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His head was pounding. His breath burned in his lungs. The pain splitting through his head so intense that it was a struggle to see straight in any regard, not barring the sandstorm that still threatened them with wisps of sand and grit. Blood trailed down the left side of his face despite the wrapping around his head, making him feel woozy and lightheaded. His lungs felt full of grit. His only working eye burned with the pain of the warm winds that had chased them off of their Egyptian battlefield. There were no other thoughts in his head except for getting the King away from that cove and to some sort of safety. Anything that would buy them even the slightest beat of time that they could use to their advantage.
The first thing they would need would be to get that arrow out of his shoulder. It would have to be done with care and Krysto found himself using his free hand to pat his side to see if he still had his axe and his knives. Everything was accounted for, save for his sword. That wasn't valuable to him the way that the axe was. Such was a gift from the man that he currently carted on his right side. On Achilleas' other side was a young, green soldier. Diomedes, if Krysto could recall his name properly. A young soldier also of Euttica. One of the young kids that had only recently started his training and was already thrown into a war that should not have been his to begin with.
"Diomedes," Krysto panted sharply, adjusting Achilleas on his shoulder so that they could keep moving at their swift pace. "I need you to watch our back. I can't see behind me. I have no peripheral except for on the King," the Captain instructed carefully, noting the somewhat dark and frightened expression of the young charge that Krysto had picked because he was the youngest and the closest soldier he could see in their escape.
The young adolescent soldier swallowed, nodded, and sharply looked behind him as if he hadn't thought of looking to begin with. "There's no one," he said quietly, trying to clear his throat of sandy grit. "Captain?" he asked in a tone that was almost too quiet to hear.
Krysto's head turned slightly, finding that moving his eyes was an action that was far too painful for his liking anyway. It drew too much attention to the fact that he felt like he might drop at any moment, the swinging of the world around him almost unbearable if not for the weight of his current mission. Save the King. Protect Achilleas. Watch his back.
'You weren't watching his back.'
Krysto grit his teeth, taking in another harsh breath. His vision dipped and spun and it was only the sudden gripping of Diomedes' hand on his against Achilleas' back that brought him back to reality, not sure if he was going to pass out or vomit. The Captain looked to his young subordinate, his breathing sharper still, though he said nothing, not sure what he could say to make this any better. To soothe a kid who was probably out of his mind with fear but showing none of it.
"If I don't drop, you don't either," Diomedes said in a tone that Krysto hasn't expected from the soldier. It was enough to make him straighten and remind himself that they were still moving and they were still safe, for now. But whatever had taken hold of Achilleas needed to be taken care of. An arrow through the shoulder shouldn't have knocked him out in this manner. Unless there was... something... on the arrow. His stomach flipped and he thought he might actually be sick. Poison. That was the only thing he could think of. This wasn't the first injury the man had taken. They'd been at war for three years before this. Fainting wasn't something that Achilleas did. Not without fighting with everything in him to keep upright. Which he had, but he'd faded so quickly afterward...
Pursing his lips, Krysto finally looked forward again, finding that his vision didn't spin as much if he looked straight ahead along the beachfront. His breath caught in a way that wasn't entirely painful when he did, finding himself staring at the silhouette of a ship not much farther down the beach. Thank the gods. Thank every single one of them. Perhaps this would be the relief that they needed to find. Diomedes seemed to hold the same feeling, his own pace picking up on the sand, the two of them carting the King between them.
Before long, they stood before the ship, Krysto taking more cautious steps, wanting to ensure that they wouldn't be killed on sight. The ship didn't bear the colors of Egypt. Such was a relief. Moored into a small fishing cove, there were people milling about on the beach and Krysto wondered how far they had walked and for how long. Had these people seen or heard the warring for the last three days and the silence at nights?
Thinking of nothing but the fact that they needed help, Krysto said the first word on his mind. "Help..."
And then he shouted it, "Help!" first in Greek, then: "Help!" this time in Coptic...
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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His head was pounding. His breath burned in his lungs. The pain splitting through his head so intense that it was a struggle to see straight in any regard, not barring the sandstorm that still threatened them with wisps of sand and grit. Blood trailed down the left side of his face despite the wrapping around his head, making him feel woozy and lightheaded. His lungs felt full of grit. His only working eye burned with the pain of the warm winds that had chased them off of their Egyptian battlefield. There were no other thoughts in his head except for getting the King away from that cove and to some sort of safety. Anything that would buy them even the slightest beat of time that they could use to their advantage.
The first thing they would need would be to get that arrow out of his shoulder. It would have to be done with care and Krysto found himself using his free hand to pat his side to see if he still had his axe and his knives. Everything was accounted for, save for his sword. That wasn't valuable to him the way that the axe was. Such was a gift from the man that he currently carted on his right side. On Achilleas' other side was a young, green soldier. Diomedes, if Krysto could recall his name properly. A young soldier also of Euttica. One of the young kids that had only recently started his training and was already thrown into a war that should not have been his to begin with.
"Diomedes," Krysto panted sharply, adjusting Achilleas on his shoulder so that they could keep moving at their swift pace. "I need you to watch our back. I can't see behind me. I have no peripheral except for on the King," the Captain instructed carefully, noting the somewhat dark and frightened expression of the young charge that Krysto had picked because he was the youngest and the closest soldier he could see in their escape.
The young adolescent soldier swallowed, nodded, and sharply looked behind him as if he hadn't thought of looking to begin with. "There's no one," he said quietly, trying to clear his throat of sandy grit. "Captain?" he asked in a tone that was almost too quiet to hear.
Krysto's head turned slightly, finding that moving his eyes was an action that was far too painful for his liking anyway. It drew too much attention to the fact that he felt like he might drop at any moment, the swinging of the world around him almost unbearable if not for the weight of his current mission. Save the King. Protect Achilleas. Watch his back.
'You weren't watching his back.'
Krysto grit his teeth, taking in another harsh breath. His vision dipped and spun and it was only the sudden gripping of Diomedes' hand on his against Achilleas' back that brought him back to reality, not sure if he was going to pass out or vomit. The Captain looked to his young subordinate, his breathing sharper still, though he said nothing, not sure what he could say to make this any better. To soothe a kid who was probably out of his mind with fear but showing none of it.
"If I don't drop, you don't either," Diomedes said in a tone that Krysto hasn't expected from the soldier. It was enough to make him straighten and remind himself that they were still moving and they were still safe, for now. But whatever had taken hold of Achilleas needed to be taken care of. An arrow through the shoulder shouldn't have knocked him out in this manner. Unless there was... something... on the arrow. His stomach flipped and he thought he might actually be sick. Poison. That was the only thing he could think of. This wasn't the first injury the man had taken. They'd been at war for three years before this. Fainting wasn't something that Achilleas did. Not without fighting with everything in him to keep upright. Which he had, but he'd faded so quickly afterward...
Pursing his lips, Krysto finally looked forward again, finding that his vision didn't spin as much if he looked straight ahead along the beachfront. His breath caught in a way that wasn't entirely painful when he did, finding himself staring at the silhouette of a ship not much farther down the beach. Thank the gods. Thank every single one of them. Perhaps this would be the relief that they needed to find. Diomedes seemed to hold the same feeling, his own pace picking up on the sand, the two of them carting the King between them.
