him again in the back with her elbow.
Her fight had nothing to do with Iason or his intentions - honourable as they were - and in a few hours when she recognised the logic - or lack thereof - in her behaviour she would have been ashamed of her behaviour. Right now, however, she had quickly morphed from Princess Persephone, into Persephone the older sister who needed to reach her younger.
Her legs kicked. Her body wriggled. She had limited movement from his cloak but she was able to make his run difficult if nothing else. His words assuring her of Emilia's safety fell on deaf ears as she didn't believe a word of it. Attacks on palaces had nothing to do with controlling kingdoms by force. They might appear as barbarous attacks by radical insurgents but no band of anarchists attacked royal residences. They would attack public places and created havoc and chaos that way - like the Creed did in Taengea just a few months past. Attacks on royal homes were for only one purpose - the assassination of royalty. And if Persephone was the target, Emilia was just as much in danger. The second Persephone was out of the picture, Emilia was next in line. If she was going to be killed, Emilia was immediately next before the new lineage of order was secured.
"Please, put me down!" Persephone insisted, her voice becoming less an order and more a pleading beg. Whilst no tears were falling from her eyes - perhaps she was still in shock from her sudden awakening, too surprised emotionally to physically react - her voice sounded desperate with emotion. "Please Iason, I can't lose my sister. Put me down!"
It was then that Iason moved Persephone from over his shoulder into his arms and, for a moment, Persephone thought he was yielding to her requests. Instead, however, she was now able to see the harsh flint of his eyes and the determination of his jawline and she knew that he was ignoring every plead she made. And he wasn't happy about it. Some semblance of logic entered Persephone's brain as she knew Iason wasn't a man of stone. That her begging would affect some part of him. But his expression stated clearly that he wasn't going to obey. And her words were simply hurtful at this point, making a decision he had already made still harder.
Instead, therefore, of fighting him on the point, Persephone simply hugged her paper bundle to her chest with one arm and wrapped the other around his neck to support herself against him. Keeping her body cuddled close to his chest to try and make herself easier to carry, Persephone pressed her face into the man's neck and tried to still her mind and stomach so that she would neither cry nor vomit.
The sounds of the palace attackers could be heard all around. The pounding of Iason's heart beneath her shoulder was strong. And the smell of burning had started to invade her senses. The insurgents had clearly lit something on fire - whether deliberately or accidentally. Whatever was happening around her, it was clear that Persephone was now in whatever version of hell the Gods had summoned for her; people wanting her dead, her home being destroyed and the man she was due to marry refusing to help her in the way she wanted. And yet, the greatest hell of all, was the acceptance that she could do nothing for her sister. Emilia was in danger. And there was nothing she could do about it...
Her grip on Iason tightened as she drew herself closer to his body, wanting to disappear.
Her mind had not been paying attention to the man that was acting as both her fiancé and rescuer. Persephone's thoughts had been down the corridor, around the corner and through three sets of doors, where her sister slept. Emilia was her only family. Her only relative. The only person with whom she shared blood on the whole of the known earth and she was down that corridor, just thirty seconds sprint away from her. Potentially in danger. Definitely in danger.
"No!" Persephone asserted when Iason insisted that they continue onwards. "No! I need to get to Emilia! She might be-" The rest of her words were cut off when Iason was clearly not listening and decided to take matters into his own hands. With a single motion, Persephone was bundled up inside his cloak and there was suddenly a powerful force digging into her middle, a sudden feeling of motion sickness and in seconds she was facing the floor, her fiancé having thrown her over his shoulder and started to run down the corridor.
A heavy exhale was squashed from her lungs as hair flew into her face and Persephone almost lost her grip on the bundle of papers she held. Her strong sense of duty and responsibility had her wrapping her fingers around them tighter and cuddling them to her chest where she bounced over Iason's shoulder.
"Put me down!" She insisted, all authority and insulted exclamation sucked from her voice to leave behind a breathless and winded tone to her words. Luckily, the lack of air in her lungs as she was knocked along his running pace meant that her instructions never reached a volume to attract the attention of others. "Iason, put me down! Emilia! I need my sister! Go back!"
Her words fell in entirely deaf ears and, unable to release her hands from around the important documents she held, she could only hit him with her elbows, her emotions starting to take control.
"I need my sister, Iason! I swear to the Gods, you put me down! I will not leave without her! I won't!" She insisted, hitting him again in the back with her elbow.
Her fight had nothing to do with Iason or his intentions - honourable as they were - and in a few hours when she recognised the logic - or lack thereof - in her behaviour she would have been ashamed of her behaviour. Right now, however, she had quickly morphed from Princess Persephone, into Persephone the older sister who needed to reach her younger.
Her legs kicked. Her body wriggled. She had limited movement from his cloak but she was able to make his run difficult if nothing else. His words assuring her of Emilia's safety fell on deaf ears as she didn't believe a word of it. Attacks on palaces had nothing to do with controlling kingdoms by force. They might appear as barbarous attacks by radical insurgents but no band of anarchists attacked royal residences. They would attack public places and created havoc and chaos that way - like the Creed did in Taengea just a few months past. Attacks on royal homes were for only one purpose - the assassination of royalty. And if Persephone was the target, Emilia was just as much in danger. The second Persephone was out of the picture, Emilia was next in line. If she was going to be killed, Emilia was immediately next before the new lineage of order was secured.
"Please, put me down!" Persephone insisted, her voice becoming less an order and more a pleading beg. Whilst no tears were falling from her eyes - perhaps she was still in shock from her sudden awakening, too surprised emotionally to physically react - her voice sounded desperate with emotion. "Please Iason, I can't lose my sister. Put me down!"
It was then that Iason moved Persephone from over his shoulder into his arms and, for a moment, Persephone thought he was yielding to her requests. Instead, however, she was now able to see the harsh flint of his eyes and the determination of his jawline and she knew that he was ignoring every plead she made. And he wasn't happy about it. Some semblance of logic entered Persephone's brain as she knew Iason wasn't a man of stone. That her begging would affect some part of him. But his expression stated clearly that he wasn't going to obey. And her words were simply hurtful at this point, making a decision he had already made still harder.
Instead, therefore, of fighting him on the point, Persephone simply hugged her paper bundle to her chest with one arm and wrapped the other around his neck to support herself against him. Keeping her body cuddled close to his chest to try and make herself easier to carry, Persephone pressed her face into the man's neck and tried to still her mind and stomach so that she would neither cry nor vomit.
The sounds of the palace attackers could be heard all around. The pounding of Iason's heart beneath her shoulder was strong. And the smell of burning had started to invade her senses. The insurgents had clearly lit something on fire - whether deliberately or accidentally. Whatever was happening around her, it was clear that Persephone was now in whatever version of hell the Gods had summoned for her; people wanting her dead, her home being destroyed and the man she was due to marry refusing to help her in the way she wanted. And yet, the greatest hell of all, was the acceptance that she could do nothing for her sister. Emilia was in danger. And there was nothing she could do about it...
Her grip on Iason tightened as she drew herself closer to his body, wanting to disappear.
Spears, swords, slashing, piercing, the smell of smoke filling the air and the sounds of death in every direction -- this could very well be where Rodas made his final stand. He had, however, declared he would help General Lacides secure the Main Gate, and he meant it. Whatever it took, Rodas would ensure the insurgents lost control of the lock down and that the gates were opened so the expected reinforcements could help defend the palace.
It was still a wonder to Rodas how so many armed men had managed to sneak into the capital, break through the inner circle undetected, and lay siege to the palati without raising a single alarm -- and at a moment’s notice, no less. After all, it wasn’t as though they had known the exact time and day that the king would die… unless that had all been part of the plan? Which, if that were true, then worse betrayal was at work here than a mere attack.
Minas had been ill for months, though, and it had seemed only a matter of time that he would succumb to his illness. But even if these invaders had not had a hand in the King’s demise, their timing was impeccable. They had to have been planning this coup for weeks, maybe even months. And to be so organized and methodical in their tactics implied this was a move for strategic purposes.
To what end, though? Rodas found himself internally asking, as he lopped off the head of another traitorous fool.
These men were trained. Skilled. They wore no symbols associating them with any particular group or order, which implied that they were perhaps hired mercenaries, but their faces were covered -- as though hiding a secret. Yet the way they fought was… particular. Specific. Fighting styles varied between individual warriors, but where a man’s training came from often lended itself to that person’s combat style. Rodas clearly remembered, even after all this time, how his step-father and brother had practiced in the Taengean arts of war. Like the Taengeans, the Athenians also had their own way of teaching their warriors, and the style the raiders fought with mirrored how the Athenian army had trained Rodas himself.
These deviants weren’t making use of the down-and-dirty fighting typical of common thugs, brawlers, gladiators, or marauders. The captain recognized the insurgents for what they were: Athenian officers. Men who should have been allies, comrades, and brothers… but had become corrupted by rage and anger that, given the circumstances, Rodas could only infer must be related to the transfer of power onto Princess Persephone’s shoulders now that her father had passed.
