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In the final hours of the day, melancholy sets in. Most soldiers wonder if they will survive the physical exertion, harsh weather, and unhealed injuries that comprise most of fighting a war. They pray. They miss their homes and their families. They dream of futures that could have been, and may never be. They wish that the pharaoh would win the war soon, and thus would there be no need for them until their children were all grown. Most soldiers grow melancholy, when given the time. Most soldiers. Not Akhem.
Akhem does not have time to think about the past, or the future. He is full of ferocious rage at the Greek forces, and at all who oppose the Egyptians. He is young of body but already accustomed to war, and he knows nothing but defeating other men in combat. If there was not a war to be fought out here, he might have created one of his own, squabbling over petty matters with his fellow soldiers. Akhem does not have the patience, gentleness, or calm necessary for a time of peace. Luckily, he does not live at peace. The war brings out the best parts of Akhem and makes them shine under the waning light of the sun. He feels proud, and worthy, to serve in this way.
As they all gather at camp together, watching the sun set, Akhem considers the rest of their forces. He has never been the type to socialize well- he too easily loses his temper- but he admires his fellow soldiers a great deal, and now is the best time to talk to them. Some of them will not live to make it home. Perhaps some of them would have been his friends, if the war had only come sooner. He will have to find some way to keep them entertained. They must not think more of their mortality than of their pharaoh. They have to win. Akhem smiles, but decides now is not the time for his idea of a bonding exercise. He will try his best not to get into a fight with his fellow soldiers, now on the eve of battle. He waits for someone else to speak.
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In the final hours of the day, melancholy sets in. Most soldiers wonder if they will survive the physical exertion, harsh weather, and unhealed injuries that comprise most of fighting a war. They pray. They miss their homes and their families. They dream of futures that could have been, and may never be. They wish that the pharaoh would win the war soon, and thus would there be no need for them until their children were all grown. Most soldiers grow melancholy, when given the time. Most soldiers. Not Akhem.
Akhem does not have time to think about the past, or the future. He is full of ferocious rage at the Greek forces, and at all who oppose the Egyptians. He is young of body but already accustomed to war, and he knows nothing but defeating other men in combat. If there was not a war to be fought out here, he might have created one of his own, squabbling over petty matters with his fellow soldiers. Akhem does not have the patience, gentleness, or calm necessary for a time of peace. Luckily, he does not live at peace. The war brings out the best parts of Akhem and makes them shine under the waning light of the sun. He feels proud, and worthy, to serve in this way.
As they all gather at camp together, watching the sun set, Akhem considers the rest of their forces. He has never been the type to socialize well- he too easily loses his temper- but he admires his fellow soldiers a great deal, and now is the best time to talk to them. Some of them will not live to make it home. Perhaps some of them would have been his friends, if the war had only come sooner. He will have to find some way to keep them entertained. They must not think more of their mortality than of their pharaoh. They have to win. Akhem smiles, but decides now is not the time for his idea of a bonding exercise. He will try his best not to get into a fight with his fellow soldiers, now on the eve of battle. He waits for someone else to speak.
In the final hours of the day, melancholy sets in. Most soldiers wonder if they will survive the physical exertion, harsh weather, and unhealed injuries that comprise most of fighting a war. They pray. They miss their homes and their families. They dream of futures that could have been, and may never be. They wish that the pharaoh would win the war soon, and thus would there be no need for them until their children were all grown. Most soldiers grow melancholy, when given the time. Most soldiers. Not Akhem.
Akhem does not have time to think about the past, or the future. He is full of ferocious rage at the Greek forces, and at all who oppose the Egyptians. He is young of body but already accustomed to war, and he knows nothing but defeating other men in combat. If there was not a war to be fought out here, he might have created one of his own, squabbling over petty matters with his fellow soldiers. Akhem does not have the patience, gentleness, or calm necessary for a time of peace. Luckily, he does not live at peace. The war brings out the best parts of Akhem and makes them shine under the waning light of the sun. He feels proud, and worthy, to serve in this way.
As they all gather at camp together, watching the sun set, Akhem considers the rest of their forces. He has never been the type to socialize well- he too easily loses his temper- but he admires his fellow soldiers a great deal, and now is the best time to talk to them. Some of them will not live to make it home. Perhaps some of them would have been his friends, if the war had only come sooner. He will have to find some way to keep them entertained. They must not think more of their mortality than of their pharaoh. They have to win. Akhem smiles, but decides now is not the time for his idea of a bonding exercise. He will try his best not to get into a fight with his fellow soldiers, now on the eve of battle. He waits for someone else to speak.
Narmer was never a man who could be described as serene. There was a restless energy about him even at the best of times, and now, the night before this war would truly begin, it fizzed and crackled like the sparks of the fires lit by the men.
He paced off the worst of it, inspected the horses who would tomorrow draw their chariots and stopped by the healers' tents to see how those injured in the earlier skirmishes had done. He had led his men east to Alexandria to meet with another wave of greeks come out of Judea, and the fighting was still ongoing, but Osorsen had sent word off the Colchian’s arrival, and Narmer knew where he would be needed.