Before long, they stood before the ship, Krysto taking more cautious steps, wanting to ensure that they wouldn't be killed on sight. The ship didn't bear the colors of Egypt. Such was a relief. Moored into a small fishing cove, there were people milling about on the beach and Krysto wondered how far they had walked and for how long. Had these people seen or heard the warring for the last three days and the silence at nights?
Thinking of nothing but the fact that they needed help, Krysto said the first word on his mind. "Help..."
And then he shouted it, "Help!" first in Greek, then: "Help!" this time in Coptic...
His head was pounding. His breath burned in his lungs. The pain splitting through his head so intense that it was a struggle to see straight in any regard, not barring the sandstorm that still threatened them with wisps of sand and grit. Blood trailed down the left side of his face despite the wrapping around his head, making him feel woozy and lightheaded. His lungs felt full of grit. His only working eye burned with the pain of the warm winds that had chased them off of their Egyptian battlefield. There were no other thoughts in his head except for getting the King away from that cove and to some sort of safety. Anything that would buy them even the slightest beat of time that they could use to their advantage.
The first thing they would need would be to get that arrow out of his shoulder. It would have to be done with care and Krysto found himself using his free hand to pat his side to see if he still had his axe and his knives. Everything was accounted for, save for his sword. That wasn't valuable to him the way that the axe was. Such was a gift from the man that he currently carted on his right side. On Achilleas' other side was a young, green soldier. Diomedes, if Krysto could recall his name properly. A young soldier also of Euttica. One of the young kids that had only recently started his training and was already thrown into a war that should not have been his to begin with.
"Diomedes," Krysto panted sharply, adjusting Achilleas on his shoulder so that they could keep moving at their swift pace. "I need you to watch our back. I can't see behind me. I have no peripheral except for on the King," the Captain instructed carefully, noting the somewhat dark and frightened expression of the young charge that Krysto had picked because he was the youngest and the closest soldier he could see in their escape.
The young adolescent soldier swallowed, nodded, and sharply looked behind him as if he hadn't thought of looking to begin with. "There's no one," he said quietly, trying to clear his throat of sandy grit. "Captain?" he asked in a tone that was almost too quiet to hear.
Krysto's head turned slightly, finding that moving his eyes was an action that was far too painful for his liking anyway. It drew too much attention to the fact that he felt like he might drop at any moment, the swinging of the world around him almost unbearable if not for the weight of his current mission. Save the King. Protect Achilleas. Watch his back.
'You weren't watching his back.'
Krysto grit his teeth, taking in another harsh breath. His vision dipped and spun and it was only the sudden gripping of Diomedes' hand on his against Achilleas' back that brought him back to reality, not sure if he was going to pass out or vomit. The Captain looked to his young subordinate, his breathing sharper still, though he said nothing, not sure what he could say to make this any better. To soothe a kid who was probably out of his mind with fear but showing none of it.
"If I don't drop, you don't either," Diomedes said in a tone that Krysto hasn't expected from the soldier. It was enough to make him straighten and remind himself that they were still moving and they were still safe, for now. But whatever had taken hold of Achilleas needed to be taken care of. An arrow through the shoulder shouldn't have knocked him out in this manner. Unless there was... something... on the arrow. His stomach flipped and he thought he might actually be sick. Poison. That was the only thing he could think of. This wasn't the first injury the man had taken. They'd been at war for three years before this. Fainting wasn't something that Achilleas did. Not without fighting with everything in him to keep upright. Which he had, but he'd faded so quickly afterward...
Pursing his lips, Krysto finally looked forward again, finding that his vision didn't spin as much if he looked straight ahead along the beachfront. His breath caught in a way that wasn't entirely painful when he did, finding himself staring at the silhouette of a ship not much farther down the beach. Thank the gods. Thank every single one of them. Perhaps this would be the relief that they needed to find. Diomedes seemed to hold the same feeling, his own pace picking up on the sand, the two of them carting the King between them.
Before long, they stood before the ship, Krysto taking more cautious steps, wanting to ensure that they wouldn't be killed on sight. The ship didn't bear the colors of Egypt. Such was a relief. Moored into a small fishing cove, there were people milling about on the beach and Krysto wondered how far they had walked and for how long. Had these people seen or heard the warring for the last three days and the silence at nights?
Thinking of nothing but the fact that they needed help, Krysto said the first word on his mind. "Help..."
And then he shouted it, "Help!" first in Greek, then: "Help!" this time in Coptic...
If there was a profit in war Akila would squeeze every last gold out of it. And there was- at least right now in the refugees fleeing Manopotapa. Akila would give them sanctuary… in a cage to be sold elsewhere. Like moths to a flame, they’d find their way to her ship, hoping for mercy and instead find shackles.
They had just finished rounding up a group now, shutting them in their cages and scaring them into muted sobs when Akila had heard it. Help! First in Greek, then in Coptic. Help!
She had turned as one of them on her ship readied his arrow. One seemed to be profusely bleeding from the face, the middle seemed to be dragged by the men, but the third looked healthy enough that he could be sold for some good money. She was about to give the order to put down the other two when she looked once more at the one in the middle. “Hold,” she said to her bowman, putting a hand in front of him. I spy with my little eye... Something far more valuable than the soon to be slaves.
Achilleas. A decade had gone by, but how could Akila ever forget him? Or more… how she left him. It was later on, much later on, did she learn his full name by chance, on one of her trips to Taengean. Achilleas of Mikaelides. Once a captain… now someone who could really turn the pirate a profit.
And Akila will squeeze everything she could from them.
“Bit far from the battle, little Greeks.” Akila walked her fingertips along her rail, making her way closer to the gangway. Arrows remained trained at the Greeks, but she did not ask the men to stop- not quite yet. A little closer she’d allow them if only to confirm the injured man between them.
“I’d offer you a ride,” she continued, stopping at the gangway. “But my business is taking me away from Manopotapa.” Deserters in the Desert- a real Egyptian would die rather than run from the battle. Apparently, that wasn’t the Greek way.
She stepped onto the beach and past her men. To her right was Khalid, gripping his speer and his face set and serious. “We shouldn’t even entertain this Capt-” he started to say quietly to Akila but she paid him no mind.
“Not another step.” She said to the three- well two, mostly. “We talk from here. What would three little Greeks want from a simple Egyptian ship?” Medical supplies- perhaps a way back to Taengea. The first she could supply at least to stave off imminent death, but certainly not enough to completely recover either man. The second… well, she may not fly Egyptian colors but her ship certainly didn’t look Greek.
Her eyes fell to the middle- to Achilleas. How coherent was he? Akila leaned forward, “Is this one even awake?” And if he was… would he remember her? Oh, how she hoped he did. The woman who screwed him over being the only ship on this water that could take him closer to a healer- to safety.
Well, well, well, Achilleas. We meet again.
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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If there was a profit in war Akila would squeeze every last gold out of it. And there was- at least right now in the refugees fleeing Manopotapa. Akila would give them sanctuary… in a cage to be sold elsewhere. Like moths to a flame, they’d find their way to her ship, hoping for mercy and instead find shackles.
They had just finished rounding up a group now, shutting them in their cages and scaring them into muted sobs when Akila had heard it. Help! First in Greek, then in Coptic. Help!
She had turned as one of them on her ship readied his arrow. One seemed to be profusely bleeding from the face, the middle seemed to be dragged by the men, but the third looked healthy enough that he could be sold for some good money. She was about to give the order to put down the other two when she looked once more at the one in the middle. “Hold,” she said to her bowman, putting a hand in front of him. I spy with my little eye... Something far more valuable than the soon to be slaves.