From what region of Athenia these brutes hailed from was unknown, but if his theory was proven correct, their origins would certainly explain how they had managed to gather so quickly while the king’s ashes were still warm.
“You two! With me!” He barked at a pair of hoplites wearing Antonis blues stained with the blood of the fallen.
Rodas would need help in order to secure the main gate. The fighting, screaming, clashing of metal against metal, smoke in the air and cinders on the wind, even the pools of red that would never truly be wiped clean from the palati’s stones… it was all a blur to Rodas, his sense of self-preservation steeled his resolve, even as a spear dug into the flesh of his side.
He spat at his assailant before the man was slain by one of the hoplites he’d ordered to aid him. Rodas’s mind was focused. The gate must be opened. Even as they readily killed the insurgents, their own numbers were beginning to dwindle from losses, reinforcements were necessary.
Rodas thanked Ares and Athena that General Lacides had been able to keep any more raiders from further battering Rodas and his comrades while they disabled the lock and adjusted the gate’s mechanism to allow entrance to the battle for anyone that had responded to Lord Alehandros’s call to arms.
And no sooner did the gate open did a flood of reinforcements rush to Antonis’s aid. Rodas immediately recognized the presence of the Athenian Guardsmen, and among the bronze plate, were men armored with the wise Owl on their breast -- House Marikas. And those in red armor bearing the mythical bird that rose from the ashes -- Rodas knew that was Xanthos's barony, though he didn't remember their name. The Gods surely were with them, their numbers would now ensure the raid was quickly finished and the palati would be secured.
Rodas lowered to his knees, and a Marikas soldier hurried to dress his wounds and keep him alive even while the fires blazed and the fighting continued around them. If the Gods saw fit to take him now, he would go willingly. Rodas had done his duty.
The gate was open.
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Spears, swords, slashing, piercing, the smell of smoke filling the air and the sounds of death in every direction -- this could very well be where Rodas made his final stand. He had, however, declared he would help General Lacides secure the Main Gate, and he meant it. Whatever it took, Rodas would ensure the insurgents lost control of the lock down and that the gates were opened so the expected reinforcements could help defend the palace.
It was still a wonder to Rodas how so many armed men had managed to sneak into the capital, break through the inner circle undetected, and lay siege to the palati without raising a single alarm -- and at a moment’s notice, no less. After all, it wasn’t as though they had known the exact time and day that the king would die… unless that had all been part of the plan? Which, if that were true, then worse betrayal was at work here than a mere attack.
Minas had been ill for months, though, and it had seemed only a matter of time that he would succumb to his illness. But even if these invaders had not had a hand in the King’s demise, their timing was impeccable. They had to have been planning this coup for weeks, maybe even months. And to be so organized and methodical in their tactics implied this was a move for strategic purposes.
To what end, though? Rodas found himself internally asking, as he lopped off the head of another traitorous fool.
These men were trained. Skilled. They wore no symbols associating them with any particular group or order, which implied that they were perhaps hired mercenaries, but their faces were covered -- as though hiding a secret. Yet the way they fought was… particular. Specific. Fighting styles varied between individual warriors, but where a man’s training came from often lended itself to that person’s combat style. Rodas clearly remembered, even after all this time, how his step-father and brother had practiced in the Taengean arts of war. Like the Taengeans, the Athenians also had their own way of teaching their warriors, and the style the raiders fought with mirrored how the Athenian army had trained Rodas himself.
These deviants weren’t making use of the down-and-dirty fighting typical of common thugs, brawlers, gladiators, or marauders. The captain recognized the insurgents for what they were: Athenian officers. Men who should have been allies, comrades, and brothers… but had become corrupted by rage and anger that, given the circumstances, Rodas could only infer must be related to the transfer of power onto Princess Persephone’s shoulders now that her father had passed.
From what region of Athenia these brutes hailed from was unknown, but if his theory was proven correct, their origins would certainly explain how they had managed to gather so quickly while the king’s ashes were still warm.
“You two! With me!” He barked at a pair of hoplites wearing Antonis blues stained with the blood of the fallen.
Rodas would need help in order to secure the main gate. The fighting, screaming, clashing of metal against metal, smoke in the air and cinders on the wind, even the pools of red that would never truly be wiped clean from the palati’s stones… it was all a blur to Rodas, his sense of self-preservation steeled his resolve, even as a spear dug into the flesh of his side.
He spat at his assailant before the man was slain by one of the hoplites he’d ordered to aid him. Rodas’s mind was focused. The gate must be opened. Even as they readily killed the insurgents, their own numbers were beginning to dwindle from losses, reinforcements were necessary.
Rodas thanked Ares and Athena that General Lacides had been able to keep any more raiders from further battering Rodas and his comrades while they disabled the lock and adjusted the gate’s mechanism to allow entrance to the battle for anyone that had responded to Lord Alehandros’s call to arms.
And no sooner did the gate open did a flood of reinforcements rush to Antonis’s aid. Rodas immediately recognized the presence of the Athenian Guardsmen, and among the bronze plate, were men armored with the wise Owl on their breast -- House Marikas. And those in red armor bearing the mythical bird that rose from the ashes -- Rodas knew that was Xanthos's barony, though he didn't remember their name. The Gods surely were with them, their numbers would now ensure the raid was quickly finished and the palati would be secured.
Rodas lowered to his knees, and a Marikas soldier hurried to dress his wounds and keep him alive even while the fires blazed and the fighting continued around them. If the Gods saw fit to take him now, he would go willingly. Rodas had done his duty.
The gate was open.
Spears, swords, slashing, piercing, the smell of smoke filling the air and the sounds of death in every direction -- this could very well be where Rodas made his final stand. He had, however, declared he would help General Lacides secure the Main Gate, and he meant it. Whatever it took, Rodas would ensure the insurgents lost control of the lock down and that the gates were opened so the expected reinforcements could help defend the palace.
It was still a wonder to Rodas how so many armed men had managed to sneak into the capital, break through the inner circle undetected, and lay siege to the palati without raising a single alarm -- and at a moment’s notice, no less. After all, it wasn’t as though they had known the exact time and day that the king would die… unless that had all been part of the plan? Which, if that were true, then worse betrayal was at work here than a mere attack.
Minas had been ill for months, though, and it had seemed only a matter of time that he would succumb to his illness. But even if these invaders had not had a hand in the King’s demise, their timing was impeccable. They had to have been planning this coup for weeks, maybe even months. And to be so organized and methodical in their tactics implied this was a move for strategic purposes.
To what end, though? Rodas found himself internally asking, as he lopped off the head of another traitorous fool.
These men were trained. Skilled. They wore no symbols associating them with any particular group or order, which implied that they were perhaps hired mercenaries, but their faces were covered -- as though hiding a secret. Yet the way they fought was… particular. Specific. Fighting styles varied between individual warriors, but where a man’s training came from often lended itself to that person’s combat style. Rodas clearly remembered, even after all this time, how his step-father and brother had practiced in the Taengean arts of war. Like the Taengeans, the Athenians also had their own way of teaching their warriors, and the style the raiders fought with mirrored how the Athenian army had trained Rodas himself.
These deviants weren’t making use of the down-and-dirty fighting typical of common thugs, brawlers, gladiators, or marauders. The captain recognized the insurgents for what they were: Athenian officers. Men who should have been allies, comrades, and brothers… but had become corrupted by rage and anger that, given the circumstances, Rodas could only infer must be related to the transfer of power onto Princess Persephone’s shoulders now that her father had passed.
From what region of Athenia these brutes hailed from was unknown, but if his theory was proven correct, their origins would certainly explain how they had managed to gather so quickly while the king’s ashes were still warm.
“You two! With me!” He barked at a pair of hoplites wearing Antonis blues stained with the blood of the fallen.
Rodas would need help in order to secure the main gate. The fighting, screaming, clashing of metal against metal, smoke in the air and cinders on the wind, even the pools of red that would never truly be wiped clean from the palati’s stones… it was all a blur to Rodas, his sense of self-preservation steeled his resolve, even as a spear dug into the flesh of his side.
He spat at his assailant before the man was slain by one of the hoplites he’d ordered to aid him. Rodas’s mind was focused. The gate must be opened. Even as they readily killed the insurgents, their own numbers were beginning to dwindle from losses, reinforcements were necessary.
Rodas thanked Ares and Athena that General Lacides had been able to keep any more raiders from further battering Rodas and his comrades while they disabled the lock and adjusted the gate’s mechanism to allow entrance to the battle for anyone that had responded to Lord Alehandros’s call to arms.
And no sooner did the gate open did a flood of reinforcements rush to Antonis’s aid. Rodas immediately recognized the presence of the Athenian Guardsmen, and among the bronze plate, were men armored with the wise Owl on their breast -- House Marikas. And those in red armor bearing the mythical bird that rose from the ashes -- Rodas knew that was Xanthos's barony, though he didn't remember their name. The Gods surely were with them, their numbers would now ensure the raid was quickly finished and the palati would be secured.