Of course, they had already spilt blood - the Taengean forces who had come by boat had been routed, their shiny new king injured and now the handful that remained alive were chained. They would be made slaves, strong, useful men. But they had been so few, to begin with, that really it was astounding they had even stood the few days they did against Narmer’s men.
Now..now the rest of the greeks had come there would be a real fight.
It was not how they had intended things to go; the plan had been to sail to the green islands and take Taengea. But their enemies had, if nothing else, acted swiftly to bring the war to their shores instead, and the war they would get. Come dawn there would be blood running freely on the sands underfoot, and Egypt would show these filthy greeks a proper welcome.
But for now, the long hours of night lay ahead, and Narmer moved amongst the camp, too tightly drawn to find rest, and he stopped here and there to speak to his men, men also readying themselves for what was to come.
Some had already taken to their beds, but there were more like him who did not find sleep so easily, and the H’Haikaddad General stopped by one such gathering, waved a hand as the men looked to scramble to their feet. In his off-hand, he carried a stoppered clay bottle of wine. It had soured slightly, but the men would know no better, and he thought it would be well received.
“Stay as you are,” he said, folding himself down to sit upon the sands amongst them, looking around the circle of soldiers to see which faces he knew, if any. The sirdar had a good memory for faces and names, and he nodded to one soldier that he knew before passing the wine to the young man to his left. He looked young, and Narmer wondered if this would be his first real taste of conflict. Perhaps it was fear that kept him awake.
“Here, drink this night for tomorrow we will bathe in the blood of the greeks.”
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Narmer was never a man who could be described as serene. There was a restless energy about him even at the best of times, and now, the night before this war would truly begin, it fizzed and crackled like the sparks of the fires lit by the men.
He paced off the worst of it, inspected the horses who would tomorrow draw their chariots and stopped by the healers' tents to see how those injured in the earlier skirmishes had done. He had led his men east to Alexandria to meet with another wave of greeks come out of Judea, and the fighting was still ongoing, but Osorsen had sent word off the Colchian’s arrival, and Narmer knew where he would be needed.
Of course, they had already spilt blood - the Taengean forces who had come by boat had been routed, their shiny new king injured and now the handful that remained alive were chained. They would be made slaves, strong, useful men. But they had been so few, to begin with, that really it was astounding they had even stood the few days they did against Narmer’s men.
Now..now the rest of the greeks had come there would be a real fight.
It was not how they had intended things to go; the plan had been to sail to the green islands and take Taengea. But their enemies had, if nothing else, acted swiftly to bring the war to their shores instead, and the war they would get. Come dawn there would be blood running freely on the sands underfoot, and Egypt would show these filthy greeks a proper welcome.
But for now, the long hours of night lay ahead, and Narmer moved amongst the camp, too tightly drawn to find rest, and he stopped here and there to speak to his men, men also readying themselves for what was to come.
Some had already taken to their beds, but there were more like him who did not find sleep so easily, and the H’Haikaddad General stopped by one such gathering, waved a hand as the men looked to scramble to their feet. In his off-hand, he carried a stoppered clay bottle of wine. It had soured slightly, but the men would know no better, and he thought it would be well received.
“Stay as you are,” he said, folding himself down to sit upon the sands amongst them, looking around the circle of soldiers to see which faces he knew, if any. The sirdar had a good memory for faces and names, and he nodded to one soldier that he knew before passing the wine to the young man to his left. He looked young, and Narmer wondered if this would be his first real taste of conflict. Perhaps it was fear that kept him awake.
“Here, drink this night for tomorrow we will bathe in the blood of the greeks.”
Narmer was never a man who could be described as serene. There was a restless energy about him even at the best of times, and now, the night before this war would truly begin, it fizzed and crackled like the sparks of the fires lit by the men.
He paced off the worst of it, inspected the horses who would tomorrow draw their chariots and stopped by the healers' tents to see how those injured in the earlier skirmishes had done. He had led his men east to Alexandria to meet with another wave of greeks come out of Judea, and the fighting was still ongoing, but Osorsen had sent word off the Colchian’s arrival, and Narmer knew where he would be needed.
Of course, they had already spilt blood - the Taengean forces who had come by boat had been routed, their shiny new king injured and now the handful that remained alive were chained. They would be made slaves, strong, useful men. But they had been so few, to begin with, that really it was astounding they had even stood the few days they did against Narmer’s men.
Now..now the rest of the greeks had come there would be a real fight.
It was not how they had intended things to go; the plan had been to sail to the green islands and take Taengea. But their enemies had, if nothing else, acted swiftly to bring the war to their shores instead, and the war they would get. Come dawn there would be blood running freely on the sands underfoot, and Egypt would show these filthy greeks a proper welcome.
But for now, the long hours of night lay ahead, and Narmer moved amongst the camp, too tightly drawn to find rest, and he stopped here and there to speak to his men, men also readying themselves for what was to come.
Some had already taken to their beds, but there were more like him who did not find sleep so easily, and the H’Haikaddad General stopped by one such gathering, waved a hand as the men looked to scramble to their feet. In his off-hand, he carried a stoppered clay bottle of wine. It had soured slightly, but the men would know no better, and he thought it would be well received.