Achilleas. A decade had gone by, but how could Akila ever forget him? Or more… how she left him. It was later on, much later on, did she learn his full name by chance, on one of her trips to Taengean. Achilleas of Mikaelides. Once a captain… now someone who could really turn the pirate a profit.
And Akila will squeeze everything she could from them.
“Bit far from the battle, little Greeks.” Akila walked her fingertips along her rail, making her way closer to the gangway. Arrows remained trained at the Greeks, but she did not ask the men to stop- not quite yet. A little closer she’d allow them if only to confirm the injured man between them.
“I’d offer you a ride,” she continued, stopping at the gangway. “But my business is taking me away from Manopotapa.” Deserters in the Desert- a real Egyptian would die rather than run from the battle. Apparently, that wasn’t the Greek way.
She stepped onto the beach and past her men. To her right was Khalid, gripping his speer and his face set and serious. “We shouldn’t even entertain this Capt-” he started to say quietly to Akila but she paid him no mind.
“Not another step.” She said to the three- well two, mostly. “We talk from here. What would three little Greeks want from a simple Egyptian ship?” Medical supplies- perhaps a way back to Taengea. The first she could supply at least to stave off imminent death, but certainly not enough to completely recover either man. The second… well, she may not fly Egyptian colors but her ship certainly didn’t look Greek.
Her eyes fell to the middle- to Achilleas. How coherent was he? Akila leaned forward, “Is this one even awake?” And if he was… would he remember her? Oh, how she hoped he did. The woman who screwed him over being the only ship on this water that could take him closer to a healer- to safety.
Well, well, well, Achilleas. We meet again.
If there was a profit in war Akila would squeeze every last gold out of it. And there was- at least right now in the refugees fleeing Manopotapa. Akila would give them sanctuary… in a cage to be sold elsewhere. Like moths to a flame, they’d find their way to her ship, hoping for mercy and instead find shackles.
They had just finished rounding up a group now, shutting them in their cages and scaring them into muted sobs when Akila had heard it. Help! First in Greek, then in Coptic. Help!
She had turned as one of them on her ship readied his arrow. One seemed to be profusely bleeding from the face, the middle seemed to be dragged by the men, but the third looked healthy enough that he could be sold for some good money. She was about to give the order to put down the other two when she looked once more at the one in the middle. “Hold,” she said to her bowman, putting a hand in front of him. I spy with my little eye... Something far more valuable than the soon to be slaves.
Achilleas. A decade had gone by, but how could Akila ever forget him? Or more… how she left him. It was later on, much later on, did she learn his full name by chance, on one of her trips to Taengean. Achilleas of Mikaelides. Once a captain… now someone who could really turn the pirate a profit.
And Akila will squeeze everything she could from them.
“Bit far from the battle, little Greeks.” Akila walked her fingertips along her rail, making her way closer to the gangway. Arrows remained trained at the Greeks, but she did not ask the men to stop- not quite yet. A little closer she’d allow them if only to confirm the injured man between them.
“I’d offer you a ride,” she continued, stopping at the gangway. “But my business is taking me away from Manopotapa.” Deserters in the Desert- a real Egyptian would die rather than run from the battle. Apparently, that wasn’t the Greek way.
She stepped onto the beach and past her men. To her right was Khalid, gripping his speer and his face set and serious. “We shouldn’t even entertain this Capt-” he started to say quietly to Akila but she paid him no mind.
“Not another step.” She said to the three- well two, mostly. “We talk from here. What would three little Greeks want from a simple Egyptian ship?” Medical supplies- perhaps a way back to Taengea. The first she could supply at least to stave off imminent death, but certainly not enough to completely recover either man. The second… well, she may not fly Egyptian colors but her ship certainly didn’t look Greek.
Her eyes fell to the middle- to Achilleas. How coherent was he? Akila leaned forward, “Is this one even awake?” And if he was… would he remember her? Oh, how she hoped he did. The woman who screwed him over being the only ship on this water that could take him closer to a healer- to safety.
Well, well, well, Achilleas. We meet again.
Achilleas had started off on his own two feet. He’d refused the offer of poppy because he needed to keep his head about him, Krysto was injured too and he didn’t want to be a burden. The shoulder was...well it hurt, a lot, but he could bear it if he kept the jostling to a minimum.
Only as they had walked, he had stumbled once or twice, cursing as he righted himself, licking paper dry lips surely chapped from the storm. “I’m fine” he fended off the Captain's concern and the fearful look of the boy they brought with them.
Achilleas wasn’t fine. He was far from fine. It felt so wrong to be walking away from where the men, his men, fought on, but his arm had gone a little numb now and he felt light-headed, the blood loss maybe thought it was hard to know when he was still in his armour.
This was...this felt dishonourable somehow, but perhaps if they could get somewhere safe enough, Krysto could remove the arrow and then they could go back and fight again.
He tripped over his own feet again and wondered why he was suddenly so ungainly, blinking hard at the sand underfoot. This time, it was a hand that flew out to keep him upright and The King gave a grunt of pain as it juddered through his body. His skin felt like fire and he thought it must have been flayed by the sand to feel this way. So hot.
“Need to take some of thish armouroff” The words ran together a little and smudged like his vision in the bright light. His head swam. “Too hot”
But even with his good arm, his fingers felt clumsy and he couldn’t make them work properly even when he tried once, twice, three times. And Achilleas looked again at Krysto and thought he should shut up because his injuries were not so grievous and the Captain moved on with a gritty determination.
The effort of moving his feet seemed to grow more taxing though, leaving him breathless in a manner it should not and his heart was beating fast, too fast. When he stumbled again it was too his knees on the hot sand, and the combination of the jarring in his shoulder and his head had him swallowing back bile.
He thought he got up, but he couldn’t be sure, for the next time he registered anything it was the agonising stretch and pull as the young soldier caught a hold of him under one arm and Krysto the other. In his head, he protested at both the pain and at being such burden but making words come was uncommonly hard. Instead, Achilleas tried to keep his feet moving with theirs, staring at the long shadows they cast that seemed to move of out of synchronicity. He blinked.
There was no dramatic slide into loss of consciousness, just a gradual slipping of his grip on what was real, and his eyes rolling back in his head every so often until he would come back to awareness, frowning and confused. And by the time Krysto and Diomedes had found their way to the foreign ship, the King was almost a dead weight, listing sideways and risking sliding to the ground entirely should their grips falter.
Akila might have recognised him but there was no chance of it being reciprocated in that moment, Achilleas was limp, head fallen forward onto his chest with seemingly no awareness of what was going on around him.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Achilleas had started off on his own two feet. He’d refused the offer of poppy because he needed to keep his head about him, Krysto was injured too and he didn’t want to be a burden. The shoulder was...well it hurt, a lot, but he could bear it if he kept the jostling to a minimum.
Only as they had walked, he had stumbled once or twice, cursing as he righted himself, licking paper dry lips surely chapped from the storm. “I’m fine” he fended off the Captain's concern and the fearful look of the boy they brought with them.
Achilleas wasn’t fine. He was far from fine. It felt so wrong to be walking away from where the men, his men, fought on, but his arm had gone a little numb now and he felt light-headed, the blood loss maybe thought it was hard to know when he was still in his armour.
This was...this felt dishonourable somehow, but perhaps if they could get somewhere safe enough, Krysto could remove the arrow and then they could go back and fight again.