Rodas lowered to his knees, and a Marikas soldier hurried to dress his wounds and keep him alive even while the fires blazed and the fighting continued around them. If the Gods saw fit to take him now, he would go willingly. Rodas had done his duty.
The gate was open.
On most days, Dianthe was a fairly deep sleeper. Most days, it was hard hard for the young redhead lady maid to get out of bed. However, something was different about this day. Wait, or was it even day? Rubbing her eyes as she sat up in bed, she listened as she heard loud commotion coming from inside the palace walls. At first this did not startle her, that was until she started hearing the clanging of metal. That first thing that came to mind was if Persephone was okay. No doubt, the princ....Queen....was already alerted of the loud commotion in her home.
Rising from her bed, she grabbed the long robe like linen and wrapped it around herself. Her red hair falling over her shoulders in a unkempt yet neat manner. As she opened her door slightly to peer through, there were servants running and yelling, telling women to run for safety and for able bodied men to help. What was going on? Dianthe was still unable to really tell what was going on nor understand any of the shouting. Wait... did she just hear they were under attack? Oh Gods! She hoped into action just then, worried for the safety of her friend, the Queen.
She should have known, that with such an act like this, Persephone would have been taken away from all of it. But then, did that mean that princess Emilia was as well? That was good then right? Now she just had to worry about....herself. In a way that was even scarier. Most of her life she was told what she was to do and how to do it. But now....she was alone. And that was scarier than anything.
Pressing herself up against the wall as much as she could, Dianthe began making her way towards the Queens quarters. However, the closer she got, the more the it was clear something was going on. So far, no one was paying any attention to her as she dipped through the shadows and quickly made her way though hallways. It wasn't hard for her to know the way to get around the palace, she did grow up here.
Fear started to creep into her stomach as she left the royal quarters and started to make her way towards the servants wing. She needed to find someone that could tell her what was going on and what was being done about this. Dianthe wasn't about to go up to someone in the middle of fighting and .... ask for directions... that just seemed unwise.
However, just as she was about to turn a corner, she ran into a rather large and scary man. At first he didn't seem to care who she was or that he knocked her over, but he looked at her and noticed she was dressed rather well for a 'servant'. This intrigued him and as he moved towards her with an evil grin on his lips, Dianthe scooted herself across the floor, only to push herself right up into a wall. The color fell from her face and she looked up at the man, scared for her life.
"Please .... sir....." Her voice clearly scared.
JD
Staff Team
JD
Staff Team
This post was created by our staff team.
Please contact us with your queries and questions.
On most days, Dianthe was a fairly deep sleeper. Most days, it was hard hard for the young redhead lady maid to get out of bed. However, something was different about this day. Wait, or was it even day? Rubbing her eyes as she sat up in bed, she listened as she heard loud commotion coming from inside the palace walls. At first this did not startle her, that was until she started hearing the clanging of metal. That first thing that came to mind was if Persephone was okay. No doubt, the princ....Queen....was already alerted of the loud commotion in her home.
Rising from her bed, she grabbed the long robe like linen and wrapped it around herself. Her red hair falling over her shoulders in a unkempt yet neat manner. As she opened her door slightly to peer through, there were servants running and yelling, telling women to run for safety and for able bodied men to help. What was going on? Dianthe was still unable to really tell what was going on nor understand any of the shouting. Wait... did she just hear they were under attack? Oh Gods! She hoped into action just then, worried for the safety of her friend, the Queen.
She should have known, that with such an act like this, Persephone would have been taken away from all of it. But then, did that mean that princess Emilia was as well? That was good then right? Now she just had to worry about....herself. In a way that was even scarier. Most of her life she was told what she was to do and how to do it. But now....she was alone. And that was scarier than anything.
Pressing herself up against the wall as much as she could, Dianthe began making her way towards the Queens quarters. However, the closer she got, the more the it was clear something was going on. So far, no one was paying any attention to her as she dipped through the shadows and quickly made her way though hallways. It wasn't hard for her to know the way to get around the palace, she did grow up here.
Fear started to creep into her stomach as she left the royal quarters and started to make her way towards the servants wing. She needed to find someone that could tell her what was going on and what was being done about this. Dianthe wasn't about to go up to someone in the middle of fighting and .... ask for directions... that just seemed unwise.
However, just as she was about to turn a corner, she ran into a rather large and scary man. At first he didn't seem to care who she was or that he knocked her over, but he looked at her and noticed she was dressed rather well for a 'servant'. This intrigued him and as he moved towards her with an evil grin on his lips, Dianthe scooted herself across the floor, only to push herself right up into a wall. The color fell from her face and she looked up at the man, scared for her life.
"Please .... sir....." Her voice clearly scared.
On most days, Dianthe was a fairly deep sleeper. Most days, it was hard hard for the young redhead lady maid to get out of bed. However, something was different about this day. Wait, or was it even day? Rubbing her eyes as she sat up in bed, she listened as she heard loud commotion coming from inside the palace walls. At first this did not startle her, that was until she started hearing the clanging of metal. That first thing that came to mind was if Persephone was okay. No doubt, the princ....Queen....was already alerted of the loud commotion in her home.
Rising from her bed, she grabbed the long robe like linen and wrapped it around herself. Her red hair falling over her shoulders in a unkempt yet neat manner. As she opened her door slightly to peer through, there were servants running and yelling, telling women to run for safety and for able bodied men to help. What was going on? Dianthe was still unable to really tell what was going on nor understand any of the shouting. Wait... did she just hear they were under attack? Oh Gods! She hoped into action just then, worried for the safety of her friend, the Queen.
She should have known, that with such an act like this, Persephone would have been taken away from all of it. But then, did that mean that princess Emilia was as well? That was good then right? Now she just had to worry about....herself. In a way that was even scarier. Most of her life she was told what she was to do and how to do it. But now....she was alone. And that was scarier than anything.
Pressing herself up against the wall as much as she could, Dianthe began making her way towards the Queens quarters. However, the closer she got, the more the it was clear something was going on. So far, no one was paying any attention to her as she dipped through the shadows and quickly made her way though hallways. It wasn't hard for her to know the way to get around the palace, she did grow up here.
Fear started to creep into her stomach as she left the royal quarters and started to make her way towards the servants wing. She needed to find someone that could tell her what was going on and what was being done about this. Dianthe wasn't about to go up to someone in the middle of fighting and .... ask for directions... that just seemed unwise.
However, just as she was about to turn a corner, she ran into a rather large and scary man. At first he didn't seem to care who she was or that he knocked her over, but he looked at her and noticed she was dressed rather well for a 'servant'. This intrigued him and as he moved towards her with an evil grin on his lips, Dianthe scooted herself across the floor, only to push herself right up into a wall. The color fell from her face and she looked up at the man, scared for her life.
"Please .... sir....." Her voice clearly scared.
Nic looked down when Emilia nudged his side, then nodded to the other guards who stood at the door, though he stepped so that he stood between the narrow opening and the princess, just in case. But as it would turn out his concern was groundless, since Kleio wasn’t here to cause Emilia harm, not yet anyway, since her treachery was far too subtle for so direct an attack. And certainly not under the watchful eyes of he and his men.
One of Nic’s arms swept Dawn back towards Emilia and Kleio as he moved his body so that he stood as a living shield between the three young women and the door. “She’s right. Barricade the door.” Nic ordered his men who jumped to obey, moving forward one to either side of Kleio as she struggled to move the chest full of drawers.
“You’re hurt.” Nic said, reaching for Kleio, guiding her out of the way of his guards who manhandled the heavy furniture forward until it came to rest against the doors. Nic looked around for something he could use to bandage the lady’s arm. “Quickly princess, a clean scarf I can use to bind this wound.” He could’ve asked Dawn of course, since she was one of the princess’ handmaidens, but he chose to ask Emilia since this was her room, her things and would give the shaken young royal something useful to do. When Emilia produced the scarf, Nic took it from her, then turned back to bandage Kleio’s arm, his hands gentle as he took care of the wound.
JD
Staff Team
JD
Staff Team
This post was created by our staff team.
Please contact us with your queries and questions.
Nic looked down when Emilia nudged his side, then nodded to the other guards who stood at the door, though he stepped so that he stood between the narrow opening and the princess, just in case. But as it would turn out his concern was groundless, since Kleio wasn’t here to cause Emilia harm, not yet anyway, since her treachery was far too subtle for so direct an attack. And certainly not under the watchful eyes of he and his men.
One of Nic’s arms swept Dawn back towards Emilia and Kleio as he moved his body so that he stood as a living shield between the three young women and the door. “She’s right. Barricade the door.” Nic ordered his men who jumped to obey, moving forward one to either side of Kleio as she struggled to move the chest full of drawers.