“Stay as you are,” he said, folding himself down to sit upon the sands amongst them, looking around the circle of soldiers to see which faces he knew, if any. The sirdar had a good memory for faces and names, and he nodded to one soldier that he knew before passing the wine to the young man to his left. He looked young, and Narmer wondered if this would be his first real taste of conflict. Perhaps it was fear that kept him awake.
“Here, drink this night for tomorrow we will bathe in the blood of the greeks.”
At the arrival of a general, Akhem felt his head start buzzing with thoughts. Akhem had trained long and hard for something just like this war, but to be in the presence of a general- he counted himself grateful for such an honor. This was what gave him the urge to fight. Egypt’s military had been the testing ground for his growth into a man, and it was in service of the brilliant strategies and orders of men such as this. He wondered what the Greeks felt when they thought of Egyptian generals. Did they cower at the mere thought of facing one? Perhaps not. Perhaps they bravely fought in service of their country, misguided by their craven leaders. The common soldiers of Greece had not earned his enmity; he would kill them regardless, but there was no need to visit additional cruelty upon them. He enjoyed it enough without putting in that additional twist.
Planning did not reach his ears. Akhem only understand as much of their future movements as he had been told. He knew that despite their defeat of the Taengeans, the battle was not over. There had been soldiers who survived their attack, and there could be more Greeks coming still. The generals, deputy-generals, and captains would worry about that. Akhem would focus on this night, the warmth of this fire- on this general. Akhem did not scramble to his feet; he had noticed the man’s arrival too late, and would have been mortified if not for the command which he gratefully followed. He stayed as he was.
The general sat, looking around the circle. Akhem watched him, ignoring the twinge of envy as the man nodded respectfully to another soldier. Akhem still had time to prove himself. One day, he would earn a nod himself. In the meantime, he focused on the man’s words as he passed the bottle to him. Akhem smiled lightly, bowing his head. He had never been much of a speaker, but he could not say nothing when the general addressed him directly.
“Let them die in such numbers that we may drink their blood for years to come.”
Akhem took a swig, and passed the bottle further down the line.
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At the arrival of a general, Akhem felt his head start buzzing with thoughts. Akhem had trained long and hard for something just like this war, but to be in the presence of a general- he counted himself grateful for such an honor. This was what gave him the urge to fight. Egypt’s military had been the testing ground for his growth into a man, and it was in service of the brilliant strategies and orders of men such as this. He wondered what the Greeks felt when they thought of Egyptian generals. Did they cower at the mere thought of facing one? Perhaps not. Perhaps they bravely fought in service of their country, misguided by their craven leaders. The common soldiers of Greece had not earned his enmity; he would kill them regardless, but there was no need to visit additional cruelty upon them. He enjoyed it enough without putting in that additional twist.
Planning did not reach his ears. Akhem only understand as much of their future movements as he had been told. He knew that despite their defeat of the Taengeans, the battle was not over. There had been soldiers who survived their attack, and there could be more Greeks coming still. The generals, deputy-generals, and captains would worry about that. Akhem would focus on this night, the warmth of this fire- on this general. Akhem did not scramble to his feet; he had noticed the man’s arrival too late, and would have been mortified if not for the command which he gratefully followed. He stayed as he was.
The general sat, looking around the circle. Akhem watched him, ignoring the twinge of envy as the man nodded respectfully to another soldier. Akhem still had time to prove himself. One day, he would earn a nod himself. In the meantime, he focused on the man’s words as he passed the bottle to him. Akhem smiled lightly, bowing his head. He had never been much of a speaker, but he could not say nothing when the general addressed him directly.
“Let them die in such numbers that we may drink their blood for years to come.”
Akhem took a swig, and passed the bottle further down the line.
At the arrival of a general, Akhem felt his head start buzzing with thoughts. Akhem had trained long and hard for something just like this war, but to be in the presence of a general- he counted himself grateful for such an honor. This was what gave him the urge to fight. Egypt’s military had been the testing ground for his growth into a man, and it was in service of the brilliant strategies and orders of men such as this. He wondered what the Greeks felt when they thought of Egyptian generals. Did they cower at the mere thought of facing one? Perhaps not. Perhaps they bravely fought in service of their country, misguided by their craven leaders. The common soldiers of Greece had not earned his enmity; he would kill them regardless, but there was no need to visit additional cruelty upon them. He enjoyed it enough without putting in that additional twist.
Planning did not reach his ears. Akhem only understand as much of their future movements as he had been told. He knew that despite their defeat of the Taengeans, the battle was not over. There had been soldiers who survived their attack, and there could be more Greeks coming still. The generals, deputy-generals, and captains would worry about that. Akhem would focus on this night, the warmth of this fire- on this general. Akhem did not scramble to his feet; he had noticed the man’s arrival too late, and would have been mortified if not for the command which he gratefully followed. He stayed as he was.
The general sat, looking around the circle. Akhem watched him, ignoring the twinge of envy as the man nodded respectfully to another soldier. Akhem still had time to prove himself. One day, he would earn a nod himself. In the meantime, he focused on the man’s words as he passed the bottle to him. Akhem smiled lightly, bowing his head. He had never been much of a speaker, but he could not say nothing when the general addressed him directly.
“Let them die in such numbers that we may drink their blood for years to come.”
Akhem took a swig, and passed the bottle further down the line.