He tripped over his own feet again and wondered why he was suddenly so ungainly, blinking hard at the sand underfoot. This time, it was a hand that flew out to keep him upright and The King gave a grunt of pain as it juddered through his body. His skin felt like fire and he thought it must have been flayed by the sand to feel this way. So hot.
“Need to take some of thish armouroff” The words ran together a little and smudged like his vision in the bright light. His head swam. “Too hot”
But even with his good arm, his fingers felt clumsy and he couldn’t make them work properly even when he tried once, twice, three times. And Achilleas looked again at Krysto and thought he should shut up because his injuries were not so grievous and the Captain moved on with a gritty determination.
The effort of moving his feet seemed to grow more taxing though, leaving him breathless in a manner it should not and his heart was beating fast, too fast. When he stumbled again it was too his knees on the hot sand, and the combination of the jarring in his shoulder and his head had him swallowing back bile.
He thought he got up, but he couldn’t be sure, for the next time he registered anything it was the agonising stretch and pull as the young soldier caught a hold of him under one arm and Krysto the other. In his head, he protested at both the pain and at being such burden but making words come was uncommonly hard. Instead, Achilleas tried to keep his feet moving with theirs, staring at the long shadows they cast that seemed to move of out of synchronicity. He blinked.
There was no dramatic slide into loss of consciousness, just a gradual slipping of his grip on what was real, and his eyes rolling back in his head every so often until he would come back to awareness, frowning and confused. And by the time Krysto and Diomedes had found their way to the foreign ship, the King was almost a dead weight, listing sideways and risking sliding to the ground entirely should their grips falter.
Akila might have recognised him but there was no chance of it being reciprocated in that moment, Achilleas was limp, head fallen forward onto his chest with seemingly no awareness of what was going on around him.
Achilleas had started off on his own two feet. He’d refused the offer of poppy because he needed to keep his head about him, Krysto was injured too and he didn’t want to be a burden. The shoulder was...well it hurt, a lot, but he could bear it if he kept the jostling to a minimum.
Only as they had walked, he had stumbled once or twice, cursing as he righted himself, licking paper dry lips surely chapped from the storm. “I’m fine” he fended off the Captain's concern and the fearful look of the boy they brought with them.
Achilleas wasn’t fine. He was far from fine. It felt so wrong to be walking away from where the men, his men, fought on, but his arm had gone a little numb now and he felt light-headed, the blood loss maybe thought it was hard to know when he was still in his armour.
This was...this felt dishonourable somehow, but perhaps if they could get somewhere safe enough, Krysto could remove the arrow and then they could go back and fight again.
He tripped over his own feet again and wondered why he was suddenly so ungainly, blinking hard at the sand underfoot. This time, it was a hand that flew out to keep him upright and The King gave a grunt of pain as it juddered through his body. His skin felt like fire and he thought it must have been flayed by the sand to feel this way. So hot.
“Need to take some of thish armouroff” The words ran together a little and smudged like his vision in the bright light. His head swam. “Too hot”
But even with his good arm, his fingers felt clumsy and he couldn’t make them work properly even when he tried once, twice, three times. And Achilleas looked again at Krysto and thought he should shut up because his injuries were not so grievous and the Captain moved on with a gritty determination.
The effort of moving his feet seemed to grow more taxing though, leaving him breathless in a manner it should not and his heart was beating fast, too fast. When he stumbled again it was too his knees on the hot sand, and the combination of the jarring in his shoulder and his head had him swallowing back bile.
He thought he got up, but he couldn’t be sure, for the next time he registered anything it was the agonising stretch and pull as the young soldier caught a hold of him under one arm and Krysto the other. In his head, he protested at both the pain and at being such burden but making words come was uncommonly hard. Instead, Achilleas tried to keep his feet moving with theirs, staring at the long shadows they cast that seemed to move of out of synchronicity. He blinked.
There was no dramatic slide into loss of consciousness, just a gradual slipping of his grip on what was real, and his eyes rolling back in his head every so often until he would come back to awareness, frowning and confused. And by the time Krysto and Diomedes had found their way to the foreign ship, the King was almost a dead weight, listing sideways and risking sliding to the ground entirely should their grips falter.
Akila might have recognised him but there was no chance of it being reciprocated in that moment, Achilleas was limp, head fallen forward onto his chest with seemingly no awareness of what was going on around him.
Krysto didn't feel fear of the arrows trained at them. Simply because if they didn't get help, they would be dead anyway. All of them. There was only one option, or the other, and right now, the entire feeling was that they needed to get off of Egyptian soil. If someone didn't find them now, they would be found soon enough. There was only so far that they could carry dead weight between a young soldier and a half blind one that was quickly growing woozy with pain and blood loss.
Though, instead of focusing on the woman who stood aboard her ship, Krysto found his vision fading again. It made him look like he was taking another step, but he was simply trying to keep himself standing. Diomedes gripped his hand harder than before, locking his grip around Krysto's wrist. The young man looked past the King to the other soldier, the worried expression not hidden from his features. This wasn't good, and even he understood that.
Righting himself, Krysto took in a steadying breath and lifted his head to fix his remaining eye on Akila. "We don't need to remain in Manopotapa," the Captain said, throwing his voice so that the ship's captain could hear the words that he spoke. "We need escape. To regroup and get the King help so that he may return to the battlefield," Krysto said slowly, not trusting his own abilities, nor his own words. What if Achilleas couldn't save him? He was already profoundly guilty in the fact that he hadn't been able to watch his brother's back. Not like he had promised.
This was his fault. It should have been Krysto that had taken the arrow.
"He is not awake, and he is quickly going to stop breathing if I don't get him down somewhere safe where I can look at his wounds and remove the arrow," the Captain continued, glancing worriedly at Achilleas and Diomedes. "You have no reason to help us now, but I can tell you that after the war, you may collect a payment worthy of the help that you will give the Taengean King and his subjects in this moment." Either from his own coffers or Achilleas', it didn't matter. Money seemed to move the world, and it was the only thing he could think of in the rush of needing to rest, needing to get through Achilleas' wounds, needing to see what damage had been done to throw him so quickly off of his step.
His vision blurred again and Krysto shook his head, which only made it worse for a moment. He needed help too, but his entire focus was and would remain the friend leaning heavily against him. Krysto's grip started faltering, and Diomedes slapped the back of his hand this time, righting Krysto once more. Fuck, this was bad.
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Krysto didn't feel fear of the arrows trained at them. Simply because if they didn't get help, they would be dead anyway. All of them. There was only one option, or the other, and right now, the entire feeling was that they needed to get off of Egyptian soil. If someone didn't find them now, they would be found soon enough. There was only so far that they could carry dead weight between a young soldier and a half blind one that was quickly growing woozy with pain and blood loss.
Though, instead of focusing on the woman who stood aboard her ship, Krysto found his vision fading again. It made him look like he was taking another step, but he was simply trying to keep himself standing. Diomedes gripped his hand harder than before, locking his grip around Krysto's wrist. The young man looked past the King to the other soldier, the worried expression not hidden from his features. This wasn't good, and even he understood that.
Righting himself, Krysto took in a steadying breath and lifted his head to fix his remaining eye on Akila. "We don't need to remain in Manopotapa," the Captain said, throwing his voice so that the ship's captain could hear the words that he spoke. "We need escape. To regroup and get the King help so that he may return to the battlefield," Krysto said slowly, not trusting his own abilities, nor his own words. What if Achilleas couldn't save him? He was already profoundly guilty in the fact that he hadn't been able to watch his brother's back. Not like he had promised.