“You’re hurt.” Nic said, reaching for Kleio, guiding her out of the way of his guards who manhandled the heavy furniture forward until it came to rest against the doors. Nic looked around for something he could use to bandage the lady’s arm. “Quickly princess, a clean scarf I can use to bind this wound.” He could’ve asked Dawn of course, since she was one of the princess’ handmaidens, but he chose to ask Emilia since this was her room, her things and would give the shaken young royal something useful to do. When Emilia produced the scarf, Nic took it from her, then turned back to bandage Kleio’s arm, his hands gentle as he took care of the wound.
Nic looked down when Emilia nudged his side, then nodded to the other guards who stood at the door, though he stepped so that he stood between the narrow opening and the princess, just in case. But as it would turn out his concern was groundless, since Kleio wasn’t here to cause Emilia harm, not yet anyway, since her treachery was far too subtle for so direct an attack. And certainly not under the watchful eyes of he and his men.
One of Nic’s arms swept Dawn back towards Emilia and Kleio as he moved his body so that he stood as a living shield between the three young women and the door. “She’s right. Barricade the door.” Nic ordered his men who jumped to obey, moving forward one to either side of Kleio as she struggled to move the chest full of drawers.
“You’re hurt.” Nic said, reaching for Kleio, guiding her out of the way of his guards who manhandled the heavy furniture forward until it came to rest against the doors. Nic looked around for something he could use to bandage the lady’s arm. “Quickly princess, a clean scarf I can use to bind this wound.” He could’ve asked Dawn of course, since she was one of the princess’ handmaidens, but he chose to ask Emilia since this was her room, her things and would give the shaken young royal something useful to do. When Emilia produced the scarf, Nic took it from her, then turned back to bandage Kleio’s arm, his hands gentle as he took care of the wound.
Even for him, this was chaos. He was used to marching without banners. Even trying to battle in a half-waking stupor wasn't quite foreign. But neither of those things were quite this. Not trying to sort between the panicky stampede of bodies that was pressed into the royal halls. Some trying to escape. A few clever enough to try concealing their penetration as the same. Swords flying. But equally candelabras, brooms, kitchen knives. Anything at hand that someone could wield as a weapon was in play. Most people thrashing out at anything that moved. It was either because they were too scared to control themselves, or too set on bloodlust to have wanted that in the first place.
Yiannis tried to press his way through. Here slapping someone with the flat face of his axe. Now shearing a spear shaft in half. Something brushed at his shoulder. Unthinking, his shoulder snapped back. Dug into flesh. He was spinning into a right hook from when something set his side aflame. In a more normal moment he might have lurched. Here he toppled to the floor outright. Trying to dodge pounding feet. Losing the thread of the sword that had cut him. He couldn't see anything. Couldn't hear over all the shrieking. Couldn't quite even breathe. Thirty seconds later he couldn't roll any longer, and he was somehow pressed up against a wall. He still had his axe.
Hard to see his enemies. His friends--at least some of them--were somewhat easier. If only for the sheer wonder of it. The moment was as clear in flickering torchlight as beneath the noonday sky. A skirt flapping in the wind. Raven-dark hair glistening as she danced with the grace of a nymph. Blade singing. It was as if Artemis herself had descended from Olympus to join the fray. She parried beautifully, letting one strike go wide of her torso. Meanwhile, a deft twist of her twist drove her own blade tip to the attacker's arm pit. As clean as anything you learned in the Krypteia. Except that wasn't the only assailant. The looming shadow was enough motivation for him to stop standing their, mouth agape.
It took three steps to sprint back to the center of the hall. Two body jabs to arrest his momentum. A single, surgical axe swing. Then the body slumped. It was over. Or at least enough of a pause for him to cry "Daniil!" as he pressed back-to-back with her.
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Even for him, this was chaos. He was used to marching without banners. Even trying to battle in a half-waking stupor wasn't quite foreign. But neither of those things were quite this. Not trying to sort between the panicky stampede of bodies that was pressed into the royal halls. Some trying to escape. A few clever enough to try concealing their penetration as the same. Swords flying. But equally candelabras, brooms, kitchen knives. Anything at hand that someone could wield as a weapon was in play. Most people thrashing out at anything that moved. It was either because they were too scared to control themselves, or too set on bloodlust to have wanted that in the first place.
Yiannis tried to press his way through. Here slapping someone with the flat face of his axe. Now shearing a spear shaft in half. Something brushed at his shoulder. Unthinking, his shoulder snapped back. Dug into flesh. He was spinning into a right hook from when something set his side aflame. In a more normal moment he might have lurched. Here he toppled to the floor outright. Trying to dodge pounding feet. Losing the thread of the sword that had cut him. He couldn't see anything. Couldn't hear over all the shrieking. Couldn't quite even breathe. Thirty seconds later he couldn't roll any longer, and he was somehow pressed up against a wall. He still had his axe.
Hard to see his enemies. His friends--at least some of them--were somewhat easier. If only for the sheer wonder of it. The moment was as clear in flickering torchlight as beneath the noonday sky. A skirt flapping in the wind. Raven-dark hair glistening as she danced with the grace of a nymph. Blade singing. It was as if Artemis herself had descended from Olympus to join the fray. She parried beautifully, letting one strike go wide of her torso. Meanwhile, a deft twist of her twist drove her own blade tip to the attacker's arm pit. As clean as anything you learned in the Krypteia. Except that wasn't the only assailant. The looming shadow was enough motivation for him to stop standing their, mouth agape.
It took three steps to sprint back to the center of the hall. Two body jabs to arrest his momentum. A single, surgical axe swing. Then the body slumped. It was over. Or at least enough of a pause for him to cry "Daniil!" as he pressed back-to-back with her.
Even for him, this was chaos. He was used to marching without banners. Even trying to battle in a half-waking stupor wasn't quite foreign. But neither of those things were quite this. Not trying to sort between the panicky stampede of bodies that was pressed into the royal halls. Some trying to escape. A few clever enough to try concealing their penetration as the same. Swords flying. But equally candelabras, brooms, kitchen knives. Anything at hand that someone could wield as a weapon was in play. Most people thrashing out at anything that moved. It was either because they were too scared to control themselves, or too set on bloodlust to have wanted that in the first place.
Yiannis tried to press his way through. Here slapping someone with the flat face of his axe. Now shearing a spear shaft in half. Something brushed at his shoulder. Unthinking, his shoulder snapped back. Dug into flesh. He was spinning into a right hook from when something set his side aflame. In a more normal moment he might have lurched. Here he toppled to the floor outright. Trying to dodge pounding feet. Losing the thread of the sword that had cut him. He couldn't see anything. Couldn't hear over all the shrieking. Couldn't quite even breathe. Thirty seconds later he couldn't roll any longer, and he was somehow pressed up against a wall. He still had his axe.
Hard to see his enemies. His friends--at least some of them--were somewhat easier. If only for the sheer wonder of it. The moment was as clear in flickering torchlight as beneath the noonday sky. A skirt flapping in the wind. Raven-dark hair glistening as she danced with the grace of a nymph. Blade singing. It was as if Artemis herself had descended from Olympus to join the fray. She parried beautifully, letting one strike go wide of her torso. Meanwhile, a deft twist of her twist drove her own blade tip to the attacker's arm pit. As clean as anything you learned in the Krypteia. Except that wasn't the only assailant. The looming shadow was enough motivation for him to stop standing their, mouth agape.
It took three steps to sprint back to the center of the hall. Two body jabs to arrest his momentum. A single, surgical axe swing. Then the body slumped. It was over. Or at least enough of a pause for him to cry "Daniil!" as he pressed back-to-back with her.
Daniil took a long breath and yanked her sword out from under her green dress. She was Hades bent that her cousins were going to be safe and free of the chaos that was engulfing the palace. Quickly she scanned the hallway she was in and smirked at the sight of the House Guard. Wherever they were she was sure that either her father or grandfather was not far behind. It was too noisy to tell where either was based on the noise. Athena keep them both safe and aid us to a victory this day she prayed silently as she pulled her short sword out from under her Chiton and she adjusted her grip on the hill.
Slowly she moved up the hallway and around the corner into the main area of the palace and the sight that greeted her was not what she was expecting, but she sucked in a breath and mustered up the courage to continue on, using what she had been taught in an odd form of a dance, the sword flashing as it caught light that could reflect in the blade as she parried and slashed at those that tried to cut her down.
The world seemed to narrow as she caught a glimpse of her cousin, Persephone being carried off like a sack of vegetables and carried by none other then Iason, and she was sure that meant that her half brother was not far behind. This would be amusing if we were not fighting for our very lives. she thought, her dance not stopping, the clang of metal on metal resounding in her ears. She did not have time to think about the dead that littered the floors, there would be time for that later.
Daniil sucked in a breath as she bent backwards like a tree limb in a storm, to keep an opponents strike from connecting with her. He swung wide due to her move. She quickly moved to right herself and drove her sword into his armpit with a growl of annoyance. She twisted it slightly and then yanked it out. The action caused her to take a few steps back and collide with an immovable force. She would have spun to drive her sword into him had she not recognized the voice that had spoken her name loud enough for her to here.Yiannis? she wondered silently. What was he doing here?