It was a calm night in the camp but tensions were building out of excitement and adrenaline. Osorsen had been making his rounds with Abrax and Rafa, considering options for sorting out the care of the wounded and how best to communicate with the other generals on the field. They didn't know exactly how the enemy would work, how they would plan their maneuvers landing on the beach or exactly which point they would pick for landing.
Spotting Narmer seated with some of the soldiers, the general gave a nod to his friend and was planning to walk by until he heard the toast offered and the response. The toast to the blood of the Greeks had him shaking his head, taking a breath and placing a hand on Narmer's shoulder.
"Any loss of life tomorrow will be a tragedy. On both sides. The victory we gain through the spilling of blood is offered to the gods for our continued success." He wasn't ready yet to sit with the soldiers, standing instead even as he took his cup of wine and lifted it in a toast. There were those older soldiers who had fought in the last war between the Greeks and Egyptians who nodded along sagely.
"Drink well, but do not forget to rest. Our day is uncertain and we must be ready to meet whatever force is brought our way."
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It was a calm night in the camp but tensions were building out of excitement and adrenaline. Osorsen had been making his rounds with Abrax and Rafa, considering options for sorting out the care of the wounded and how best to communicate with the other generals on the field. They didn't know exactly how the enemy would work, how they would plan their maneuvers landing on the beach or exactly which point they would pick for landing.
Spotting Narmer seated with some of the soldiers, the general gave a nod to his friend and was planning to walk by until he heard the toast offered and the response. The toast to the blood of the Greeks had him shaking his head, taking a breath and placing a hand on Narmer's shoulder.
"Any loss of life tomorrow will be a tragedy. On both sides. The victory we gain through the spilling of blood is offered to the gods for our continued success." He wasn't ready yet to sit with the soldiers, standing instead even as he took his cup of wine and lifted it in a toast. There were those older soldiers who had fought in the last war between the Greeks and Egyptians who nodded along sagely.
"Drink well, but do not forget to rest. Our day is uncertain and we must be ready to meet whatever force is brought our way."
It was a calm night in the camp but tensions were building out of excitement and adrenaline. Osorsen had been making his rounds with Abrax and Rafa, considering options for sorting out the care of the wounded and how best to communicate with the other generals on the field. They didn't know exactly how the enemy would work, how they would plan their maneuvers landing on the beach or exactly which point they would pick for landing.
Spotting Narmer seated with some of the soldiers, the general gave a nod to his friend and was planning to walk by until he heard the toast offered and the response. The toast to the blood of the Greeks had him shaking his head, taking a breath and placing a hand on Narmer's shoulder.
"Any loss of life tomorrow will be a tragedy. On both sides. The victory we gain through the spilling of blood is offered to the gods for our continued success." He wasn't ready yet to sit with the soldiers, standing instead even as he took his cup of wine and lifted it in a toast. There were those older soldiers who had fought in the last war between the Greeks and Egyptians who nodded along sagely.
"Drink well, but do not forget to rest. Our day is uncertain and we must be ready to meet whatever force is brought our way."
Hekan was in an unusual position of sorts. Typically he was by the side of an officer, with papyrus and stylus at hand, jotting down the notes, commands, orders and decrees that his superiors usually issued. He was proud of his academic skills and oftentimes thought that, had the times been more kind, he would have found peaceful success in the quiet embrace of books and scholarly pursuits. Still, he was of Egyptian blood, and proud of it, and that meant war and its participation was all but guaranteed.
With the last of his notes written from one of his superiors, Hekan finished his annotations and made sure the ink dried fast by means of pound dust and the breath he pressed against the smooth surface of the papyrus. Once all the seals and crests were put so as to make sure that all was done in accordance to the codes of message-writing, the light-footed man bowed his head at his superior and dashed against the swirling sands that shifted against the soles of his feet. He was to send word straight to General Haikaddad concerning a report he was meant to give to the young lord.
The strength of his long legs kept him at ease against the hard-stepping surface, and though he hurried to appear before the tents of the senior militants, upon arrival, the messenger could hardly find any trace of the Haikaddad lord after expressing his business to the guards that kept watch over the man's site. With a confused grunt, Hekan once more rushed outside, believing that perhaps the powerful lord might be enjoying a supper of sorts. It was late after all, and even the war machine of Egypt needed to feel the fill of stomachs emptied through the work of hours past.
Nevertheless, as he prepared to once more take to the sands and run in an effort to find the General, after noticing the flickering flames by the side of his eyes, Hekan caught wind of the man he had been searching for, poised with a fresh drink by his hand and the company of recognizable soldiers and...was that General Osorsen? A shiver ran down the messenger's spine. One general was intimidating enough, but two was downright scary. What if he made a fool of himself in front of both men? What if he did not meet the expectations of his superiors? To say that Hekan was less than comfortable with the sight was putting it mildly. Still, he had a job to do, and he was no coward.
"General Haikaddad, I bring a message from one of the captains under your command." He said after composing himself a bit and mustering the courage to come face-to-face with the other militants. While his voice had been clear, or well, as clear as it could be, he did not hide the stress that apprehended him as he stood there, still and tall, besides such great men. Ra, give me strength..