This was his fault. It should have been Krysto that had taken the arrow.
"He is not awake, and he is quickly going to stop breathing if I don't get him down somewhere safe where I can look at his wounds and remove the arrow," the Captain continued, glancing worriedly at Achilleas and Diomedes. "You have no reason to help us now, but I can tell you that after the war, you may collect a payment worthy of the help that you will give the Taengean King and his subjects in this moment." Either from his own coffers or Achilleas', it didn't matter. Money seemed to move the world, and it was the only thing he could think of in the rush of needing to rest, needing to get through Achilleas' wounds, needing to see what damage had been done to throw him so quickly off of his step.
His vision blurred again and Krysto shook his head, which only made it worse for a moment. He needed help too, but his entire focus was and would remain the friend leaning heavily against him. Krysto's grip started faltering, and Diomedes slapped the back of his hand this time, righting Krysto once more. Fuck, this was bad.
Krysto didn't feel fear of the arrows trained at them. Simply because if they didn't get help, they would be dead anyway. All of them. There was only one option, or the other, and right now, the entire feeling was that they needed to get off of Egyptian soil. If someone didn't find them now, they would be found soon enough. There was only so far that they could carry dead weight between a young soldier and a half blind one that was quickly growing woozy with pain and blood loss.
Though, instead of focusing on the woman who stood aboard her ship, Krysto found his vision fading again. It made him look like he was taking another step, but he was simply trying to keep himself standing. Diomedes gripped his hand harder than before, locking his grip around Krysto's wrist. The young man looked past the King to the other soldier, the worried expression not hidden from his features. This wasn't good, and even he understood that.
Righting himself, Krysto took in a steadying breath and lifted his head to fix his remaining eye on Akila. "We don't need to remain in Manopotapa," the Captain said, throwing his voice so that the ship's captain could hear the words that he spoke. "We need escape. To regroup and get the King help so that he may return to the battlefield," Krysto said slowly, not trusting his own abilities, nor his own words. What if Achilleas couldn't save him? He was already profoundly guilty in the fact that he hadn't been able to watch his brother's back. Not like he had promised.
This was his fault. It should have been Krysto that had taken the arrow.
"He is not awake, and he is quickly going to stop breathing if I don't get him down somewhere safe where I can look at his wounds and remove the arrow," the Captain continued, glancing worriedly at Achilleas and Diomedes. "You have no reason to help us now, but I can tell you that after the war, you may collect a payment worthy of the help that you will give the Taengean King and his subjects in this moment." Either from his own coffers or Achilleas', it didn't matter. Money seemed to move the world, and it was the only thing he could think of in the rush of needing to rest, needing to get through Achilleas' wounds, needing to see what damage had been done to throw him so quickly off of his step.
His vision blurred again and Krysto shook his head, which only made it worse for a moment. He needed help too, but his entire focus was and would remain the friend leaning heavily against him. Krysto's grip started faltering, and Diomedes slapped the back of his hand this time, righting Krysto once more. Fuck, this was bad.
He is quickly going to stop breathing if I don’t get him down somewhere safe where I can look at his wounds and remove the arrow. “Ha!” Akila could not help herself. She snorted at the man’s words. He was not going to be look at anything. The fact that he was conscious with half his eye oozing blood was a miracle. Likely the full thing needed to get removed, something that might even send him into shock. He was in no shape to be removing an arrow from the King, let alone taking care of himself. Without Akila and her crew, the two of them would die.
Pity. Such a waste of a pretty face.
At the words Taengean King Khalid shot Akila a look that clearly said How did you know? Akila didn’t answer Khalid, she just looked at the half-blind man talking. She had a smile on her lips- an eager smile, ripe with opportunity. “King, hm?” was all she said as she took one step forward and another. She bent a little so she could see the man’s face, drooped forward on his chest. “Don’t look like much King to me.”
Her gaze flickered upwards to the soldier speaking to her. “And you are a sight for sore eyes as well.” Akila straightened up and took a step back, returning to Khalid’s side. “But enough beating around the bush. I have supplies aboard my ship and a crewmate skilled in combat medicine. It’ll be enough to stave off death. You might even find yourself heading towards recovery. But I will not be able to take you to Taengea, not without my ship getting taken down with your legion of warships in the waters. Judea would be the closest I will take you.”
She heard the arrows shift behind her, some of her men unsure as to what was going on. They didn’t run a charity, and they had slaves aboard the ship. Was this hostage? Why take a dying man hostage. Though the Pharoah might pay a pretty penny for the King of Taengea, Akila had other things in mind. The Pharoah might simply pay her and have Akila be on her way- he’d owe her nothing more. But a true debt was a powerful thing to have in one’s pocket, especially from a King of a foreign land’s.
“Clearly he has no ability to negotiate, and frankly neither do you. Excuse me if I don’t put my stock in Greek honor. So I’ll take his signet ring and return it once I hear word your King has returned to his throne. You know what my ship looks like, well, assuming your other eye works. You can assure no warship harms it.” Akila was blunt and to the point, like usual.
Obsidian eyes switched over to the third. The one, healthy soldier of the group. “The ship is filled, if you want to ensure enough water to heal and to get to Judea quickly- one would have to remain.”
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He is quickly going to stop breathing if I don’t get him down somewhere safe where I can look at his wounds and remove the arrow. “Ha!” Akila could not help herself. She snorted at the man’s words. He was not going to be look at anything. The fact that he was conscious with half his eye oozing blood was a miracle. Likely the full thing needed to get removed, something that might even send him into shock. He was in no shape to be removing an arrow from the King, let alone taking care of himself. Without Akila and her crew, the two of them would die.
Pity. Such a waste of a pretty face.
At the words Taengean King Khalid shot Akila a look that clearly said How did you know? Akila didn’t answer Khalid, she just looked at the half-blind man talking. She had a smile on her lips- an eager smile, ripe with opportunity. “King, hm?” was all she said as she took one step forward and another. She bent a little so she could see the man’s face, drooped forward on his chest. “Don’t look like much King to me.”
Her gaze flickered upwards to the soldier speaking to her. “And you are a sight for sore eyes as well.” Akila straightened up and took a step back, returning to Khalid’s side. “But enough beating around the bush. I have supplies aboard my ship and a crewmate skilled in combat medicine. It’ll be enough to stave off death. You might even find yourself heading towards recovery. But I will not be able to take you to Taengea, not without my ship getting taken down with your legion of warships in the waters. Judea would be the closest I will take you.”
She heard the arrows shift behind her, some of her men unsure as to what was going on. They didn’t run a charity, and they had slaves aboard the ship. Was this hostage? Why take a dying man hostage. Though the Pharoah might pay a pretty penny for the King of Taengea, Akila had other things in mind. The Pharoah might simply pay her and have Akila be on her way- he’d owe her nothing more. But a true debt was a powerful thing to have in one’s pocket, especially from a King of a foreign land’s.
“Clearly he has no ability to negotiate, and frankly neither do you. Excuse me if I don’t put my stock in Greek honor. So I’ll take his signet ring and return it once I hear word your King has returned to his throne. You know what my ship looks like, well, assuming your other eye works. You can assure no warship harms it.” Akila was blunt and to the point, like usual.
Obsidian eyes switched over to the third. The one, healthy soldier of the group. “The ship is filled, if you want to ensure enough water to heal and to get to Judea quickly- one would have to remain.”