Her breath came out in gasps as she called out to him "Gods on High, what are you doing here?"
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Daniil took a long breath and yanked her sword out from under her green dress. She was Hades bent that her cousins were going to be safe and free of the chaos that was engulfing the palace. Quickly she scanned the hallway she was in and smirked at the sight of the House Guard. Wherever they were she was sure that either her father or grandfather was not far behind. It was too noisy to tell where either was based on the noise. Athena keep them both safe and aid us to a victory this day she prayed silently as she pulled her short sword out from under her Chiton and she adjusted her grip on the hill.
Slowly she moved up the hallway and around the corner into the main area of the palace and the sight that greeted her was not what she was expecting, but she sucked in a breath and mustered up the courage to continue on, using what she had been taught in an odd form of a dance, the sword flashing as it caught light that could reflect in the blade as she parried and slashed at those that tried to cut her down.
The world seemed to narrow as she caught a glimpse of her cousin, Persephone being carried off like a sack of vegetables and carried by none other then Iason, and she was sure that meant that her half brother was not far behind. This would be amusing if we were not fighting for our very lives. she thought, her dance not stopping, the clang of metal on metal resounding in her ears. She did not have time to think about the dead that littered the floors, there would be time for that later.
Daniil sucked in a breath as she bent backwards like a tree limb in a storm, to keep an opponents strike from connecting with her. He swung wide due to her move. She quickly moved to right herself and drove her sword into his armpit with a growl of annoyance. She twisted it slightly and then yanked it out. The action caused her to take a few steps back and collide with an immovable force. She would have spun to drive her sword into him had she not recognized the voice that had spoken her name loud enough for her to here.Yiannis? she wondered silently. What was he doing here?
Her breath came out in gasps as she called out to him "Gods on High, what are you doing here?"
Daniil took a long breath and yanked her sword out from under her green dress. She was Hades bent that her cousins were going to be safe and free of the chaos that was engulfing the palace. Quickly she scanned the hallway she was in and smirked at the sight of the House Guard. Wherever they were she was sure that either her father or grandfather was not far behind. It was too noisy to tell where either was based on the noise. Athena keep them both safe and aid us to a victory this day she prayed silently as she pulled her short sword out from under her Chiton and she adjusted her grip on the hill.
Slowly she moved up the hallway and around the corner into the main area of the palace and the sight that greeted her was not what she was expecting, but she sucked in a breath and mustered up the courage to continue on, using what she had been taught in an odd form of a dance, the sword flashing as it caught light that could reflect in the blade as she parried and slashed at those that tried to cut her down.
The world seemed to narrow as she caught a glimpse of her cousin, Persephone being carried off like a sack of vegetables and carried by none other then Iason, and she was sure that meant that her half brother was not far behind. This would be amusing if we were not fighting for our very lives. she thought, her dance not stopping, the clang of metal on metal resounding in her ears. She did not have time to think about the dead that littered the floors, there would be time for that later.
Daniil sucked in a breath as she bent backwards like a tree limb in a storm, to keep an opponents strike from connecting with her. He swung wide due to her move. She quickly moved to right herself and drove her sword into his armpit with a growl of annoyance. She twisted it slightly and then yanked it out. The action caused her to take a few steps back and collide with an immovable force. She would have spun to drive her sword into him had she not recognized the voice that had spoken her name loud enough for her to here.Yiannis? she wondered silently. What was he doing here?
Her breath came out in gasps as she called out to him "Gods on High, what are you doing here?"
Every blow she landed on him hurt his heart more than it could ever harm his body. He was dragging her away from her sister, and had he been in the same situation he knew he also would have moved heaven and earth to get back to Alexa and Dorothea no matter what the cost. It was his duty though to get her out of here, to keep her safe, and he would see it through if it meant laying down his own life. When Persephone finally seemed to understand that neither of them had a choice in this he was relieved and welcomed her as she curled against him with a tighter grip, as much of an embrace as he could manage.
Releasing her for an instant as soon as she had her feet beneath her, he threw himself full weight against the door in desperation, trying to break it open to allow the their freedom. The sound of running feet approaching pulled his attention and he wheeled away, sword drawn from his belt as he glared out in the darkness as a blonde man emerged from the shadow of the palace, bleeding from his right arm and clutching a short sword in his other. Iason put himself between Persephone and the stranger, eyeing him warily as a foreign voice that sounded both wild and exhausted broke the silence.
"I'm no threat, I just need to get out. We were tricked, told to come defend the queen and then attacked by her soldiers." As moonlight fell over his face Iason recognized one of the gladiators from the display that had determined the Xanthos Champion, and in an instant he made a decision he hoped would not be a mistake. Nodding, Iason gestured to the door as the gladiator put away his sword, the two of them managing to work open the door that allowed them to freedom. There was a silent understanding between them that they both simply wanted to survive the night, get to a place where they could breathe and make sense of what was going on in this night of insanity.
The Taengean lord kept hold of the Athenian queen and pulled her close once again, allowing her to walk as long as she could before scooping her back up against his chest and trusting the foreigner to defend against any attack that might emerge from the shadows. Whispered words led them to the port, a boat that he knew was ready to set sail, and the three boarded as quickly and quietly as they could.
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Every blow she landed on him hurt his heart more than it could ever harm his body. He was dragging her away from her sister, and had he been in the same situation he knew he also would have moved heaven and earth to get back to Alexa and Dorothea no matter what the cost. It was his duty though to get her out of here, to keep her safe, and he would see it through if it meant laying down his own life. When Persephone finally seemed to understand that neither of them had a choice in this he was relieved and welcomed her as she curled against him with a tighter grip, as much of an embrace as he could manage.
Releasing her for an instant as soon as she had her feet beneath her, he threw himself full weight against the door in desperation, trying to break it open to allow the their freedom. The sound of running feet approaching pulled his attention and he wheeled away, sword drawn from his belt as he glared out in the darkness as a blonde man emerged from the shadow of the palace, bleeding from his right arm and clutching a short sword in his other. Iason put himself between Persephone and the stranger, eyeing him warily as a foreign voice that sounded both wild and exhausted broke the silence.
"I'm no threat, I just need to get out. We were tricked, told to come defend the queen and then attacked by her soldiers." As moonlight fell over his face Iason recognized one of the gladiators from the display that had determined the Xanthos Champion, and in an instant he made a decision he hoped would not be a mistake. Nodding, Iason gestured to the door as the gladiator put away his sword, the two of them managing to work open the door that allowed them to freedom. There was a silent understanding between them that they both simply wanted to survive the night, get to a place where they could breathe and make sense of what was going on in this night of insanity.
The Taengean lord kept hold of the Athenian queen and pulled her close once again, allowing her to walk as long as she could before scooping her back up against his chest and trusting the foreigner to defend against any attack that might emerge from the shadows. Whispered words led them to the port, a boat that he knew was ready to set sail, and the three boarded as quickly and quietly as they could.
Every blow she landed on him hurt his heart more than it could ever harm his body. He was dragging her away from her sister, and had he been in the same situation he knew he also would have moved heaven and earth to get back to Alexa and Dorothea no matter what the cost. It was his duty though to get her out of here, to keep her safe, and he would see it through if it meant laying down his own life. When Persephone finally seemed to understand that neither of them had a choice in this he was relieved and welcomed her as she curled against him with a tighter grip, as much of an embrace as he could manage.
Releasing her for an instant as soon as she had her feet beneath her, he threw himself full weight against the door in desperation, trying to break it open to allow the their freedom. The sound of running feet approaching pulled his attention and he wheeled away, sword drawn from his belt as he glared out in the darkness as a blonde man emerged from the shadow of the palace, bleeding from his right arm and clutching a short sword in his other. Iason put himself between Persephone and the stranger, eyeing him warily as a foreign voice that sounded both wild and exhausted broke the silence.
"I'm no threat, I just need to get out. We were tricked, told to come defend the queen and then attacked by her soldiers." As moonlight fell over his face Iason recognized one of the gladiators from the display that had determined the Xanthos Champion, and in an instant he made a decision he hoped would not be a mistake. Nodding, Iason gestured to the door as the gladiator put away his sword, the two of them managing to work open the door that allowed them to freedom. There was a silent understanding between them that they both simply wanted to survive the night, get to a place where they could breathe and make sense of what was going on in this night of insanity.
The Taengean lord kept hold of the Athenian queen and pulled her close once again, allowing her to walk as long as she could before scooping her back up against his chest and trusting the foreigner to defend against any attack that might emerge from the shadows. Whispered words led them to the port, a boat that he knew was ready to set sail, and the three boarded as quickly and quietly as they could.
To be in battle was to bathe in the senses. Each one sharpened by the urgency of life and the sheer terror death. He felt it with every hammering of his chest. He ceded to it. Letting the mix of choler and blood dominate his system. Truthfully, though, in this moment all he knew was her. He heard the slight raggedness of her breath, unused to the sustained rigor of their exercise. He felt the warmth of her body through the fabric of their chitons. The two were pressed side-by-side, as they had been for the last few minutes, since explaining to one another how they'd both ended up in the middle of the royal palace. Not with the efficiency of a trained unit. But the sloppy instinctiveness of two that didn't want to be separated.