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Hekan was in an unusual position of sorts. Typically he was by the side of an officer, with papyrus and stylus at hand, jotting down the notes, commands, orders and decrees that his superiors usually issued. He was proud of his academic skills and oftentimes thought that, had the times been more kind, he would have found peaceful success in the quiet embrace of books and scholarly pursuits. Still, he was of Egyptian blood, and proud of it, and that meant war and its participation was all but guaranteed.
With the last of his notes written from one of his superiors, Hekan finished his annotations and made sure the ink dried fast by means of pound dust and the breath he pressed against the smooth surface of the papyrus. Once all the seals and crests were put so as to make sure that all was done in accordance to the codes of message-writing, the light-footed man bowed his head at his superior and dashed against the swirling sands that shifted against the soles of his feet. He was to send word straight to General Haikaddad concerning a report he was meant to give to the young lord.
The strength of his long legs kept him at ease against the hard-stepping surface, and though he hurried to appear before the tents of the senior militants, upon arrival, the messenger could hardly find any trace of the Haikaddad lord after expressing his business to the guards that kept watch over the man's site. With a confused grunt, Hekan once more rushed outside, believing that perhaps the powerful lord might be enjoying a supper of sorts. It was late after all, and even the war machine of Egypt needed to feel the fill of stomachs emptied through the work of hours past.
Nevertheless, as he prepared to once more take to the sands and run in an effort to find the General, after noticing the flickering flames by the side of his eyes, Hekan caught wind of the man he had been searching for, poised with a fresh drink by his hand and the company of recognizable soldiers and...was that General Osorsen? A shiver ran down the messenger's spine. One general was intimidating enough, but two was downright scary. What if he made a fool of himself in front of both men? What if he did not meet the expectations of his superiors? To say that Hekan was less than comfortable with the sight was putting it mildly. Still, he had a job to do, and he was no coward.
"General Haikaddad, I bring a message from one of the captains under your command." He said after composing himself a bit and mustering the courage to come face-to-face with the other militants. While his voice had been clear, or well, as clear as it could be, he did not hide the stress that apprehended him as he stood there, still and tall, besides such great men. Ra, give me strength..
Hekan was in an unusual position of sorts. Typically he was by the side of an officer, with papyrus and stylus at hand, jotting down the notes, commands, orders and decrees that his superiors usually issued. He was proud of his academic skills and oftentimes thought that, had the times been more kind, he would have found peaceful success in the quiet embrace of books and scholarly pursuits. Still, he was of Egyptian blood, and proud of it, and that meant war and its participation was all but guaranteed.
With the last of his notes written from one of his superiors, Hekan finished his annotations and made sure the ink dried fast by means of pound dust and the breath he pressed against the smooth surface of the papyrus. Once all the seals and crests were put so as to make sure that all was done in accordance to the codes of message-writing, the light-footed man bowed his head at his superior and dashed against the swirling sands that shifted against the soles of his feet. He was to send word straight to General Haikaddad concerning a report he was meant to give to the young lord.
The strength of his long legs kept him at ease against the hard-stepping surface, and though he hurried to appear before the tents of the senior militants, upon arrival, the messenger could hardly find any trace of the Haikaddad lord after expressing his business to the guards that kept watch over the man's site. With a confused grunt, Hekan once more rushed outside, believing that perhaps the powerful lord might be enjoying a supper of sorts. It was late after all, and even the war machine of Egypt needed to feel the fill of stomachs emptied through the work of hours past.
Nevertheless, as he prepared to once more take to the sands and run in an effort to find the General, after noticing the flickering flames by the side of his eyes, Hekan caught wind of the man he had been searching for, poised with a fresh drink by his hand and the company of recognizable soldiers and...was that General Osorsen? A shiver ran down the messenger's spine. One general was intimidating enough, but two was downright scary. What if he made a fool of himself in front of both men? What if he did not meet the expectations of his superiors? To say that Hekan was less than comfortable with the sight was putting it mildly. Still, he had a job to do, and he was no coward.
"General Haikaddad, I bring a message from one of the captains under your command." He said after composing himself a bit and mustering the courage to come face-to-face with the other militants. While his voice had been clear, or well, as clear as it could be, he did not hide the stress that apprehended him as he stood there, still and tall, besides such great men. Ra, give me strength..
At the words of his general criticizing his attitude, Akhem wanted to look the main straight in the eyes and ask whether he really thought killing the enemy was a tragedy, and if so how he intended to lead them. It was a childish fantasy, though, and so he kept silent. He could take out his anger on his fellow compatriots if any wanted to spar tonight. The spilling of blood was not something a soldier could do without wanting to. Akhem enjoyed bloodshed, which was why he had grown so effective at causing it so quickly. He remained untrained, not capable of defending himself as well as he could strike his target, but that did not worry him. The Egyptians would win, and he would be a part of that victory.