He is quickly going to stop breathing if I don’t get him down somewhere safe where I can look at his wounds and remove the arrow. “Ha!” Akila could not help herself. She snorted at the man’s words. He was not going to be look at anything. The fact that he was conscious with half his eye oozing blood was a miracle. Likely the full thing needed to get removed, something that might even send him into shock. He was in no shape to be removing an arrow from the King, let alone taking care of himself. Without Akila and her crew, the two of them would die.
Pity. Such a waste of a pretty face.
At the words Taengean King Khalid shot Akila a look that clearly said How did you know? Akila didn’t answer Khalid, she just looked at the half-blind man talking. She had a smile on her lips- an eager smile, ripe with opportunity. “King, hm?” was all she said as she took one step forward and another. She bent a little so she could see the man’s face, drooped forward on his chest. “Don’t look like much King to me.”
Her gaze flickered upwards to the soldier speaking to her. “And you are a sight for sore eyes as well.” Akila straightened up and took a step back, returning to Khalid’s side. “But enough beating around the bush. I have supplies aboard my ship and a crewmate skilled in combat medicine. It’ll be enough to stave off death. You might even find yourself heading towards recovery. But I will not be able to take you to Taengea, not without my ship getting taken down with your legion of warships in the waters. Judea would be the closest I will take you.”
She heard the arrows shift behind her, some of her men unsure as to what was going on. They didn’t run a charity, and they had slaves aboard the ship. Was this hostage? Why take a dying man hostage. Though the Pharoah might pay a pretty penny for the King of Taengea, Akila had other things in mind. The Pharoah might simply pay her and have Akila be on her way- he’d owe her nothing more. But a true debt was a powerful thing to have in one’s pocket, especially from a King of a foreign land’s.
“Clearly he has no ability to negotiate, and frankly neither do you. Excuse me if I don’t put my stock in Greek honor. So I’ll take his signet ring and return it once I hear word your King has returned to his throne. You know what my ship looks like, well, assuming your other eye works. You can assure no warship harms it.” Akila was blunt and to the point, like usual.
Obsidian eyes switched over to the third. The one, healthy soldier of the group. “The ship is filled, if you want to ensure enough water to heal and to get to Judea quickly- one would have to remain.”
Krysto shifted uncomfortably, not liking that this woman was so quick to dismiss the faltering king in his arms. Achilleas was important, most especially to Krysto himself. They'd been friends since they were small, young children. They'd joined the military around the same time and had each other's backs for nearly their entire lives. For a moment, the flash of memory, seeing the arrow strike Achilleas in the back, fluttered through his mind and he had to silently grit his teeth against the pain and anguish he felt for the man, and the absolute agony that pulsed through his head.
It was the odd attempt to flirt on Akila's part that had the man shifting again, his one eye going a little wide. Sight for sore eyes? This wasn't the time or place and he certainly didn't have any intention of sleeping with this woman. He had Dice back home. At least he thought he did. His betrothed and his unborn child wound through his mind for the first time since the battling had started. Krysto almost felt sick to his stomach then, but he swallowed hard. He hardly heard the last words that she spoke, saying that she would take them to Judea instead of Taengea. Anything was better than being on this shore where the three of them would most certainly die.
"Yes," Krysto said quickly, trying to meet Akila's dark gaze. "Judea is perfectly fine. It would be faster for us to return from Judea rather than Taengea," Krysto noted mostly to himself, already trying to plan ten steps ahead of where they were right then. Krysto glanced toward the men holding bows with knocked arrows, relief washing over him that she was going to let them live and bring them to safety... as well as offer her own medic to help the two of them.
The statement that she would take Achilleas signet ring had Krysto shifting again. As if that was the only ring that Achilleas had. But the bad thing about it would be that Akila could use it to her advantage... or it would get her into worlds of trouble if the wrong people saw it. But it was a small price to pay if it meant that they could get to safety and both make it through this nightmare of injuries and... poisons. "I can assure that, yes," Krysto said slowly, nodding to confirm it. "We have a deal. Just... help us," Krysto finally pleaded, hating that he was being so trusting and so willing to throw both himself and his King to the wolves just for the chance to remain in the land of the living.
Sucking in a breath when she told Diomedes that he would have to stay here, Krysto closed his wone good eye and let out a shaking breath, turning to look at the young man. "There are bound to be survivors back the way we came, Diomedes," Krysto said calmly, "We will come back for you. I promise." That, or he would be able to find the Colchian soldiers that would be landing in just a few days time. That was all he had to say to the young man, who nodded gravely and turned his head back just slightly to look in the direction of where they'd come from with an expression of pure resignation.
Krysto was watching Akila with an expression that expected much, including movement and progress.
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Krysto shifted uncomfortably, not liking that this woman was so quick to dismiss the faltering king in his arms. Achilleas was important, most especially to Krysto himself. They'd been friends since they were small, young children. They'd joined the military around the same time and had each other's backs for nearly their entire lives. For a moment, the flash of memory, seeing the arrow strike Achilleas in the back, fluttered through his mind and he had to silently grit his teeth against the pain and anguish he felt for the man, and the absolute agony that pulsed through his head.
It was the odd attempt to flirt on Akila's part that had the man shifting again, his one eye going a little wide. Sight for sore eyes? This wasn't the time or place and he certainly didn't have any intention of sleeping with this woman. He had Dice back home. At least he thought he did. His betrothed and his unborn child wound through his mind for the first time since the battling had started. Krysto almost felt sick to his stomach then, but he swallowed hard. He hardly heard the last words that she spoke, saying that she would take them to Judea instead of Taengea. Anything was better than being on this shore where the three of them would most certainly die.
"Yes," Krysto said quickly, trying to meet Akila's dark gaze. "Judea is perfectly fine. It would be faster for us to return from Judea rather than Taengea," Krysto noted mostly to himself, already trying to plan ten steps ahead of where they were right then. Krysto glanced toward the men holding bows with knocked arrows, relief washing over him that she was going to let them live and bring them to safety... as well as offer her own medic to help the two of them.
The statement that she would take Achilleas signet ring had Krysto shifting again. As if that was the only ring that Achilleas had. But the bad thing about it would be that Akila could use it to her advantage... or it would get her into worlds of trouble if the wrong people saw it. But it was a small price to pay if it meant that they could get to safety and both make it through this nightmare of injuries and... poisons. "I can assure that, yes," Krysto said slowly, nodding to confirm it. "We have a deal. Just... help us," Krysto finally pleaded, hating that he was being so trusting and so willing to throw both himself and his King to the wolves just for the chance to remain in the land of the living.
Sucking in a breath when she told Diomedes that he would have to stay here, Krysto closed his wone good eye and let out a shaking breath, turning to look at the young man. "There are bound to be survivors back the way we came, Diomedes," Krysto said calmly, "We will come back for you. I promise." That, or he would be able to find the Colchian soldiers that would be landing in just a few days time. That was all he had to say to the young man, who nodded gravely and turned his head back just slightly to look in the direction of where they'd come from with an expression of pure resignation.
Krysto was watching Akila with an expression that expected much, including movement and progress.
Krysto shifted uncomfortably, not liking that this woman was so quick to dismiss the faltering king in his arms. Achilleas was important, most especially to Krysto himself. They'd been friends since they were small, young children. They'd joined the military around the same time and had each other's backs for nearly their entire lives. For a moment, the flash of memory, seeing the arrow strike Achilleas in the back, fluttered through his mind and he had to silently grit his teeth against the pain and anguish he felt for the man, and the absolute agony that pulsed through his head.