That changed when they saw him. He seemed a head taller than everyone else in the room. Bronze armor already splattered thick with blood. Even then, he was yanking his sword up from a guardsman's belly. Selecting his next target had taken no time at all. His shield was up. Eyes locked on the two of them as he started to advance. Yiannis fought the urge to hover near her. This wasn't a fair fight. They'd need some sort of advantage to come out of it. Even still as they pulled apart, he reached for her hand. Without taking his eyes off their opponent, he gave it one quick reaffirming squeeze. Trust me. Then he skittered to open a gap between them, forcing their assailant to divide his attention. Trying to stay just far enough apart that he couldn't hold them both in his gaze at once, and close enough that one could spring to the others aide.
Still, as the three circled one another across the stone floor, Yiannis knew it was only a temporizing measure. It would still have to be him. The other man knew it, too. The only reason Kotas still circled was trying to find some other alternative. But the longer this went on, the clearer the dictates of the situation were to him. Most of the attackers tonight were killers. This one was as much, but with the refinement of a professional soldier. That narrowed the possibilities. Retreat would open a path for him to pursue the royals, exactly as Daniil had explained. But his sword play offered one way to engage. Especially given how he'd plowed through the palace guards just moments prior. It was as if Yiannis could see the whole encounter spreading out before him.
Without waiting to see more of it, the young prince charged. His axe was a flurry, blows landing with the tempo of a drumroll. Swipe, hook, thrust, and then pommel strike. His moves all flowing together. He was moving at a sprinter's pace. Sustainable for only seconds. Offense his only defense. Out of options. They all skittered off the curvature of the man's shield. He was absorbing the blows carefully. Yielding ground willingly. Waiting for the younger man to tire. Only a few moments more now.
It came on suddenly. At the end of the swing, there was simply no more follow-through. Yiannis's had cramped from the vise-grip on the handle. His whole right arm burning, and floppy like rubber. In spite of everything he needed, it wasn't going to come back up. Several things happened at once. Seeing the telltale drop of the Colchian's shoulder, the armored man raised his sword. Daniil was charging his flank, having waited for the moment of maximal exposure. Except the sword wasn't raised to cut down Yiannis. The play had been too obvious. He wheeled sideways into a sweeping, downward chop. Faster than most could dodge. Certainly more swift than Yiannis could have closed with an axe. Especially not when his whole body was still sinking downward, pushed beyond the brink. His knees hit the ground.
His left hand coiled around the spear shaft he'd been driving towards for roughly the last three minutes. He thrust, upwards and forward. The giant twisted just enough to avoid being skewered. But it robbed the momentum of his cut. Forced him to halt mid-turn. Whereas Daniil was still flying true. There was a wet, ugly scrape as a blade slid against bone before nesting deep in the gap in the invader's cuirass. What followed was a surreal stillness, carried only by the sound of breathing. One, air-hungry, having just slammed into a girth like that of a tree trunk, and draped in bronze. One, exhausted. The third gurgling thick with blood.
"Daniil!" he said, when he could gather enough air for words. He'd forced himself to his feet stumble over to her, arms wide in ecstatic embrace. "Brilliant!"
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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To be in battle was to bathe in the senses. Each one sharpened by the urgency of life and the sheer terror death. He felt it with every hammering of his chest. He ceded to it. Letting the mix of choler and blood dominate his system. Truthfully, though, in this moment all he knew was her. He heard the slight raggedness of her breath, unused to the sustained rigor of their exercise. He felt the warmth of her body through the fabric of their chitons. The two were pressed side-by-side, as they had been for the last few minutes, since explaining to one another how they'd both ended up in the middle of the royal palace. Not with the efficiency of a trained unit. But the sloppy instinctiveness of two that didn't want to be separated.
That changed when they saw him. He seemed a head taller than everyone else in the room. Bronze armor already splattered thick with blood. Even then, he was yanking his sword up from a guardsman's belly. Selecting his next target had taken no time at all. His shield was up. Eyes locked on the two of them as he started to advance. Yiannis fought the urge to hover near her. This wasn't a fair fight. They'd need some sort of advantage to come out of it. Even still as they pulled apart, he reached for her hand. Without taking his eyes off their opponent, he gave it one quick reaffirming squeeze. Trust me. Then he skittered to open a gap between them, forcing their assailant to divide his attention. Trying to stay just far enough apart that he couldn't hold them both in his gaze at once, and close enough that one could spring to the others aide.
Still, as the three circled one another across the stone floor, Yiannis knew it was only a temporizing measure. It would still have to be him. The other man knew it, too. The only reason Kotas still circled was trying to find some other alternative. But the longer this went on, the clearer the dictates of the situation were to him. Most of the attackers tonight were killers. This one was as much, but with the refinement of a professional soldier. That narrowed the possibilities. Retreat would open a path for him to pursue the royals, exactly as Daniil had explained. But his sword play offered one way to engage. Especially given how he'd plowed through the palace guards just moments prior. It was as if Yiannis could see the whole encounter spreading out before him.
Without waiting to see more of it, the young prince charged. His axe was a flurry, blows landing with the tempo of a drumroll. Swipe, hook, thrust, and then pommel strike. His moves all flowing together. He was moving at a sprinter's pace. Sustainable for only seconds. Offense his only defense. Out of options. They all skittered off the curvature of the man's shield. He was absorbing the blows carefully. Yielding ground willingly. Waiting for the younger man to tire. Only a few moments more now.
It came on suddenly. At the end of the swing, there was simply no more follow-through. Yiannis's had cramped from the vise-grip on the handle. His whole right arm burning, and floppy like rubber. In spite of everything he needed, it wasn't going to come back up. Several things happened at once. Seeing the telltale drop of the Colchian's shoulder, the armored man raised his sword. Daniil was charging his flank, having waited for the moment of maximal exposure. Except the sword wasn't raised to cut down Yiannis. The play had been too obvious. He wheeled sideways into a sweeping, downward chop. Faster than most could dodge. Certainly more swift than Yiannis could have closed with an axe. Especially not when his whole body was still sinking downward, pushed beyond the brink. His knees hit the ground.
His left hand coiled around the spear shaft he'd been driving towards for roughly the last three minutes. He thrust, upwards and forward. The giant twisted just enough to avoid being skewered. But it robbed the momentum of his cut. Forced him to halt mid-turn. Whereas Daniil was still flying true. There was a wet, ugly scrape as a blade slid against bone before nesting deep in the gap in the invader's cuirass. What followed was a surreal stillness, carried only by the sound of breathing. One, air-hungry, having just slammed into a girth like that of a tree trunk, and draped in bronze. One, exhausted. The third gurgling thick with blood.
"Daniil!" he said, when he could gather enough air for words. He'd forced himself to his feet stumble over to her, arms wide in ecstatic embrace. "Brilliant!"
To be in battle was to bathe in the senses. Each one sharpened by the urgency of life and the sheer terror death. He felt it with every hammering of his chest. He ceded to it. Letting the mix of choler and blood dominate his system. Truthfully, though, in this moment all he knew was her. He heard the slight raggedness of her breath, unused to the sustained rigor of their exercise. He felt the warmth of her body through the fabric of their chitons. The two were pressed side-by-side, as they had been for the last few minutes, since explaining to one another how they'd both ended up in the middle of the royal palace. Not with the efficiency of a trained unit. But the sloppy instinctiveness of two that didn't want to be separated.
That changed when they saw him. He seemed a head taller than everyone else in the room. Bronze armor already splattered thick with blood. Even then, he was yanking his sword up from a guardsman's belly. Selecting his next target had taken no time at all. His shield was up. Eyes locked on the two of them as he started to advance. Yiannis fought the urge to hover near her. This wasn't a fair fight. They'd need some sort of advantage to come out of it. Even still as they pulled apart, he reached for her hand. Without taking his eyes off their opponent, he gave it one quick reaffirming squeeze. Trust me. Then he skittered to open a gap between them, forcing their assailant to divide his attention. Trying to stay just far enough apart that he couldn't hold them both in his gaze at once, and close enough that one could spring to the others aide.
Still, as the three circled one another across the stone floor, Yiannis knew it was only a temporizing measure. It would still have to be him. The other man knew it, too. The only reason Kotas still circled was trying to find some other alternative. But the longer this went on, the clearer the dictates of the situation were to him. Most of the attackers tonight were killers. This one was as much, but with the refinement of a professional soldier. That narrowed the possibilities. Retreat would open a path for him to pursue the royals, exactly as Daniil had explained. But his sword play offered one way to engage. Especially given how he'd plowed through the palace guards just moments prior. It was as if Yiannis could see the whole encounter spreading out before him.