It seemed some of the older men here agreed. Akhem doubted their wisdom. Soldiers who survived were soldiers who had not fought bravely. Akhem might die at any point, but it would be a righteous death. He would have served ably and willingly. These men had left behind their comrades, who had died in service, and pretended sagacity. He knew better than to trust them on matters of war. The generals, they were different. While they lacked wisdom as well, they had been bestowed with great intelligence and the capacity to see a picture of the battlefield that no other soldier could- and had risen to such heights because of that. They had much of his respect, even though their words stoked his temper. If he had not respected them, he would have fought them in anger and been rightfully struck down in return. No, the generals had earned their place, even if it gave them leave to speak half-truths in service of their larger goal- triumph over the enemy. Akhem scowled, hoping someone would notice and pick a fight. He’d made enemies among the other recruits for his contentious behavior, but what was he supposed to do? They were warriors, and he never quite managed to stay calm even surrounded by allies. Expending the excess energy in a good scrap felt good, especially when you could drink with the other man afterward, no matter the harsh words exchanged in the heat of the moment.
As Hekan arrived, Akhem looked up at him curiously. He brought a message? Perhaps this would be worth hearing. Maybe some good news, on the eve before the battle? He always appreciated signs from the gods in a time like this one. A message for the general must be a good sign. They were being watched and protected. Yet the poor man seemed nervous. Maybe he just needed a little push; scribes did not live with bravery clutched close to their heart the way soldiers did.
“Well, speak up! We’re all waiting.”
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At the words of his general criticizing his attitude, Akhem wanted to look the main straight in the eyes and ask whether he really thought killing the enemy was a tragedy, and if so how he intended to lead them. It was a childish fantasy, though, and so he kept silent. He could take out his anger on his fellow compatriots if any wanted to spar tonight. The spilling of blood was not something a soldier could do without wanting to. Akhem enjoyed bloodshed, which was why he had grown so effective at causing it so quickly. He remained untrained, not capable of defending himself as well as he could strike his target, but that did not worry him. The Egyptians would win, and he would be a part of that victory.
It seemed some of the older men here agreed. Akhem doubted their wisdom. Soldiers who survived were soldiers who had not fought bravely. Akhem might die at any point, but it would be a righteous death. He would have served ably and willingly. These men had left behind their comrades, who had died in service, and pretended sagacity. He knew better than to trust them on matters of war. The generals, they were different. While they lacked wisdom as well, they had been bestowed with great intelligence and the capacity to see a picture of the battlefield that no other soldier could- and had risen to such heights because of that. They had much of his respect, even though their words stoked his temper. If he had not respected them, he would have fought them in anger and been rightfully struck down in return. No, the generals had earned their place, even if it gave them leave to speak half-truths in service of their larger goal- triumph over the enemy. Akhem scowled, hoping someone would notice and pick a fight. He’d made enemies among the other recruits for his contentious behavior, but what was he supposed to do? They were warriors, and he never quite managed to stay calm even surrounded by allies. Expending the excess energy in a good scrap felt good, especially when you could drink with the other man afterward, no matter the harsh words exchanged in the heat of the moment.
As Hekan arrived, Akhem looked up at him curiously. He brought a message? Perhaps this would be worth hearing. Maybe some good news, on the eve before the battle? He always appreciated signs from the gods in a time like this one. A message for the general must be a good sign. They were being watched and protected. Yet the poor man seemed nervous. Maybe he just needed a little push; scribes did not live with bravery clutched close to their heart the way soldiers did.
“Well, speak up! We’re all waiting.”
At the words of his general criticizing his attitude, Akhem wanted to look the main straight in the eyes and ask whether he really thought killing the enemy was a tragedy, and if so how he intended to lead them. It was a childish fantasy, though, and so he kept silent. He could take out his anger on his fellow compatriots if any wanted to spar tonight. The spilling of blood was not something a soldier could do without wanting to. Akhem enjoyed bloodshed, which was why he had grown so effective at causing it so quickly. He remained untrained, not capable of defending himself as well as he could strike his target, but that did not worry him. The Egyptians would win, and he would be a part of that victory.
It seemed some of the older men here agreed. Akhem doubted their wisdom. Soldiers who survived were soldiers who had not fought bravely. Akhem might die at any point, but it would be a righteous death. He would have served ably and willingly. These men had left behind their comrades, who had died in service, and pretended sagacity. He knew better than to trust them on matters of war. The generals, they were different. While they lacked wisdom as well, they had been bestowed with great intelligence and the capacity to see a picture of the battlefield that no other soldier could- and had risen to such heights because of that. They had much of his respect, even though their words stoked his temper. If he had not respected them, he would have fought them in anger and been rightfully struck down in return. No, the generals had earned their place, even if it gave them leave to speak half-truths in service of their larger goal- triumph over the enemy. Akhem scowled, hoping someone would notice and pick a fight. He’d made enemies among the other recruits for his contentious behavior, but what was he supposed to do? They were warriors, and he never quite managed to stay calm even surrounded by allies. Expending the excess energy in a good scrap felt good, especially when you could drink with the other man afterward, no matter the harsh words exchanged in the heat of the moment.
As Hekan arrived, Akhem looked up at him curiously. He brought a message? Perhaps this would be worth hearing. Maybe some good news, on the eve before the battle? He always appreciated signs from the gods in a time like this one. A message for the general must be a good sign. They were being watched and protected. Yet the poor man seemed nervous. Maybe he just needed a little push; scribes did not live with bravery clutched close to their heart the way soldiers did.
“Well, speak up! We’re all waiting.”