It was the odd attempt to flirt on Akila's part that had the man shifting again, his one eye going a little wide. Sight for sore eyes? This wasn't the time or place and he certainly didn't have any intention of sleeping with this woman. He had Dice back home. At least he thought he did. His betrothed and his unborn child wound through his mind for the first time since the battling had started. Krysto almost felt sick to his stomach then, but he swallowed hard. He hardly heard the last words that she spoke, saying that she would take them to Judea instead of Taengea. Anything was better than being on this shore where the three of them would most certainly die.
"Yes," Krysto said quickly, trying to meet Akila's dark gaze. "Judea is perfectly fine. It would be faster for us to return from Judea rather than Taengea," Krysto noted mostly to himself, already trying to plan ten steps ahead of where they were right then. Krysto glanced toward the men holding bows with knocked arrows, relief washing over him that she was going to let them live and bring them to safety... as well as offer her own medic to help the two of them.
The statement that she would take Achilleas signet ring had Krysto shifting again. As if that was the only ring that Achilleas had. But the bad thing about it would be that Akila could use it to her advantage... or it would get her into worlds of trouble if the wrong people saw it. But it was a small price to pay if it meant that they could get to safety and both make it through this nightmare of injuries and... poisons. "I can assure that, yes," Krysto said slowly, nodding to confirm it. "We have a deal. Just... help us," Krysto finally pleaded, hating that he was being so trusting and so willing to throw both himself and his King to the wolves just for the chance to remain in the land of the living.
Sucking in a breath when she told Diomedes that he would have to stay here, Krysto closed his wone good eye and let out a shaking breath, turning to look at the young man. "There are bound to be survivors back the way we came, Diomedes," Krysto said calmly, "We will come back for you. I promise." That, or he would be able to find the Colchian soldiers that would be landing in just a few days time. That was all he had to say to the young man, who nodded gravely and turned his head back just slightly to look in the direction of where they'd come from with an expression of pure resignation.
Krysto was watching Akila with an expression that expected much, including movement and progress.
The boy was desperate, an idiot, or both. But when agreed to give the one and only signet ring to Akila, she felt her lips curl into a smirk. Perfect. If Akila was the type to believe in fate, she’d say it was smiling down upon her.
Instead she saw an opportunity and she would dig her claws into it as deep as they would possibly go.
“You two, get them on the ship,” Akila said, never once taking her eyes off Achilleas and his nearly one-eyed companion. “Khalid, fetch Cepos.” At once the men moved. Khalid spun on his heel as he moved back towards the ship to grab the healer. The other two moved next to the to assist them onto the deck.
When the healer came up he immediately started tsking at the look of them. “Take care of that one first,” Akila pointed her chin at the King. The other one wasn’t where her profit was. It’d be convenient if he lived, if only to ensure the King would get home. But he wasn’t necessary.
The healer lifted an eyebrow at the fact they were taking in two Greek soldiers, but he smartly didn’t ask questions as he motioned to bring him towards his area on the ship. Achilleas was moved onto a table, while the extra was put in a chair.
“Get his armor off,” Cepos ordered the pirates as they worked on taking the pirate taking off the King’s armor. “I can take care of this one, but you got the harder job Captain. If you don’t want him to bleed out, you’re going to have to get the rest of his eye out.”
Cepos crossed his small area of the ship to pull out things. “Start a fire,” he motioned to where a fire could be started safely. Khalid quickly went to get that going. Meanwhile Cepos pulled out a bottle of rum and a small mug. First he poured the rum all over the small knife before wiping it clean with a rag. Then, he poured rum into the mug, thrusting it into the Greek’s hand. “You drink. You need.” He said in broken Greek to the boy. “Hurt. Bad.” Be more alarming if it didn’t hurt. Means you’d probably be dead. First thing to go is feeling.
“Heat up this knife. And don’t let him move. The eye is the quickest way to the brain. One mistake and the sharks are getting an extra meal tonight. Just a warning- he might pass out.” Cepos said before turning to the King on the table. Akila went to hold the knife over the flame, watching it slowly turn red.
“The arrow…” Cepos spoke slowly as he and some men flipped the King to his side so he could get a good look at the front of him. “Didn’t go through. Shit.” He gently touched his fingers around the wound. “But… it's around the collarbone. So that’s good news. He might not be a fucking cripple.”
Not that Akila cares. He needs to be alive, not working. If he lost an arm no one would shed tears. Well maybe the other Greek. With one eye.
Akila finally pulled the knife back as Cepos cut the end of the bow. “Hold him down.” Akila said to his men. “And keep him from blinking.” Two fairly large men went to the Greek, wrapping their arm around his to hold him by either side, forcing his head back.
This was going to be fun.
Cepos cut the end of the arrow, and after some maneuvering shoved it through the man. “Hand me that quickly!” Cepos demanded his helper who jumped to hand him some poultice.
Meanwhile with a red hot knife Akila approached the other Greek. “Now don’t blink. I hope you had your shot.” In the knife went, with a steady hand. Akila would be smiling like a madwoman if it wasn’t for the fact that she was concentrating so hard. She was one to normally kill people, not help save them.
Squish. She could hear things squishing around there as the knife sliced the last of what was holding the eye in there, the heat working to attempt to cauterize the wound as it passed by. Finally the mostly smashed eye completely fell out and into Akila’s hand, the cord that once held it completely sliced through.
This was fucking awesome.
“Bandage him!” Akila snapped as the men dropped the man to grab wraps, wrapping it around his head and over the one hole that was his eye. Akila looked at the bloodied knife. Too thin to be of use to her typically, pity otherwise she’d keep it.
“And done,” Cepos said as Akila looked over. The King had a bandage all across his shoulder. “But look-” He showed the tip of the arrow to Akila. It had… something on it. Not blood, something else. “Poison.”
Oh well this will be fun.
“I have some things to hold off death but… he’s going to need more. I can only do so much.” Cepos explained to her. “They could have used a myriad of things. From watercress to belladonna to arsenic. The poison I usually deal with is fucking alcohol poisoning.”
“You did fine.” Akila said. “Khalid, get ready to get the fuck out of here. You two, move him to my bed.” Star fucking treatment right there. “And you…” Akila looked at the other Greek. “Still with us?”
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The boy was desperate, an idiot, or both. But when agreed to give the one and only signet ring to Akila, she felt her lips curl into a smirk. Perfect. If Akila was the type to believe in fate, she’d say it was smiling down upon her.
Instead she saw an opportunity and she would dig her claws into it as deep as they would possibly go.
“You two, get them on the ship,” Akila said, never once taking her eyes off Achilleas and his nearly one-eyed companion. “Khalid, fetch Cepos.” At once the men moved. Khalid spun on his heel as he moved back towards the ship to grab the healer. The other two moved next to the to assist them onto the deck.
When the healer came up he immediately started tsking at the look of them. “Take care of that one first,” Akila pointed her chin at the King. The other one wasn’t where her profit was. It’d be convenient if he lived, if only to ensure the King would get home. But he wasn’t necessary.
The healer lifted an eyebrow at the fact they were taking in two Greek soldiers, but he smartly didn’t ask questions as he motioned to bring him towards his area on the ship. Achilleas was moved onto a table, while the extra was put in a chair.