Without waiting to see more of it, the young prince charged. His axe was a flurry, blows landing with the tempo of a drumroll. Swipe, hook, thrust, and then pommel strike. His moves all flowing together. He was moving at a sprinter's pace. Sustainable for only seconds. Offense his only defense. Out of options. They all skittered off the curvature of the man's shield. He was absorbing the blows carefully. Yielding ground willingly. Waiting for the younger man to tire. Only a few moments more now.
It came on suddenly. At the end of the swing, there was simply no more follow-through. Yiannis's had cramped from the vise-grip on the handle. His whole right arm burning, and floppy like rubber. In spite of everything he needed, it wasn't going to come back up. Several things happened at once. Seeing the telltale drop of the Colchian's shoulder, the armored man raised his sword. Daniil was charging his flank, having waited for the moment of maximal exposure. Except the sword wasn't raised to cut down Yiannis. The play had been too obvious. He wheeled sideways into a sweeping, downward chop. Faster than most could dodge. Certainly more swift than Yiannis could have closed with an axe. Especially not when his whole body was still sinking downward, pushed beyond the brink. His knees hit the ground.
His left hand coiled around the spear shaft he'd been driving towards for roughly the last three minutes. He thrust, upwards and forward. The giant twisted just enough to avoid being skewered. But it robbed the momentum of his cut. Forced him to halt mid-turn. Whereas Daniil was still flying true. There was a wet, ugly scrape as a blade slid against bone before nesting deep in the gap in the invader's cuirass. What followed was a surreal stillness, carried only by the sound of breathing. One, air-hungry, having just slammed into a girth like that of a tree trunk, and draped in bronze. One, exhausted. The third gurgling thick with blood.
"Daniil!" he said, when he could gather enough air for words. He'd forced himself to his feet stumble over to her, arms wide in ecstatic embrace. "Brilliant!"
Daniil was running solely on instinct. She knew that Balius was somewhere in the din along with her father and grandfather. Her father's men were here too and fighting to protect the kingdom and the honor of the house. Despite the fear and all the bloodshed, Daniil felt like every nerve in her body was singing a song in homage to those lost and the battle itself and to those that continued to fight. She had trained nearly everyday for something like this, mostly in private and guided by Balius, something that Pavlos would have a fit over or likely kill him over. Her heart beat like someone beating quickly on a drum, not much different then what would be used to signal quick movement among the soldiers. The cause, however, left her with questions. Did she feel this way because of the battle raging around her or was it more? Was it because of, instead of fighting against a man, she was fighting with a man. Her breath was coming in small gasps and puffs.
She slowly became aware of him, pressed against her in such a way that she was not sure if the heat she felt was coming from her own self or from Yiannis. She kept pressed against him maybe out of fear, maybe out of the fact that she wanted to stay with him because it was safer, and maybe because of the stirrings of something that she could not put a name to but she had felt before. She sucked in a breath and raise her short sword as a shadow crossed into view. Feeling her companion moving into action, she instinctively tightened her grip on her sword's hilt with one hand and kept the other within his reaches she moved to his side. Once next to him, she slid her hand securely in his and returned the squeeze. I do. Trust me as well. she seemed to say to him as he moved away from her causing an opening between them. He had to let go and she had the odd feeling that he did not want to. She looked over at him out of the corner of her hazel eyes and noticed that he was sure to stay close to her.
Daniil kept her grip tight on her short sword as she stood at the ready if needed to strike and yet she kept her ears open for any signs of her royal cousins or anyone else that might need a way out. She took a step back and watch Yiannis go to work. The expression on her face danced between something like amusement and annoyance at their opponents mixed with curiosity, as she watched him work, joining him when she felt that he needed the backup.
Slowly her breathing and heartbeat began to slow to normal as the battle began to wind down, but that did not last long. As soon as she had her breath back it was time to start the fight anew. Her eyes were trained on the attackers like a cat stalking a mouse. Her blade and body flew back into action, adding attacks against Yiannis's attackers. She was in a zone and focused on them and she kept going, slashing, parrying, and stabbing with the intent to put an end to this once and for all and she did that, regardless if she knew she was doing it or not. When the room went still she slowly came back to herself.
She came back to herself fully at hearing Yiannis's voice. She looked at him and broke into a smile. She dropping her short sword to the floor, she rushed to him and moved into his open arms and the collapsed against him happily. She stayed there for a time and then raised her head and eyes to look up at him. "Yiannis. Are you hurt?"
Please do not be. she begged silently, watching his face.
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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Daniil was running solely on instinct. She knew that Balius was somewhere in the din along with her father and grandfather. Her father's men were here too and fighting to protect the kingdom and the honor of the house. Despite the fear and all the bloodshed, Daniil felt like every nerve in her body was singing a song in homage to those lost and the battle itself and to those that continued to fight. She had trained nearly everyday for something like this, mostly in private and guided by Balius, something that Pavlos would have a fit over or likely kill him over. Her heart beat like someone beating quickly on a drum, not much different then what would be used to signal quick movement among the soldiers. The cause, however, left her with questions. Did she feel this way because of the battle raging around her or was it more? Was it because of, instead of fighting against a man, she was fighting with a man. Her breath was coming in small gasps and puffs.
She slowly became aware of him, pressed against her in such a way that she was not sure if the heat she felt was coming from her own self or from Yiannis. She kept pressed against him maybe out of fear, maybe out of the fact that she wanted to stay with him because it was safer, and maybe because of the stirrings of something that she could not put a name to but she had felt before. She sucked in a breath and raise her short sword as a shadow crossed into view. Feeling her companion moving into action, she instinctively tightened her grip on her sword's hilt with one hand and kept the other within his reaches she moved to his side. Once next to him, she slid her hand securely in his and returned the squeeze. I do. Trust me as well. she seemed to say to him as he moved away from her causing an opening between them. He had to let go and she had the odd feeling that he did not want to. She looked over at him out of the corner of her hazel eyes and noticed that he was sure to stay close to her.
Daniil kept her grip tight on her short sword as she stood at the ready if needed to strike and yet she kept her ears open for any signs of her royal cousins or anyone else that might need a way out. She took a step back and watch Yiannis go to work. The expression on her face danced between something like amusement and annoyance at their opponents mixed with curiosity, as she watched him work, joining him when she felt that he needed the backup.
Slowly her breathing and heartbeat began to slow to normal as the battle began to wind down, but that did not last long. As soon as she had her breath back it was time to start the fight anew. Her eyes were trained on the attackers like a cat stalking a mouse. Her blade and body flew back into action, adding attacks against Yiannis's attackers. She was in a zone and focused on them and she kept going, slashing, parrying, and stabbing with the intent to put an end to this once and for all and she did that, regardless if she knew she was doing it or not. When the room went still she slowly came back to herself.
She came back to herself fully at hearing Yiannis's voice. She looked at him and broke into a smile. She dropping her short sword to the floor, she rushed to him and moved into his open arms and the collapsed against him happily. She stayed there for a time and then raised her head and eyes to look up at him. "Yiannis. Are you hurt?"
Please do not be. she begged silently, watching his face.
Daniil was running solely on instinct. She knew that Balius was somewhere in the din along with her father and grandfather. Her father's men were here too and fighting to protect the kingdom and the honor of the house. Despite the fear and all the bloodshed, Daniil felt like every nerve in her body was singing a song in homage to those lost and the battle itself and to those that continued to fight. She had trained nearly everyday for something like this, mostly in private and guided by Balius, something that Pavlos would have a fit over or likely kill him over. Her heart beat like someone beating quickly on a drum, not much different then what would be used to signal quick movement among the soldiers. The cause, however, left her with questions. Did she feel this way because of the battle raging around her or was it more? Was it because of, instead of fighting against a man, she was fighting with a man. Her breath was coming in small gasps and puffs.
She slowly became aware of him, pressed against her in such a way that she was not sure if the heat she felt was coming from her own self or from Yiannis. She kept pressed against him maybe out of fear, maybe out of the fact that she wanted to stay with him because it was safer, and maybe because of the stirrings of something that she could not put a name to but she had felt before. She sucked in a breath and raise her short sword as a shadow crossed into view. Feeling her companion moving into action, she instinctively tightened her grip on her sword's hilt with one hand and kept the other within his reaches she moved to his side. Once next to him, she slid her hand securely in his and returned the squeeze. I do. Trust me as well. she seemed to say to him as he moved away from her causing an opening between them. He had to let go and she had the odd feeling that he did not want to. She looked over at him out of the corner of her hazel eyes and noticed that he was sure to stay close to her.
Daniil kept her grip tight on her short sword as she stood at the ready if needed to strike and yet she kept her ears open for any signs of her royal cousins or anyone else that might need a way out. She took a step back and watch Yiannis go to work. The expression on her face danced between something like amusement and annoyance at their opponents mixed with curiosity, as she watched him work, joining him when she felt that he needed the backup.