Narmer had to suppress a flinch as a hand landed upon his shoulder. He was always a bundle of nervous energy, but it seemed to grow more intense the eve before the battle. Not fear, for the Haikkadad man, had seen more than his fair share of conflict. Anticipation was closer to the mark. Impatience even.
Turning, he fixed Oso with a speculative look, wondering if he ought to feel chastened by his friend’s words. Loss of greek like would not be a tragedy. Spilling the blood of those who chose to trespass upon their lands? Who thought to bring war here? Sekhmet would strike Osorsen down for such thinking, Horus would darken the skies with his anger.
“Any loss of Egyptian life, yes General. Sekhmet bless us in our task” Narmer glanced around the circle of men. He was careful in his words, not openly disagreeing, and he measured the expressions on those faces he could see. Some were more mature, experience carved into their features, wisdom into their gazes. Others were bright with a fierceness that spoke of blood already hot for battle. And there were others still, younger faces who turned towards real fighting for the first time.
Narmer’s thoughts turned to Kissan, and he wondered where his nephew was, even as he gave a murmur of agreement to Oso’s instruction that the men rest. Narmer wasn’t sure he would find sleep easily this night. They had their plans laid out for the next day, but the Colchians were more in number than their Taengean cousins had been, and they had not been blown onto Egyptian shores by a storm but sailed here with swords and shields and intent. Narmer didn’t think it would be an easy battle this time.
His fingers drummed upon his bent knee as he listened to the chatter of the men around them, the warriors relaxing a little when they realised their Generals were not here to deliver orders. But it seemed Narmer’s work was not done, the Haikkadad man twisting to look at the nervous-looking man bearing a missive. He held out his hand to receive it, an expectant look upon his face. “Give it over then”.
He did turn to glance at the soldier who spoke up, looking him over briefly with a faint look of surprise but saying nothing as the letter was pushed into his hand and he unfolded it to read whatever was within.
It was not of great import, but he looked at Oso and offered the letter to him. “Damaged chariot. Needs a new dhura. Don’t suppose you have a spare.It would be a shame to waste the team. They are capable.”
Turning to the man who’d delivered the message he motioned for him to sit “ Do you have other messages? If not, sit, drink and warm yourself by the fire.”
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Narmer had to suppress a flinch as a hand landed upon his shoulder. He was always a bundle of nervous energy, but it seemed to grow more intense the eve before the battle. Not fear, for the Haikkadad man, had seen more than his fair share of conflict. Anticipation was closer to the mark. Impatience even.
Turning, he fixed Oso with a speculative look, wondering if he ought to feel chastened by his friend’s words. Loss of greek like would not be a tragedy. Spilling the blood of those who chose to trespass upon their lands? Who thought to bring war here? Sekhmet would strike Osorsen down for such thinking, Horus would darken the skies with his anger.
“Any loss of Egyptian life, yes General. Sekhmet bless us in our task” Narmer glanced around the circle of men. He was careful in his words, not openly disagreeing, and he measured the expressions on those faces he could see. Some were more mature, experience carved into their features, wisdom into their gazes. Others were bright with a fierceness that spoke of blood already hot for battle. And there were others still, younger faces who turned towards real fighting for the first time.
Narmer’s thoughts turned to Kissan, and he wondered where his nephew was, even as he gave a murmur of agreement to Oso’s instruction that the men rest. Narmer wasn’t sure he would find sleep easily this night. They had their plans laid out for the next day, but the Colchians were more in number than their Taengean cousins had been, and they had not been blown onto Egyptian shores by a storm but sailed here with swords and shields and intent. Narmer didn’t think it would be an easy battle this time.
His fingers drummed upon his bent knee as he listened to the chatter of the men around them, the warriors relaxing a little when they realised their Generals were not here to deliver orders. But it seemed Narmer’s work was not done, the Haikkadad man twisting to look at the nervous-looking man bearing a missive. He held out his hand to receive it, an expectant look upon his face. “Give it over then”.
He did turn to glance at the soldier who spoke up, looking him over briefly with a faint look of surprise but saying nothing as the letter was pushed into his hand and he unfolded it to read whatever was within.
It was not of great import, but he looked at Oso and offered the letter to him. “Damaged chariot. Needs a new dhura. Don’t suppose you have a spare.It would be a shame to waste the team. They are capable.”
Turning to the man who’d delivered the message he motioned for him to sit “ Do you have other messages? If not, sit, drink and warm yourself by the fire.”
Narmer had to suppress a flinch as a hand landed upon his shoulder. He was always a bundle of nervous energy, but it seemed to grow more intense the eve before the battle. Not fear, for the Haikkadad man, had seen more than his fair share of conflict. Anticipation was closer to the mark. Impatience even.
Turning, he fixed Oso with a speculative look, wondering if he ought to feel chastened by his friend’s words. Loss of greek like would not be a tragedy. Spilling the blood of those who chose to trespass upon their lands? Who thought to bring war here? Sekhmet would strike Osorsen down for such thinking, Horus would darken the skies with his anger.
“Any loss of Egyptian life, yes General. Sekhmet bless us in our task” Narmer glanced around the circle of men. He was careful in his words, not openly disagreeing, and he measured the expressions on those faces he could see. Some were more mature, experience carved into their features, wisdom into their gazes. Others were bright with a fierceness that spoke of blood already hot for battle. And there were others still, younger faces who turned towards real fighting for the first time.