“Get his armor off,” Cepos ordered the pirates as they worked on taking the pirate taking off the King’s armor. “I can take care of this one, but you got the harder job Captain. If you don’t want him to bleed out, you’re going to have to get the rest of his eye out.”
Cepos crossed his small area of the ship to pull out things. “Start a fire,” he motioned to where a fire could be started safely. Khalid quickly went to get that going. Meanwhile Cepos pulled out a bottle of rum and a small mug. First he poured the rum all over the small knife before wiping it clean with a rag. Then, he poured rum into the mug, thrusting it into the Greek’s hand. “You drink. You need.” He said in broken Greek to the boy. “Hurt. Bad.” Be more alarming if it didn’t hurt. Means you’d probably be dead. First thing to go is feeling.
“Heat up this knife. And don’t let him move. The eye is the quickest way to the brain. One mistake and the sharks are getting an extra meal tonight. Just a warning- he might pass out.” Cepos said before turning to the King on the table. Akila went to hold the knife over the flame, watching it slowly turn red.
“The arrow…” Cepos spoke slowly as he and some men flipped the King to his side so he could get a good look at the front of him. “Didn’t go through. Shit.” He gently touched his fingers around the wound. “But… it's around the collarbone. So that’s good news. He might not be a fucking cripple.”
Not that Akila cares. He needs to be alive, not working. If he lost an arm no one would shed tears. Well maybe the other Greek. With one eye.
Akila finally pulled the knife back as Cepos cut the end of the bow. “Hold him down.” Akila said to his men. “And keep him from blinking.” Two fairly large men went to the Greek, wrapping their arm around his to hold him by either side, forcing his head back.
This was going to be fun.
Cepos cut the end of the arrow, and after some maneuvering shoved it through the man. “Hand me that quickly!” Cepos demanded his helper who jumped to hand him some poultice.
Meanwhile with a red hot knife Akila approached the other Greek. “Now don’t blink. I hope you had your shot.” In the knife went, with a steady hand. Akila would be smiling like a madwoman if it wasn’t for the fact that she was concentrating so hard. She was one to normally kill people, not help save them.
Squish. She could hear things squishing around there as the knife sliced the last of what was holding the eye in there, the heat working to attempt to cauterize the wound as it passed by. Finally the mostly smashed eye completely fell out and into Akila’s hand, the cord that once held it completely sliced through.
This was fucking awesome.
“Bandage him!” Akila snapped as the men dropped the man to grab wraps, wrapping it around his head and over the one hole that was his eye. Akila looked at the bloodied knife. Too thin to be of use to her typically, pity otherwise she’d keep it.
“And done,” Cepos said as Akila looked over. The King had a bandage all across his shoulder. “But look-” He showed the tip of the arrow to Akila. It had… something on it. Not blood, something else. “Poison.”
Oh well this will be fun.
“I have some things to hold off death but… he’s going to need more. I can only do so much.” Cepos explained to her. “They could have used a myriad of things. From watercress to belladonna to arsenic. The poison I usually deal with is fucking alcohol poisoning.”
“You did fine.” Akila said. “Khalid, get ready to get the fuck out of here. You two, move him to my bed.” Star fucking treatment right there. “And you…” Akila looked at the other Greek. “Still with us?”
The boy was desperate, an idiot, or both. But when agreed to give the one and only signet ring to Akila, she felt her lips curl into a smirk. Perfect. If Akila was the type to believe in fate, she’d say it was smiling down upon her.
Instead she saw an opportunity and she would dig her claws into it as deep as they would possibly go.
“You two, get them on the ship,” Akila said, never once taking her eyes off Achilleas and his nearly one-eyed companion. “Khalid, fetch Cepos.” At once the men moved. Khalid spun on his heel as he moved back towards the ship to grab the healer. The other two moved next to the to assist them onto the deck.
When the healer came up he immediately started tsking at the look of them. “Take care of that one first,” Akila pointed her chin at the King. The other one wasn’t where her profit was. It’d be convenient if he lived, if only to ensure the King would get home. But he wasn’t necessary.
The healer lifted an eyebrow at the fact they were taking in two Greek soldiers, but he smartly didn’t ask questions as he motioned to bring him towards his area on the ship. Achilleas was moved onto a table, while the extra was put in a chair.
“Get his armor off,” Cepos ordered the pirates as they worked on taking the pirate taking off the King’s armor. “I can take care of this one, but you got the harder job Captain. If you don’t want him to bleed out, you’re going to have to get the rest of his eye out.”
Cepos crossed his small area of the ship to pull out things. “Start a fire,” he motioned to where a fire could be started safely. Khalid quickly went to get that going. Meanwhile Cepos pulled out a bottle of rum and a small mug. First he poured the rum all over the small knife before wiping it clean with a rag. Then, he poured rum into the mug, thrusting it into the Greek’s hand. “You drink. You need.” He said in broken Greek to the boy. “Hurt. Bad.” Be more alarming if it didn’t hurt. Means you’d probably be dead. First thing to go is feeling.
“Heat up this knife. And don’t let him move. The eye is the quickest way to the brain. One mistake and the sharks are getting an extra meal tonight. Just a warning- he might pass out.” Cepos said before turning to the King on the table. Akila went to hold the knife over the flame, watching it slowly turn red.
“The arrow…” Cepos spoke slowly as he and some men flipped the King to his side so he could get a good look at the front of him. “Didn’t go through. Shit.” He gently touched his fingers around the wound. “But… it's around the collarbone. So that’s good news. He might not be a fucking cripple.”
Not that Akila cares. He needs to be alive, not working. If he lost an arm no one would shed tears. Well maybe the other Greek. With one eye.
Akila finally pulled the knife back as Cepos cut the end of the bow. “Hold him down.” Akila said to his men. “And keep him from blinking.” Two fairly large men went to the Greek, wrapping their arm around his to hold him by either side, forcing his head back.
This was going to be fun.
Cepos cut the end of the arrow, and after some maneuvering shoved it through the man. “Hand me that quickly!” Cepos demanded his helper who jumped to hand him some poultice.
Meanwhile with a red hot knife Akila approached the other Greek. “Now don’t blink. I hope you had your shot.” In the knife went, with a steady hand. Akila would be smiling like a madwoman if it wasn’t for the fact that she was concentrating so hard. She was one to normally kill people, not help save them.
Squish. She could hear things squishing around there as the knife sliced the last of what was holding the eye in there, the heat working to attempt to cauterize the wound as it passed by. Finally the mostly smashed eye completely fell out and into Akila’s hand, the cord that once held it completely sliced through.
This was fucking awesome.
“Bandage him!” Akila snapped as the men dropped the man to grab wraps, wrapping it around his head and over the one hole that was his eye. Akila looked at the bloodied knife. Too thin to be of use to her typically, pity otherwise she’d keep it.
“And done,” Cepos said as Akila looked over. The King had a bandage all across his shoulder. “But look-” He showed the tip of the arrow to Akila. It had… something on it. Not blood, something else. “Poison.”
Oh well this will be fun.
“I have some things to hold off death but… he’s going to need more. I can only do so much.” Cepos explained to her. “They could have used a myriad of things. From watercress to belladonna to arsenic. The poison I usually deal with is fucking alcohol poisoning.”
“You did fine.” Akila said. “Khalid, get ready to get the fuck out of here. You two, move him to my bed.” Star fucking treatment right there. “And you…” Akila looked at the other Greek. “Still with us?”