Slowly her breathing and heartbeat began to slow to normal as the battle began to wind down, but that did not last long. As soon as she had her breath back it was time to start the fight anew. Her eyes were trained on the attackers like a cat stalking a mouse. Her blade and body flew back into action, adding attacks against Yiannis's attackers. She was in a zone and focused on them and she kept going, slashing, parrying, and stabbing with the intent to put an end to this once and for all and she did that, regardless if she knew she was doing it or not. When the room went still she slowly came back to herself.
She came back to herself fully at hearing Yiannis's voice. She looked at him and broke into a smile. She dropping her short sword to the floor, she rushed to him and moved into his open arms and the collapsed against him happily. She stayed there for a time and then raised her head and eyes to look up at him. "Yiannis. Are you hurt?"
Please do not be. she begged silently, watching his face.
It was chaos within the walls of the palati, and it was almost like a cruel joke that a place meant for order, strength, leadership, etc. could now be compared to almost any dirtied, bloodied battlefield. It was disgraceful. Alehandros nodded in silence toward Stelios, a look in his eye that only confirmed what he was thinking. Someone with a lot of knowledge of the interior and the schedules of every person within the place was behind this. Someone close to the throne.
They were close now, the Royal quarters were just a hallway or so away. It was eerily quiet, but in the distance footsteps could be heard. “Five, maybe six.” Stelios whispered, his eyes not leaving the corner down the end of the hallway. “Go,” with a motion of his hand two soldiers who accompanied him and his cousin readied their shields in front of them and held out their spears, moving alongside one another to the front. Following behind them were the rest, armed with swords and ready to ambush the men up ahead.
“Alright, stay clo-” Stelios’ words to Alehandros was interrupted by faint words coming from a hallway behind them. The words belonged to a woman, a scared woman by the sound of her voice. “Go, Stelios, we can handle this. We must protect the people as well. Otherwise what good are we.” Alehandros said, a determined look in his eye. Right there and then Stelios understood why his heart was in such turmoil over the Senate's decision, more so that ever before. This man thought about everyone else but himself first, he was a leader, a King, and was standing within a place he could very well lose his life in for his people.
But was he really going to leave Alehandros alone? Yes. Yes he was. House Antonis was not know as a military House for nothing. The soldier trained under the guidance of the House was the best in Athenia, and Alehandros could keep his own more so than most men in the Kingdom ever could. It would be an insult to think anything less. Stelios nodded, turned and immediately headed the way of the woman.
Turning the corner and immediately stepping back he slowly looked around to evaluate the situation. One of the assailants had a young woman corner up against a wall, and by the look of things; his intentions was anything but pure. Anger and rage was already flowing through his veins and difficult to control, yet upon the sight before all thoughts about restraint suddenly did not matter. His fist clenched around the hilt of his sword and with a quick few quiet movements Stelios managed to get behind the man undetected. He forced his sword into the back of the raider, and up out through his throat, leaning in close to the man's ear and whispering “Filth.” before he pulled his sword free, dropping him to the floor at the woman’s feet.
“Come on, My Lady, more will be coming.” he reached out an arm to assist her to her feet. He knew he was not exactly being chivalrous, but this was not the time. The armour he wore hopefully set her at ease; bearing the mark of his House on his chest. “We must go,” he urged, looking around before his eyes landed on hers. She was scared, and for the first time he remembered what he must look like. Yes, he wore the colours and the mark of Antonis, and he was not exactly unknown among the people of Athenia. Yet, he was not looking like a Lord right now, but instead like a bloodied soldier. He tried to relax his demeanor, at least enough to grant her some assurance that he meant her no harm.
JD
Staff Team
JD
Staff Team
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It was chaos within the walls of the palati, and it was almost like a cruel joke that a place meant for order, strength, leadership, etc. could now be compared to almost any dirtied, bloodied battlefield. It was disgraceful. Alehandros nodded in silence toward Stelios, a look in his eye that only confirmed what he was thinking. Someone with a lot of knowledge of the interior and the schedules of every person within the place was behind this. Someone close to the throne.
They were close now, the Royal quarters were just a hallway or so away. It was eerily quiet, but in the distance footsteps could be heard. “Five, maybe six.” Stelios whispered, his eyes not leaving the corner down the end of the hallway. “Go,” with a motion of his hand two soldiers who accompanied him and his cousin readied their shields in front of them and held out their spears, moving alongside one another to the front. Following behind them were the rest, armed with swords and ready to ambush the men up ahead.
“Alright, stay clo-” Stelios’ words to Alehandros was interrupted by faint words coming from a hallway behind them. The words belonged to a woman, a scared woman by the sound of her voice. “Go, Stelios, we can handle this. We must protect the people as well. Otherwise what good are we.” Alehandros said, a determined look in his eye. Right there and then Stelios understood why his heart was in such turmoil over the Senate's decision, more so that ever before. This man thought about everyone else but himself first, he was a leader, a King, and was standing within a place he could very well lose his life in for his people.
But was he really going to leave Alehandros alone? Yes. Yes he was. House Antonis was not know as a military House for nothing. The soldier trained under the guidance of the House was the best in Athenia, and Alehandros could keep his own more so than most men in the Kingdom ever could. It would be an insult to think anything less. Stelios nodded, turned and immediately headed the way of the woman.
Turning the corner and immediately stepping back he slowly looked around to evaluate the situation. One of the assailants had a young woman corner up against a wall, and by the look of things; his intentions was anything but pure. Anger and rage was already flowing through his veins and difficult to control, yet upon the sight before all thoughts about restraint suddenly did not matter. His fist clenched around the hilt of his sword and with a quick few quiet movements Stelios managed to get behind the man undetected. He forced his sword into the back of the raider, and up out through his throat, leaning in close to the man's ear and whispering “Filth.” before he pulled his sword free, dropping him to the floor at the woman’s feet.
“Come on, My Lady, more will be coming.” he reached out an arm to assist her to her feet. He knew he was not exactly being chivalrous, but this was not the time. The armour he wore hopefully set her at ease; bearing the mark of his House on his chest. “We must go,” he urged, looking around before his eyes landed on hers. She was scared, and for the first time he remembered what he must look like. Yes, he wore the colours and the mark of Antonis, and he was not exactly unknown among the people of Athenia. Yet, he was not looking like a Lord right now, but instead like a bloodied soldier. He tried to relax his demeanor, at least enough to grant her some assurance that he meant her no harm.
It was chaos within the walls of the palati, and it was almost like a cruel joke that a place meant for order, strength, leadership, etc. could now be compared to almost any dirtied, bloodied battlefield. It was disgraceful. Alehandros nodded in silence toward Stelios, a look in his eye that only confirmed what he was thinking. Someone with a lot of knowledge of the interior and the schedules of every person within the place was behind this. Someone close to the throne.
They were close now, the Royal quarters were just a hallway or so away. It was eerily quiet, but in the distance footsteps could be heard. “Five, maybe six.” Stelios whispered, his eyes not leaving the corner down the end of the hallway. “Go,” with a motion of his hand two soldiers who accompanied him and his cousin readied their shields in front of them and held out their spears, moving alongside one another to the front. Following behind them were the rest, armed with swords and ready to ambush the men up ahead.
“Alright, stay clo-” Stelios’ words to Alehandros was interrupted by faint words coming from a hallway behind them. The words belonged to a woman, a scared woman by the sound of her voice. “Go, Stelios, we can handle this. We must protect the people as well. Otherwise what good are we.” Alehandros said, a determined look in his eye. Right there and then Stelios understood why his heart was in such turmoil over the Senate's decision, more so that ever before. This man thought about everyone else but himself first, he was a leader, a King, and was standing within a place he could very well lose his life in for his people.
But was he really going to leave Alehandros alone? Yes. Yes he was. House Antonis was not know as a military House for nothing. The soldier trained under the guidance of the House was the best in Athenia, and Alehandros could keep his own more so than most men in the Kingdom ever could. It would be an insult to think anything less. Stelios nodded, turned and immediately headed the way of the woman.
Turning the corner and immediately stepping back he slowly looked around to evaluate the situation. One of the assailants had a young woman corner up against a wall, and by the look of things; his intentions was anything but pure. Anger and rage was already flowing through his veins and difficult to control, yet upon the sight before all thoughts about restraint suddenly did not matter. His fist clenched around the hilt of his sword and with a quick few quiet movements Stelios managed to get behind the man undetected. He forced his sword into the back of the raider, and up out through his throat, leaning in close to the man's ear and whispering “Filth.” before he pulled his sword free, dropping him to the floor at the woman’s feet.
“Come on, My Lady, more will be coming.” he reached out an arm to assist her to her feet. He knew he was not exactly being chivalrous, but this was not the time. The armour he wore hopefully set her at ease; bearing the mark of his House on his chest. “We must go,” he urged, looking around before his eyes landed on hers. She was scared, and for the first time he remembered what he must look like. Yes, he wore the colours and the mark of Antonis, and he was not exactly unknown among the people of Athenia. Yet, he was not looking like a Lord right now, but instead like a bloodied soldier. He tried to relax his demeanor, at least enough to grant her some assurance that he meant her no harm.