Narmer’s thoughts turned to Kissan, and he wondered where his nephew was, even as he gave a murmur of agreement to Oso’s instruction that the men rest. Narmer wasn’t sure he would find sleep easily this night. They had their plans laid out for the next day, but the Colchians were more in number than their Taengean cousins had been, and they had not been blown onto Egyptian shores by a storm but sailed here with swords and shields and intent. Narmer didn’t think it would be an easy battle this time.
His fingers drummed upon his bent knee as he listened to the chatter of the men around them, the warriors relaxing a little when they realised their Generals were not here to deliver orders. But it seemed Narmer’s work was not done, the Haikkadad man twisting to look at the nervous-looking man bearing a missive. He held out his hand to receive it, an expectant look upon his face. “Give it over then”.
He did turn to glance at the soldier who spoke up, looking him over briefly with a faint look of surprise but saying nothing as the letter was pushed into his hand and he unfolded it to read whatever was within.
It was not of great import, but he looked at Oso and offered the letter to him. “Damaged chariot. Needs a new dhura. Don’t suppose you have a spare.It would be a shame to waste the team. They are capable.”
Turning to the man who’d delivered the message he motioned for him to sit “ Do you have other messages? If not, sit, drink and warm yourself by the fire.”
Osorsen looked to the man who brought the message for Narmer, waiting to see if it would be something that would require his attention or if it was something that the other general could handle on his own. No doubt it would be news specific to the company that his friend commanded, but he waited nonetheless as Narmer read. Not sensing any need for him to linger, Oso gave a nod to the men around the fire, pausing as one in particular piped up to demand a response to a letter that likely had nothing to do with him.
Shooting the interrupter a look of disapproval and disdain, he held his tongue and allowed his friend to handle the moment even as his gaze was pinned on Akhem. He was glad it didn't seem to phase the other general, and that he had stayed, giving a nod in response to Narmer's question.
"Of course. I shall have my men bring it to yours." He straightened fully, clapping Narmer on the shoulder once more before casting his gaze around the men seated at the fire. "Rest well, and be easy. We have a harder fight in front of us than most of us believe. The Greeks might not have our skill, but their number and determination should not be underestimated. I will not look forward to having any of your blood spilled on our sands."
With a final nod to those gathered, Osorsen left the circle of light, going in search of Rafa and Abrax to coordinate the transfer of the chariot pieces from his encampment to Narmer's. It was lucky they travelled with the extra pieces, but he'd learned in his many years of battle that the extra weight of parts to mend were worth the effort when they were needed.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Osorsen looked to the man who brought the message for Narmer, waiting to see if it would be something that would require his attention or if it was something that the other general could handle on his own. No doubt it would be news specific to the company that his friend commanded, but he waited nonetheless as Narmer read. Not sensing any need for him to linger, Oso gave a nod to the men around the fire, pausing as one in particular piped up to demand a response to a letter that likely had nothing to do with him.
Shooting the interrupter a look of disapproval and disdain, he held his tongue and allowed his friend to handle the moment even as his gaze was pinned on Akhem. He was glad it didn't seem to phase the other general, and that he had stayed, giving a nod in response to Narmer's question.
"Of course. I shall have my men bring it to yours." He straightened fully, clapping Narmer on the shoulder once more before casting his gaze around the men seated at the fire. "Rest well, and be easy. We have a harder fight in front of us than most of us believe. The Greeks might not have our skill, but their number and determination should not be underestimated. I will not look forward to having any of your blood spilled on our sands."
With a final nod to those gathered, Osorsen left the circle of light, going in search of Rafa and Abrax to coordinate the transfer of the chariot pieces from his encampment to Narmer's. It was lucky they travelled with the extra pieces, but he'd learned in his many years of battle that the extra weight of parts to mend were worth the effort when they were needed.
Osorsen looked to the man who brought the message for Narmer, waiting to see if it would be something that would require his attention or if it was something that the other general could handle on his own. No doubt it would be news specific to the company that his friend commanded, but he waited nonetheless as Narmer read. Not sensing any need for him to linger, Oso gave a nod to the men around the fire, pausing as one in particular piped up to demand a response to a letter that likely had nothing to do with him.
Shooting the interrupter a look of disapproval and disdain, he held his tongue and allowed his friend to handle the moment even as his gaze was pinned on Akhem. He was glad it didn't seem to phase the other general, and that he had stayed, giving a nod in response to Narmer's question.
"Of course. I shall have my men bring it to yours." He straightened fully, clapping Narmer on the shoulder once more before casting his gaze around the men seated at the fire. "Rest well, and be easy. We have a harder fight in front of us than most of us believe. The Greeks might not have our skill, but their number and determination should not be underestimated. I will not look forward to having any of your blood spilled on our sands."
With a final nod to those gathered, Osorsen left the circle of light, going in search of Rafa and Abrax to coordinate the transfer of the chariot pieces from his encampment to Narmer's. It was lucky they travelled with the extra pieces, but he'd learned in his many years of battle that the extra weight of parts to mend were worth the effort when they were needed.
